It's always nice to find somewhere that I might have a platform to share my prose or poetry. I have around 80 poems which I wrote several years ago.

Here are three of them.

Please don't redistribute these anywhere else.

The Realm

The realm stood shuddering in scorn. It told of hold and scolded me unborn as I threw myself in panic's wake down darkened stairs to reach the lake of sky and fly down past the last of nigh grey walls. In the realm I dwelt and felt a fear so great and spurned by hastened woes of late I learned my release would come too late, but lo I reached a new resolve to find a style I could unsolve, and bring about a sign undone, a style unwon, and like the lime that I could run upon and stand alone under a wreckage of moon that shone bleak and bitter heckles to mock me, I held my coat now close to my throat and smote the sky with my fist, hissed a newer statement of challenge to the heaven's grinning, spinning gloat. I would run and run and feel a greater sense of fun that nothing less my steps come one and come none would catch and match my speed or heed my deed to reach and need the setting sun.
At last I passed the wrought and fastened gates of glass and hastened, cast my mind to find the sun to see the one thing that I would see. Hope and curious eyes shone through me to behold the gold and shimmering wild above the blue sea. It knocked me back against myself to see the scattered hanging shreds of night evade the light of day and the sun so placed and fixed upon the shelf of ocean now like a portrait of forgotten decadence.
My eyes could not perceive in gaits of recollection so beautiful and prolific a scene from life's duly darkened collection of bleak tales. It swept the land and vales. Across the sea it sang to me such sighing, suggestive melodies that crying I could feel the breeze of warmth that shook me to my soul. And now I knew why I could fold myself into a knot and sit and rot and never move for the sun had proved what it could prove, and that is that it’s here to own the sky and set the darkness back inside the realm where I had lived for nigh an age. The realm which owned me like cage.

The Space, The Spot

Adjacent to myself on a vacant space nearby a shelf is a small spot that I stare at.
It is white. It is touched by a bare caress of light and at night it might not seem to be there at all but I know. I know it's there upon my wall.
I stare. I stare because it’s there, its angles peculiarly impaired and askew. Its lines ring not true at all but false. Like a song of discordance, a lulling hypnotic pulse of symmetry gone wrong, a song whose verse is hummed through a cloth of sepia stains.

It keeps me awake at night just thinking about that spot upon my wall by the shelf, and to show it to another would be to distort my outer self, my vision of something nonexistent.
And in resistance to the persistence of this peculiarity I sat disparaged and opened another vestibule of thought.
Was not the space upon my wall a scene perhaps caught and transfixed? Like a mixed motion of sight and forgotten bright emptiness? A thing that existed only when I deemed its existence to be a thing? A sight that I saw because I might?

At night it’s there and I stare and I don’t care to share it with another in fact I dare not. Less forgotten be the gift that having this spatial rift upon my wall, might fail and fall my mind in kind to land a ruin upon the floor.

Lately I see the space, the spot, no more. No less I try, but by the space near that shelf in the style I try by myself to find and bind in spells of capture, its rapture is lost, and my eyes are no more open to the sight of that small spot of nothing on my wall by the vacant space nearby a shelf that lies adjacent to myself.

Perhaps it was never there at all.

Love and Red Wine

I poured my love a glass of wine, the elixir reddest red. She lifted glass to painted lips and tilted back her head. I watched her drain all but one drop and ask me for another. I didn't like to, but I did, for yes, she was my lover. Again she drained all but one drop and didn't seem affected, and when she looked into the glass her face was poise reflected. After the third glass of the wine, she smiled and sat beside me, I was perturbed and wistful too with thoughts aflame inside me. She leaned in close and whispered faint, her breath was strong and charged, I heard her voice drift like a saint and rumor flickered large, of things like bliss and smoke and satin, her voice so fair it flowed in patterns, so I took her hand and walked her to my bed, where she lay down, and when I saw her fall asleep, I couldn't help but frown.

