Dark confession

Depression is nothing to joke about and I know my mind enough to know when a dip in the Dark Pits of Despair is coming on. I do my best to avoid it. But, when it does, I know what has helped me before. I've said it in a long-forgotten poem I wrote almost 17 years ago. I take the muck and turn it into diamonds. Not all of them are perfect, but I can see the world far more clearly through them than through my own eyes.


This is a thought experiment, brought on by a friend's post on Facebook. It gave me a reason to think about my own experience.
It will be used in the main story, eventually...





Dark confession


I am bruised and battered.
My hands are bloodied.
My mind is a tempest and I am on the precipice.
The wind starts howling. It is whipping at my face, not that I can see anything.
It is pitch black and the void is staring right back into my soul.
The air is so heavy, that breathing is a chore.
I can’t step back.
My skin feels tight. My flesh aches. My eyes pound inside my head.
There is no going back.


Headfirst I jump into the abyss, half expecting to be smashed against the rocks.
Yet, it shrouds me, it embraces me and I welcome it.
It is quiet. It is dark. I am floating.
In the nothingness, I see you.
I know you. I see myself in you.
You are beautiful, but I am repulsive.
You are mine to pleasure and to torment.
With each kiss, I tear your skin open.
With each caress, I rend your flesh.
With every thrust, I break your bones.
I have healed you and I have killed you a thousand times over
You don’t fight back, you never do.


I am no god, but I mould you to my whim.
Your heart, a rock, I take it.
I break it, I stitch it back together.
I water it and the blood flows once more.
The chisel in your hand, you shape me.
You impart your beauty on the wretch that I am.
The darkness may be no stranger, but it has no hold over you.


I open my eyes to see the Sun shining through the clouds.
My hands are clean. My mind is clear.

A new dawn arrives

Birth of a Monster

I have to admit. I am my own worst enemy. Writing can be a pain in the rear end. 

You start with one idea in mind, and, soon, that idea develops a mind of its own.

It takes time to shape it into something that you both (the writer and the writing) agree upon. 

This poem. while you can try and read it as a stand alone one, is definitely missing something from before. And something after it. Both the before and after will be written in due time. This, however was inspired by something I read recently. A borrowed book, as chance would have it. Now don't worry about the names. they'll make sense when (and if) everything is ready. Each Character will have its own name. 

The picture did help quite a bit. Glad I got permission to use it. Copyright goes to Frank Doorhof. Might use more pictures, if I will allow be to do so.

Well... enjoy:

Birth of a Monster

It’s been centuries since his death.

Now a drained soul in his burnt out shell,

A husk with cracked lips, struggling for breath,

Chained to the walls of the black cell.

Stabbed in the back, consumed in fire,

A serpent coiled around him.

Demons stripped his skin with ire,

As he laid at their Master’s whim.

Amidst the screams and terror,

Through the stench of rot and smoke,

Drew closer a vision of one once fairer,

Fleet footed and shrouded in a dark cloak.

A raven perched on her shoulder,

She danced as mad,

With ashen face and eyes a’ smolder,

In folds of black-red roses clad.

“Dead, yet again” she said, in a whisper voice,

He opened his mouth to speak.

“Shush, my dear, I know, it’s not by choice…

Be still, my love your future is not that bleak.”

“Lorelei…” He uttered, but no reply.

Round the dimly lit cell she walked

Closely watching him, knowing he’d feel

Like prey by deadly predators stalked.

“I am here to offer you a deal.”

Her cold hand brushed seared flesh,

Stopping where his heart once had been.

Suddenly his muscles twitched and threshed

As her nails pierced the void beneath his skin.

“Remember freedom?” He closed his eyes with no fear.

A gentle breeze caressed his face,

The swaying ship, the sea calm and skies clear,

Another day’s voyage and he’d be in her embrace.

“You could have all that back… And more.”

“If you ever loved me… you’d free me.”

The chains snapped and he fell to the floor.

“You’ll be truly free when you bend the knee.”

“I would sooner… go to my death.”

The temptress cracked a smile…

“Stubborn fool… even when short of breath.

I am offering a way out, before Master’s trial.”

