The writings of Oddpoet
I like shiny things, I'm very superficial.

Posts Tagged ‘magic’

Don’t Wake me…

Mon ,22/02/2010

Death sil­hou­ettes

Dance melan­choly minuets

Accrued dust scatters

Face­less vio­lins sigh

Mourn­ers do not bother to take up the chant

Smooth­ing wrin­kled skirts and check­ing fin­ger­nail length

Bored and dis­tracted with parched eyes inca­pable of tears

Sounds wither and die

Vibra­tions stilled and uncaring

Set­tle in for the long sleep

Wind becomes breeze and breeze…

Lies motion­less upon the mound

It’s cold’s time

Calm­ing the whine of mean­ing and loss

Thoughts crum­ble and descend upon the sleep­ing earth

Lying beside por­tent shards of strange magik

It all goes away

Whirling down sweet silence

Leave me alone

Don’t wake me…

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I Remember…

Tue ,19/01/2010

I remember…

When my dreams were real

Green screens of manip­u­lated magic

Oh, the worlds I conceived

And the friends I made…



Mostly gone now

The col­ors are no more

Black and white

Filled with sharp edges

And harsh creatures

I will not name



I still till that soil

Though rock strewed

Com­pacted with cloy­ing clumps of clay

And the Sun don’t shine there much



But I still work the plow

And plant the seeds

I can have a shade garden

And the plants still talk to me

Though no longer with won­der and a child’s eyes



Sto­ries of rebellion

And sur­vival

And…



Fight­ing Drag­ons has become a full time job

So many Drag­ons to slay…



The world plucks out our eyes

And replaces them

With the lat­est Log­itech Web Cam

Com­plete with upgrade­able Microsoft  phototechnics

Ya  gotta upgrade

Just wouldn’t be right oth­er­wise



There is still magic

Though muted

And harder to wield



There must always be magic

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The last Man

Fri ,25/12/2009

Floun­der­ing…

Like a dead fish.

Gaz­ing at deep magic

Inside….Out.

Pil­lars of lust

Smoth­ered

Wrapped in cellophane.

Locked to immoral paths.

Visions in black and white

Against pre­scribed stan­dards of effi­ciency.



I peered out of my window

That TV screen whose chan­nel never changes.

And I SEE!

Androids filled with pre­tended purpose.

Run­ning to and fro toward mock destiny.

I see them har­nessed like cat­tle and led to troughs of offal where they feed.

Smiles fill there vapid faces.



For this was Life!

I see them walk pass fake trees and coun­ter­feit sunlight.

Night noth­ing more than an unplugged lamp.

They flash their vam­pire smiles

Teeth gnash­ing

Hunger’s need tem­porar­ily lend­ing false pas­sion to nothingness.

They see me and wave, “join us, and become one of us!”



I am the Last man alive.

I will never let them stick that straw of death into my head

And suck out my pas­sion, love and being.

I will never leave this place

I shall be con­tent to gaze out my window

That TV screen whose chan­nel I can never change.



Tears fill eyes

Pity fills my souls

I am the last soul alive

And I shall never leave my place.

For I will never become one of them.

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The Last Poet #3

Sat ,12/12/2009

My scream painted sin

Across the sum­mer sky

The world

Wob­bled on its axis

Paused

Held its breath



The trees trembled

Sam­son knelt before me

And pre­pared to die

“Scarred Man” he began

His lips quivering

“They came in the night”

“The Cho­rus and I drew sword”

“”She bade us hold”

“And left with them”

His hands twisted in rage and shame

Yes

He would die for her



I let him live

My breaths came in ragged gasps

Her voice

Sud­denly

Came to me

As it had for three years now

And my eyes squeezed

In vain

To stem the tears

That washed my scarred face



She was alive!

I moved to my horse

Sam­son and other mem­bers of the Chorus

Eyes gleamed

And fol­lowed

Their blood lust

Pal­pa­ble

I winced



Men who

Once coaxed

Beauty

And Life

From Dirt

Would become

What I have always been

The enemy had much

To answer for.



“Samson”

“Dou­ble the guard”

“And pre­pare to move”

It was as if I struck him

“But…”

I never gave orders twice



My horse wheeled

As I method­i­cally approached the castle

My body was strewed with arrows

I couldn’t die

Until she told me

I could

The berserker was upon me

My sword screamed

And Sang

In the key of rage.

My blade glowed incandescent

Its white fire

Unquench­able

Blood hissed and splattered

My hated essence blazed



Who would dare touch her?

Those who stood before me

Died

The rest fled



Three witch word singers

Hurled arcane verse

At me

Just before there heads

Came to rest on the floor



I stormed the room that I knew held her

Five men died

Quickly

There

She was

The Last Poet and a Word Mage

Were engaged

In eldritch incantations

Her hands were bound

Imped­ing her

From verse flow



He was not

Nor could he ever

Be

A match for her

I almost laughed.

But decided to kill him

Instead



The Word Mage eye’s widened

Hurled

Death verse at me

His words crum­bled and howled

In use­less fury

“I am already dead fool”

I flung the Word Mage out the window

And watched

As his body tumbled

Curs­ing

That I could not hurt him

More.



I gath­ered her in my arms

“You know

You really have to stop doing that”

She curled up in my arms

And the world was

Once again

Tol­er­a­ble

Hope

Was

Alive



A bird sang

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The Scarred Man (The Last Poet #2)

Fri ,11/12/2009

I stran­gled the last Wolf

It had a curi­ous look on its face

When it died

“No prob­lem dude, it just Bidness”


I had become a weapon

For her

She gath­ered the wounded and urged them forward.

I stared at my hands

Know­ing they would never be clean again


“Scarred man, we must move!”

“And the wounded who can’t be moved?”

“There is no time for tears!”

Her eyes flashed crimson

I heard thun­der and the gongs of war.

“You have gath­ered too many who will feed and pro­tect them?”

“You will”

She danced away


I gath­ered the mor­tally wounded child in my arms

As his Mother shouted barbs of hate

To that sadis­tic God

Who pre­tended he loved

Us


I sang a an old lul­laby just before

I snapped his neck

His Mother wailed

And was dragged away


I killed the remain­ing mor­tally wounded

We were hunted

The Wolfs were the first wave

There will be others

More hor­ri­ble creatures.


She was right

She was always right

No time for tears.

I left the killing field and entered

The for­est

She was efficient

She already set up camp


“Scarred Man, we need food”

I wanted to scream and say

“No More!”

“I sup­pose you will have me stop the Sun in its tracks and part the waters next?”

“No… food is all that is required at this moment”

I could not deny her

She knew

We were intri­cately linked

She was Hope

I was Death


I counted the mouths

And went to hunt

She was paradox

She saved life

And

Took the Death of others

To her

In her

Her strength

Hum­bled me


“We must save who we can”

“But, too many will die”

“Before this is over.


The Death dreams occurred

Every night now

I won­dered what form it would take

When it came for me.


I brought down an eight point Stag

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