Really nice poem. That love and red wine was my favourite, Hahah the ending was brilliant. Great stuff

Thank you both. Really glad you liked them.

Here's another two. Hope you like them.









O'. O' less I know now. More less I knew than when I began. Lo but how? But how? For nothing less I had is what it was or was it? Or were it before perhaps I started. Aagh! The rife, the strife, that jagged bladed knife that strikes anew and wounds. It wounds me so to less. I try to find so soon. To swallow down the blackest life bloods and flood my ways with another day to find. To find to lay, and in kind to live. To give hope to someone close to me. To be. To happen that in truth although yes I know less, now I can pattern again a starting plan, and stand and hope to be observed an example of purpose that another would strive to emulate. Though hardly I am even that, and hardly I am. Lately broken, repaired, and broken again. The feeling is of fleeting shame and pain that stays and brands my ways and hands my days another piece of empty paper to draw upon again a plan to file away and lose sight of. Anyway, I know less now today than when I started. O'. How though? For I tried. O' surely I tried. Didn't I?

Haha once again really nicely done. Liked a life of loneliness, I wonder how far the guy walked to get to the sea

@RafftheSweetling Griffin, they are great!
I love to write, but mostly i write only in my mind, so i have almost nothing that i could take and copy :/
Although i am translating a short story i made a year back to share with GUN, but sometimes i need to search for similar words for what i wanted to say, so it can be as i intended when i wrote it in PT.. Soon i may be happy with the result haha

I just hope that the Life of Loneliness does not have a bit of reality within it!

Cheers~~

The Life of Loneliness is not directly influenced by my life at the time of writing, but the tone was influenced by my mood, definitely. Glad you like them.

MrVulpe, speaking of the Sea. Here is a lighter and happier poem about the sea. Hope you like it.




I picked a shell from off the ground. Against my ear I heard its sound, of whispered voices, longing still, of singing fishes, high and shrill. I laughed to hear a song so fair, I walked along and kept it there against my ear so I could feel its salty air and biting zeal. An island I knew was at the end. My path had lead through twist and bend to take me to the ocean's shore. So swim I did to reach it 'fore I had no strength that I might move, I swam with nothing left to prove.
I held the shell while I did so, and waves of volume threw me fro, and to, and still I swam till last I reached the beach of sand and grass. And crawled on high ‘til at the end I saw the girl I knew would send me home after we kissed, the girl that I so dearly missed.
Held out my hand, she took from me, the shell which came from 'neath the sea, and smiled. We stood there for a while then kissed. I forgot about the miles I'd traveled, just for this one thing.
I heard my heart begin to sing. Then afterwards I left once more to travel back to mainland's shore. But smiling all the while I swam, ‘til exhausted I reached dry sand and walked again the long way home, because each day my heart was shown that distance is but trivial thing to one who knows of fish that sing and shells that talk and island bliss, and the single pleasure of her kiss.

It was great to read something like this after a day learning with law books I'd love to see more of your work @RafftheSweetling

@RafftheSweetling This last one is very beautiful!! I think all of these short stories and poems really reflect a bit of what we are feeling in the moment. Keep writing dear, they are awsome

Thanks, guys. Glad you liked them.

On this calamitous day, here is my best poem. I am proud of it. I wrote it all in one sitting years ago and it is dear to me. I hope you will all enjoy...





As sounds go by my head like birds that cry and words that sigh in dying breaths too sheltered, shy, and in weltered skies of blue and grey, the day begets the night to lose its sight like men in trenches, blighted by stenches foul and cruel, and to wander like a fool through steps, in darkened moats and valley’s cleft and lope through unkept and forgotten boundary lands, with hands like swollen sticks of darkened, heavy cloth. And quath that I might see and behold the scene of mold and green for there is unseen lore beneath the floor of the woods and stories that should be left unsaid of dread and more. And to score the dead in halls of red and lawful steads of wraithlike moors in beds and fallen trappings of store and bale, with stone and nail, holding their heads entail, like children’s tales of dread and more, and worse, for that is the forest's curse.