“No...“

“They made you the villain in your story.

Embrace me. Rejoin the fight.

Reclaim your proper glory.

Return and set things right.

Shed this charred and tattered skin,

Take pride in the scars of battles past,

Don the cloak of sin,

Get your vengeance at last.”

“A century ago, it would’ve been a godsend,”

He admitted as he struggled to stand.

“Now, what’s the good, to what end?

Why should I raise or stay my hand?”

“What if… you could undo their crime?

No more generals… no more kings…

What if… I could give you more time?”

She asked, unfolding her crimson wings.

Only then did he notice in her eyes,

The mad and bloodshot stare turn to eerie glimmer.

“Is the thought of seeing… her… a promise of Paradise?

Time’s running out and that hope’s growing dimmer.”

“Such… help… never comes free…”

“True, my price is but one.”

“Name it, what would you have of me”

“Kill the Master when your battle’s won.

I have served him far too long

And I have grown far too tired.

Time for one last swan song

Is the last thing I dare desire.”

“How would I go about this?”

“Kneel before the Master’s throne,

He’ll never see things are amiss.

As his power wanes, gather your own.

As for your will, worry not.

It’s still yours, if I have a say in it.”

“I am not throwing away my shot.

I won’t rest until that bastard’s throat is slit.

Lend me power and you shall have my blade.”

She kissed his cheek and stabbed him in the back.

“You must crawl before you fly,” she said stepping in the shade.

‘You’ll be the last to die,’ he thought, fading to black.

The Darkness that enveloped him was unyielding.

He felt the snake slither beneath his skin,

Coiling its body around his soul, scalpel wielding

Tendrils tightening and molding the monster within.

His husk was soon carted into the throne room.

He heard the Master’s voice as he spoke:

“You’ve been summoned from your cell and tomb.

Stir from your slumber, time you awoke.”

Murmurs swept throughout the great hall.

Lorelei was standing at the Master’s right hand

“My liege, generals, guests, I present to one and all

My masterpiece, as promised. Ready for command.”

The husk cracked and there he stood, kneeling before the throne.

His burnt face, hidden under a dead cold mask.

A tattered cloak shrouded his skin of ash and stone.

“A sight to behold. Let us hope he is up for the task.

Have an armor to fit your rank

A sword of blood for you to wield.”

As he bowed once more to present his thanks

He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the shield…

I’ve become my own nemesis,

Our story begins... + The Curse

I think this is a first. A 2-in-1 poem that doesn't come 6 months after the previous one. :)) Oh, and you might notice the second poem does not have a picture of its own. If you find an appropriate one, I'm willing to put it on display :) Enjoy! (sorry if it is a little too long, couldn't help it)

Our story begins…

Our story begins, as so few of them do,
In an old world, made anew.
Once upon a time, in ruins and in ash
A kingdom lay, after years of ruthless clash…

There he was, a young man in his prime,
After a thunderous, yet arduous climb,
Forced to assume the Ancient Throne
And forever set his name in stone.

Usurpers and traitors alike – dead,
Those who bent a knee got to keep their head.
“A show of mercy, Milord, goes a long way,”
So his Council used to say.

A great many things they said,
Some of which filled him with dread:
“My liege, you’ve been at war half your life.
You are still without an heir, it’s past time to take a wife.”

To be a great ruler, both bright and brave,
Still meant he was his own Council’s slave.
They went on and on with talk of wed’,
Of finding a proper girl he’d soon need to bed.

Yet, at the King’s Tourney, in which he took part,
He’d find the one who’d steal his heart.
A stunning beauty of raven hair and eyes of an iced blue,
Fair of skin, blood red lips and cheeks of rosy hue.

As she watched on with an almost childish delight,
He cut through his foes and won fight after fight.
A Champion, once again! After he thrust his sword back in its sheath,
He set upon her head the victor’s wreath.

“I am not one to enjoy hunting boars,
Drowning myself in wine, nor chasing whores.
In months, this Tourney has been the only pleasure of mine,
Until I was blessed by a sight, oh, so pure, so divine.

