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Xan Abyss Apr 2017
Ian Garrick, he sailed the Seven Seas
or Captain Redbeard, as he's known to you and me
He loved riches, as well as flesh and wine
But death and destruction are what filled most of his time

Captain Redbeard, despised and feared
Ian Garrick, he died at sea
The Crimson Captain, he came to be
The Dread Phantom Pirate King
Without Mercy

The King’s Commander, the mightiest to sail
Remembered just by title in his enemy's folktale
Died in battle, attacked to no avail
But still saw the captain fall
Beyond the Pale

His eyes were gold as fire
Demise, his sole desire
His eyes were gold as fire
Demise, his soul desired

In nightmares, Ian Garrick lives
Captain Blood-N-Gore
The images his name still gives
of Horror, Hell and War
Are bound to silent darkness
In the Depths of Nevermore
Until a poor fool summons them
In suffering, Reborn
Part of a much larger literary piece I'm working on.
Chris Thomas Apr 2017
Part I

There is a trail that I've walked a time or two
Wearing heavy shoes made of crackling fire
I've left behind only a charred unrecognizable road
And a sunrise as bitter as its roots

The trail parts swiftly, cleaving me as it cleaves itself
My route is camouflaged in winter's blanket
I spin on heels that have worn their welcome
And I walk beyond the borders of this dream

There's an old woman in a cottage
Who tells me I have a mist behind my eyes
"Brown is the color of failure," I tell her as I pass
And she flashes a half-smile that chills me to my bones

Part II

Late to rest, yet early to rise
Quarrelsome images tirelessly haunt my sleep
The old lady waves from the bottom of the hill
But it's too late to turn back now

I see a saddle of good weight resting against birchwood trees
Yet no sign of steed for miles around
As calloused palms meet calloused leather
I sense the spirit of its rider wash over me

The path now winds like a time traveling clock
My breathing hastens as my feet carry on
I hear whistling but I'm unsure of the source
Is it me?  Or is it something out of sight?

Part III

I come to a clearing at long last
Blistered feet have taken me far, just not far enough
My pupils sense a brightness I haven't encountered before
Instinctively, my hands shield my cowering eyes

The old woman is there, whispering to lilies
In a language my mind has no hope of comprehending
She pays no heed to my presence at all
Yet she knows that I linger in my bewilderment

She plucks a lily from the unblemished earth
And I see a brilliant steed at the center of the shimmering field
"Brown is the color of failure," she says with a parched grin
And suddenly my path becomes very clear

Part IV

I flinch as the light overwhelms my perception
Evolving now into an ethereal embrace
Though blind, my feet move without my mind's approval
And suddenly I am mounted upon the majestic horse

Like a snare drum, its gallop is steady and gallant
My sense of direction in disarray as I'm carried through the woods
I hear the woman's hands wringing at weeds in the distance
Despite how far from the clearing I should be by now

The horse tenses and sneers as momentum careens to a halt
I feel myself being thrown through air, time, and space
My brown eyes blink as oxygen floods my rested lungs
Gasping, I realize I'm as awake as I have ever been

End.
This work is the result of two weeks of writing, which seems like a long time for a piece of this length.  But each time I sat down to work on it, something else just called to me to either write or re-write.  

This piece is focused on the substance of my dreams; how quickly they seem to unfold in my mind, and how deeply they seem to point to something in my heart that is unsatisfied with its condition.
MP Martinez Feb 2017
Let's dance till midnight come
And carve our memories through time
So even you forgot my name
You'll still remember our dream
Oh cinderella~
aviisevil Jan 2017
puddle of memories
childhood rain
come again
i can't remember the names
of those
i should've forgotten
a long time ago

them ghosts
and tales of dread
keep whispering the dead
and I'm afraid
i've been made  
a wrong time ago

this place at this time
reminds me of things
i still don't know about
and i see nothing
though i was never blind
i could never see
what they had to show

it builds up slow
to break me down
my condition to wither
guess i was never meant
to linger
around the dancing clown
and laugh
when he tells a joke

breathing the last of air
my share is complete
and I am
completely incomplete
without a story
i can barely
swing without a tale


i'm so sorry
for words that fail
whenever I try to speak
i guess I'm only relieved
that you never have to
see me ever again

remember my name
that was all I ever was.
Josiah Israel Jan 2017
by— Josiah Israel

Twas oft the way in days of old,
When knight would battle brave and bold,
The damsels hand in hopes to hold,
Worth more then polished Stone, or Gold
For this is what a boy is told
When day is done and night is cold…

“One day my son, thy chance will come
Though courage oft may waver,
When lady waits, through sable gates
For thee brave lad, to save her!”

For when a dragon stole a maid,
Awaiting ransom duly paid,
Twas bravest knight, armor arrayed  
With noble steed and burnished blade
Rode swiftly to the damsels aid…

“You have not birth of high degree
Yet be thou brave and fight,
For low in rank thy birth may be
Yet heart makes noble knight!”

And after facing beast and foe
The knight with maiden free would go
Away to fields in need of ***
For seeds ere winter need to grow
And none can reap who do not sow…

“Not all you do will win a prize
Of gold or silver bent,
So reap a harvest good in size
And be thee well content.”

And when the battle horn he hears
The knight must banish all his fears
And ride to war, with battle cheers
On maidens cheek alight her tears
Fearing death, she spends the years…

“To win renown in battle
Might also be your path,
May your enemies armor rattle
As they feel your righteous wrath!”

But after kings campaign is done
The knight to home will swiftly run
From dusk through night to rising sun
Till maiden sees her hero come
Heart moving swift, a beating drum
Her heart a prize which first he won!

“Home is best at warring's end
To be with those you cherish,
A place to rest, your wounds to mend
Where love will never perish”

Though all the kingdom knows his name
And minstrels spread the brave knights fame
His love for she, remains the same
And they live happily, Knight and Dame…
I love the medieval Ballad kind of poem. Alfred Lord Tennyson was my inspiration for this style :D
Àŧùl Jan 2017
The fairy flew like a dried leaf,
Way beyond the red coral reef,
It flew unto its fairy mom.
The mom was unlike other fairies,
For it is red in colour & has horns,
It also has a pointed fairy tail..
For it is the Devil's own fairy agent!!!
A fairy tale ruined wickedly.

My HP Poem #1363
©Atul Kaushal
Mane Omsy Dec 2016
Complain how you want
Give up what you hate
Everything I've done
Was nothing but for
For your Love

Just tale my story to your kids
I've dead desperately
Missing your touching
Mine love has become a mystery
Wrapped inside my mind
Letting you go away
It was nothing but for
For your Love
I still love you
Lucrezia M N Dec 2016
Little things started to rile
by all odds,
not quite like the ache
head leant against your back.

Under cover a long dull hum
I thought of ghosts,
but I faced down the quake
until your aura had been caved in.

Like a god in disguise from on high
withdrawn with no words
but with human inability to break
and get the best from doing wrong.

Little tale or true story
him and her trying each other out
but got back to the ways of their own.
"The pagan and the profane on an isle."
I only told about the way the story ended up...with no happy ending... but I've learned so much, first of all to recognize more clearly what are the things I must feel guilty for and what I can light-hearted say it's someone else's fault... the last line could be the title of this tale.
Ps. this is kind of strange write to me actually... not totally happy with that , I know it's a little too personal... but the time to finish it and letting it go has come...
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