But hungry for forgotten lore and more I set my mind to tasks of fore and to, exploring through the grounds beneath which come the truths that are so kept, that Mother wept when Father merely mentioned to the slightest whim on nights when light was dimmest dim, and yet when he so told that I might brave to be so bold to listen in on his hushed tale, and listening through such tremendous gales outside my window glass, and wondering if his days would pass, that I alone should find my eyes witnessing the loathed, despised, lands between the sheltered vales, but listen more through harshest gales I did until by chance I heard in remnants of his scattered words the answer to the riddle kept, and heard it while my mother wept and lightning crashed and shook the earth. The riddle kept long since my birth of lands between the sheltered vales, a place of torment, wind and hail, the realm of restless sojourns end, the mindless forest where darkness lends to twisted earth, not once I’d seen, not since my birth.

So mindful of my Fathers words I walked down to the boundaries girth of swollen, dark and spiteful earth and entered into forest's shield where light is lost to weak and yielded dark and not a spark my flint could catch when flickered from my useless match, so in the dim and dreary maze I wondered lost in mist and haze that filled my lungs and stung my eyes, where foul and loathsome flies of surreal size would bite and fill the skies in buzzing throes like wanton shows, yet wander still I did and hid my eyes from biting flies, and lo, I stumbled on the slab, so vast in size and colored drab and grey in hue, too big to scale its size it's true, but mystified I was and so, I camped out by the slab where fro there may harbor secrets lost, its voice of hellish empty moss and green, its secrets so long kept unseen and seeing it felt like a dream, but not dissuaded in the least I gathered up my meager sheets of cloth and lowly pilfered chaff that I would use to mark the site, so later on in darker night I may still locate in the blind the scene where men had lost their minds, the place where Mother came to birth the child who had the forest curse.

It woke me like a bolt from hell, the sound and then the horrid smell, I sat up fast and did my belt and loaded gun with stock and shell and in the pitted blacks of night it came to me that fearful fright, and nothing could have spared my mind from that which I had known I’d find. The jaded scars I still can feel but truly there was nothing real about the feeling that I felt or description to that which I smelt. It was the beast and worse, the man, the nightmare mix of claw and hand, but even just to see it stand, like man that could if wished be beast, it scared me more or less the least, because I knew of history told and what had brought me back through mold and pitted forest green, the sight that duly was a scene from my own past, and cast in stone, the way the creature sadly moaned like generations met at last, like picture on the slab in grass, the sight was now the tale lead true, the father had his son and who could possibly have worse? For that is just the forest's curse.

@RafftheSweetling This looks amazing, if i only knew english better to enjoy it at its best... D:
But man, this is so well written, i liked a lot!! Congrats

A sound though shallow found its way into the hallowed grounds of my openly compounded perspective. Skirting past smiling children, filing through the crowded tavern, waxing progressive patterns to create mirrors of thought, I listened, gaining pristine waning waves of flagellant dirge-like melodies. I closed the sound out and shouted preposterously to the large barge-like barkeep. His eyes shined sheepishly from grimy red lids and his hands twitched with showmanship stupidity.
The sound continued. My mid-length strength waned reflectively alongside the woeful threnody. I shaped panic for posterity. Passed Gaelic dancing girls and held my hands to my throbbing head. Up the knotted creaking cacophony of stairs I flirted my flight in plain sight to the ravel and their drunken stares. My eyes glistened as I listened or tried not to, while the shifting droll coalesced and fleshed out visual form in my mind, and outside a storm erupted, wreaking rage upon the tavern.
I reached my rented gloom and closed the door to seal my room. To steal as soon as sanity might permit, my rationale, and sit in darkness. The sound was reprehensible. It flexed velvety ligaments of wailing, sailing sound-waves that carved my consciousness effectively, leaving the barren emblem of a man undone. I poured my tattered resolve upon the floor, and swore that sooner would I rather die than smoke or even try to chase the dragon once more from the alley to the sky.