Would you do me the pleasure of accompanying me to the feast?
It would bring me great joy to get to know you, at least.”
A smile graced her lips and accepted. Later that night, at the dance,
He acted on a gamble and took his chance –

A stolen kiss, sweet as summer wine,
Returned in kind, under the faint light of star shine.
The days and the weeks that followed soon
Came a beautiful courtship and a wed promise before the Wolf’s Moon.

Since the Bloody War, less than a year had passed,
And the promised day came at long last.
Traders, nobles and fishwives alike cheered for the King, crowned by fire,
And Queen, who was many a men’s desire.

The Curse

While they were all cheering in the main road,
And toward the castle court flowed,
Through the back streets, a shadow was lurking –
Hunchback, foul smelling and limping, yet smirking.

Slowly, toward the old graveyard he crept.
“There is still one promise to be kept.”
Stepping through his comrades’ rotten bones,
Decaying crypts and shattered stones,

He finally reached an empty tomb, shaded by a dead oak –
Hidden from the eyes of ordinary folk,
An old entrance to the King’s Keep.
“Soon all that they have sown shall come to reap.”

Going down the tunnel, he hobbled by torch light.
“Gods, help me, for this is going to be my last rite.”
Step after step, upward he went,
Thinking to himself: “They’ll never relent.”

With a small red vial in his hand, he walked through the last door,
Which brought him to a balcony, just above the right floor,
Where the Wedding Feast was taking place.
With all the guards, he’d slipped in without a trace.

He came as close as he could to the edge, looming,
And said, with his voice, over the crowd, booming:
“To both King and guest, partaking in the feast,
Hold your tongue and hear one you thought deceased.

Killed the rightful king you have, and all his loyal too!
Yet there is one you have missed, and that you will rue!
All ye of royal blood heed my warning.
For, among yourselves, a new threat is dawning.

See the destruction you have brought.
See the treachery you have bought.
See the starved and bare, all ye clad and fed.
See the torn and forlorn, all ye loved and wed.

Your unity is naught but masquerade!
Denounce this damn charade,
Repent, for there is little time,
And you shall be forgiven for your crimes!”

“I remember you, old fool!” said the King.
“You were by that Usurper’s side, kissing his ring.
You disappeared the day I had this castle sacked.
I wonder, was it wits or courage you lacked?

And you dare come here, today? Hear this, remnant of kingdom old,
It’s my Wedding Day and I’m feeling generous, if truth be told.
Come down, bend the knee and say the words
And I won’t feed you to the birds.”

W: “Bend the knee? Never! If truth be told,
I’d rather lie with my comrades, dead and cold!”
He vanished and emerged near the table, unstopping the vial,
Which he poured in a goblet. He raised it with a smile.

W: “And that I’ll be, before the day is out…
I’m growing tired of this bile you spout.
I’ve come to lay upon you a curse.
Listen, for it goes from bad to worse!

Your sword, oh, bane of kings, will rust and shatter!
Your loyal host will break and scatter!
Your vision will blur and you’ll lose all sight!
And with that, you’ll have lost all your might!

I’m generous too - I’ll let you keep your wits,
Long enough to see your world crumble to bits!
But what is this? You seem to be in love…
It’d be rude not to bestow a gift upon this precious dove…

Aye, for you, this is a most glorious sunlit day,
But your life will be forever gray, no matter how long you’ll pray.
Your love’s seeds shall never bloom,
For, my dear Queen, your womb shall be your tomb.

Ah, but why do you all look so wary?
Eat and drink your fill, make merry!
Even though, tonight, in Hell I’ll sup’,
In your honor, I raise this cup.”

With that, he emptied his goblet in one swig
And fell, lifeless, on top of the suckling pig.
K: “What a madman! Who would believe such lies?”
Q: “To scorn him like this, do you think it wise?”

K: “What can he do now? For an empty curse, he gave his last breath.”
Q: “What can he do?! I’ve heard stories of people who gain power in death!”
K: “Words of a dead man shouldn’t matter to those still alive.
All we can do is to live our lives and thrive.

Now dry your eyes, take a sip of wine and smile.
They’re all dead, those who’ve been hostile.
Guards, take this filth away.
Guests, you haven’t lost your appetite, I pray.

