[Poetry] Rainy Day Writing

Just had a few things that I've written that I feel like sharing. Some of it is a poem, some of it is just random rhythm that I've jotted down. Tell me what you think:


Forgotten Kingdom

Here stands the King of Rags, forgotten and alone he slaves. Counting his riches coin by coin, jewel by jewel making sure it's all there. Enter his castle at your own risk, to stare at his throne, rusted and crusted through stone. He'll claw out 'yer eyes, and rip you to shreds all to protect his gold. Woe be to you, the king is long dead, but yet he refuses to go. Quick as you can, grab all you can before the king catches upon you. Run, flee, but fat'll be the cruelest joke as you finally realize. The king is long dead, so no sight in the head but in the gloom you spy, sprawled on the floor 'fore the moon's glow, the king's treasure revealed. The silver is tarnished, the gold is all rusted, and the copper oxidized. The silks, the linens, the satins all rotted clear through. The king is upon you, shrieking without any lungs. Cry as you might, death is your plight and with it an awful fright. Deep in the keep where the king sleeps, for treasure, there was none...

Battle Hymn

Even in death the dead don't quiet. Their dark gods giving their devoted souls volume to once again plague the realm of that of the corpse emperor. The damned are forever chained to those they devote themselves to, even though their hatred blinds them to this pitiful fact. More a gift thought we, once upon a life, but the price for one's everlasting essence is never ending pain. An eternity of battle, an ocean of blood, a symphony of corruption and screams of the destroyed fuel the thirst for out laughing gods. Care not, they say, for your own life for it is as aged as the stars. To live out your years eternal a slave, to embitter your former peers. Slaughter the innocent. Kill the weak. Maim the defenceless and corrupt all else. These are the wishes of our gods, our keepers. Fall from grace and into despair and find yourself locked upon this endless stair of torment and suffering. The piles of skulls grows high, the river of blood overflows, and the echoes of conquest resound, back and forth through time which holds no further meaning. They seek to devour, to rip and to tear, the daemons that often live here. For they want more save your bones to gnash, to slurp your marrow with voracious hunger. To claw their way into your mind where they may temporarily reside. Truth be told, there are those so bold that transcend this parasitic existence, whence comes pain and ultimate gain pure horror gives birth revealed. Every step a tremble, every breath a quake and every word steeped in terror. Through chains and swords they reap the fields of man as a farmer his wheat. Hunger for more is always what these awful beings march to war. Often, my brothers, soft as they may, quite often shy away. True to form the daemon is never the norm and constantly worms its way, into the heart, into the mind, into the very soul itself. We're not in control, yet we pray like we are to our overbearing captors. To step once again into armour like tin, reluctantly head into the fray. To show death to my foes and hear their throes and the tread of the dirge that precedes it. The clatter of fire, the clank of shells and the edying whine of treads. The hissing of pistons, the screams of jets and the moans of cracking earth. Once more, into the fog of war from which I will never escape.

Forgotten Kingdom, reminds me of Ready Player One somehow, and Battle Hymn reminds me of Attack on Titan. That being said, both are very well written and very descriptive, especially the latter piece. "Slaughter the innocent. Kill the weak. Maim the defenceless and corrupt all else. These are the wishes of our gods, our keepers. Fall from grace and into despair and find yourself locked upon this endless stair of torment and suffering" really hit me. Good job Jacket.

Hooded

There isn't a day, a week, a song that passes below the gaze of our ultimate equalizer. The feared being above all, beyond human comprehension and adoration, with vehement malice and pure hatred the reaper claws its way into the shadows of the dark corner of your eye.You know it's there, but cannot see it. You feel the beaded sweat on the nape of your neck with every heaving breath, knowing full well that at any second, any minute or any day you might drop dead, blindsided by that narrow piece of lid that keeps death hidden just enough to pierce your armour and stab the pain of fear into your heart. Clammy and cold, she's a harsh mistress that beckons from the twilight. Blackened blade, glittering in the gloom, cracked skull and eyeless sockets remind all of mortality and none escape her stride. Try as you may every dog has its day, every flower its thorn and every dark deed committed has punishment awaiting you at her door. The young, the old, the sick, the strong, the weak, meek, feeble, stubborn and crippled. All cling to her robs as a child its mother. None are ready to go. But she cares not. Her splendour is her own, her robes and gown moth eaten and tattered. Her patience is infinite, and the longer you take the quieter she waits until ultimately abandoning you to your own mind. The door of your led to hell and you screamed and hollered beside it. Pounding and shaking your fists against her jawless bone. Cursing her up and down with every colour rising to your face. In your rage and years gone by you seemed to be mistaken. It's not a choice, it's not a request, she doesn't acquiesce, budge nor protest. Once you greet her, the task is complete. The door you see is not for thee; and as for hell? You're already inside it.

Just a small one today


Winds

Come the mountain, summer, fall

Come the mountain winter shawl

Come the mountain, warm your bones

Follow, climb, to reach the truly divine

Striking snow, crystal ice

Up the mountain you go

You won't come down, this I know

Up the land of frozen cold