This old fool had one thing right.
Make sure the torches are bright.
Eat and drink your fill, make merry,
For tonight, it is the past we bury.”

The feast went on well into the night,
Without any interruptions or frights.
Months passed and, in the castle, up on the hill,
All was peaceful. That is, until…

(To be continued)

The Jester

We're getting a little closer to the beginning of the story. Hopefully, I'll get a stroke of inspiration soon. Enjoy

The Jester

Among the cheery crowd a’mingling,

A nimble figure with bells a’jingling

And clad in motley, a fool

Spun like thread on a spool.

He whistled and jeered

And at the guests sneered.

Flipped, hid, jumped and bowed,

And, from atop a table, he spoke aloud:

Call me Merry Mort,

Jester Royal of the Court.

T’is my duty to escort

And to amuse the King and Consort

I welcome each and all, dames and gents.

The year’s done, its time – spent.

So the feast enjoy, lords and ladies,

And your cups raise, bid farewell to Hades.

Right is the time, all your sorrows bury.

T’is the night when all make merry,

For Rhyme plays the flute

And Reason plays the lute.

Mulled wine and chilled ale,

To help you down both deer and quail,

Pigeon we have, and mutton too

For the thin and the gluttons in you.

Should you so please,

To subject you, allow me, to a tease.

A small and harmless charade,

Fitting for this gloomy masquerade.

Should you find yourself wearing a crown,

In a cup would your sorrows drown?

Should you find yourself donning a dress,

Would you dance to rule or to impress?

Should you find yourself wielding a sword,

With fire would you play, or be the lord?

Should you find yourself hiding behind a mask,

Would you dawdle or raise up to the task?

Pray tell, can you choose when to fall?

Would you fight it? Risk it? Lose it all?

While you eat and drink to your hearts’ content,

Think about that, ladies and gents.

Alas, depart I must, my time is done,

Have your fill and have your fun.

But be wary of this eerie candle glow,

For we’ll all dine with the shadows.

He disappeared in a cloud of smoke

Which made some cry and some choke.

Yet, save one, none have stayed, in the night’s late,

To ponder about their darkening fate.

The Dragon's Rose

The newest installment in the Knight's Tale.

The Dragon’s Rose

A warrior, foolhardy and brazen,

Upon hearing the king’s plea,

Without thought of praise or blazon,

Lunged to seize his destiny’s key,

For the opportunity he longed for arose.

His king’s respect he’d earn,

By retrieving the Dragon’s Rose,

That which is guarded by the Wyvern.

Under the light of the Wolf Moon,

In what is known as the Forest of Gloom,

He came to a pillar engraved with runes,

Pointing to the place where brave men met their doom.

As he trekked through the dark woods on his steed,

He came across the mouth of a bone filled cave.

Not giving it a second thought of the pints he’d bleed

Nor if this foolish undertaking would lead to his grave,

He ventured in… but not before he downed a small flask

Meant to ease the darkness’ heavy burden.

He’d need his sight, if he’d complete this task,

Even more, before the rise of dawn’s first curtain.

Sneaking down the long narrow hall,

He reached the entrance of a stench filled lair.

Upon entering, his cautious tread soon stalled,

For his gaze met blood caked claws and an icy stare.

Startled, he drew his sword and stepped back,

Knowing not what kind of monster he awoke.

The Dragonkin stood with mouth agape, as if ready to attack.

With a flap of its leathery wings, in a husky voice it spoke:

“Who is he that dares to enter my domain?

And is he ready to meet my price?”

“He’s but a humble soul with nothing to gain,

And, for your Rose, he’d make any sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? Who’d still believe in such a notion?

Men of today hunger for vengeance and thirst for power,”

It snarled, staring back with eyes devoid of any emotion

That would make a lesser man cower.

“I do. I care not if you take me for a fool.”

“Pray tell, are you that big of a liar?”

“If I am, my tongue will rest in a blood pool.

Believe me not, put me through the trial of the dragon’s fire.”

Was he mad? To face the searing blaze?

He blocked talons with his own metal,

As a thought escaped his mind’s maze:

If not the whole Rose, just a few petals.

With steady foot and sword aloft, he launched.

Suddenly, the dragon’s spiked tail lashed

Around his sword arm; he couldn’t staunch

The heavy blood flow, spilling from the gash.

With a roar, the beast let out a scorching flame.

He could feel the stench of molten skin;

Pain shot through him as fire maimed

His face, turning it sooty as sin.

Pushing himself back to his feet, he lunged

For the Rose which the Wyvern held close to heart.

He threw his dagger and, in its stem, it plunged.

The beast drew back with a start

At the sight of the falling petals and the red droplets.

“Are you doing this for one of royal blood?

Did you ride out at the request of a harlot?

Or, perhaps, it was a farm girl yet to bud?”

“I’ve seen them not. And would it matter?

All I know, it is needed for a cure.”

“You spare no time on idle chatter…

Now I trust your reason’s pure”

Said the dragon with a hiss.

“It would seem I still have something to learn.

The price is met… also, take this

Alongside the petals that you’ve earned.

A Ruby, a bead of my blood, hardened and dried.

It might not sooth your aching burns,

But it’s a token to be worn with pride.

Now, I think someone is awaiting your return.”

With a bow, the warrior took his leave.

He had to make haste, to the King’s Keep,

But he had to tread on treacherous roads that weave

And go on the brink of mountain slopes too steep.

Three nights’ journey and he was back,

Passing through the castle gates.

He was met by a man dressed in black.

“Finally, you’ve arrived. Let’s hope it is not too late!”

Lovers’ dreams

Lovers’ dreams
Night shares a lot of dreams
To those struck by moon’s shiny beams.
Dreams of love,
Brought by a small white dove.
Dreams of the great red rose,
In front of which time froze.
Dreams of raging fire,
Of a lover’s burning desire.
Lovers afar
Are brought together by the wish upon a star.
Dreamers walk through the hall of time,
Until the dawn’s first chime.

Hell

Hell

Skies of fire,
Rain of blood and ash…
Those damned shed
Tears that slash.

Eons have passed…
At the gates of Hell
A cursed keeper
Has to dwell…

Battered and scarred,
Deformed by pain,
He cannot escape
Belzebuth’s reign…

Ages clear,
Now, a poisoned heart,
He was sent
To set saints and sinners apart…

To test and trial
All those on earth…
For many are doomed
Since their very birth.

Crows and ravens...

Crows and ravens...

Crows and ravens
Out of the sky are falling,
Eager to heed
Their master’s calling.

Swans and doves,
Both eternal and white,
Must shield
The lovers’ hearts tonight…

Snakes twine and hiss,
Their venom taints all streams…
Clear drops are no longer enough
For one’s potion of dreams…

Flickers of thought,
Drops of perfume,
Vision of love,
Roses in bloom…

Scorching sea,
Beads of sweat,
Signs of strife,
Ancient threat…

Mortal souls
Have lost their power…
Olden spirits
Feast and devour…

Of dreams and roses

Of dreams and roses

A peaceful night
Of clear sky and full moon…
Both gods and mortals
Shall dream soon…

And, so, we dream
Visions both lurid and sweet…
For, every night, we are
Trapped at Morpheus’ feet…

Visions of passion and lust…
Of a Ruby Rose…
Of a dark goddess
In whose hand Destiny froze…

Visions of purity and light…
Of a Crystal Rose…
Of a fair angel
At whose caress Destiny flows…

Although roses may wither,
The beauty of an angel fades not,
For an angel such as you
Is not easily forgot…

And, in the end,
Our Destiny lies, still,
At the tip
Of the Poet’s quill…

The Knight

The Knight. Mark II. The first one was written in my language. I will translate it eventually.


The Knight (II)

All feelings have been forgotten,
All, but fear and pain.
With those that lost their tears,
He entered a battle without gain.

A heart, impenetrable fortress,
This battle he had to win,
But fear of love
Killed all within.

Once loved,
Now with the fallen he's sleeping,
But he's learned
That love is not worth weeping.

Lost was the battle
And so was his heart.
Lost will be the battles
In which he'll take part.

He's now forever lost.
Once an angel's knight,
Now the gatekeeper
At the entrance of night.