[x]

The Black RoseIn between such delicate fingertips;
She holds the blackest of roses,
And the dark petals brush her lips.
Her sombre shadow across her face,
Describes the bleakest of life's loses.

Such sweet scent floating in the air;
She breathes in the aroma of the black rose,
That scarlet stem entwines in her raven hair.
Her enchanting eyes are but a glaze,
Those wells of happiness have all but froze.

Thorns of iron dig into her soft skin;
She screams from the pain of that bloody rose,
With it's intoxication of simplistic sin.
Her haunting presence brings haste,
To a silence of a death nearing close.

BeautyBeauty rose out of that silent sea,
Her eyes were tepid with wild thunder,
And then she turned and looked at me.
Me; a meagre man who knew no lady fair,
Nor one of care as she snaps my heart asunder.

Beauty flew up to that sinister sky,
Her lips were dark with mad desire,
And then she turned and started to cry.
Cry; a crude curse who knew no mortal smile,
Nor one so vile as she scars my aura in fire.

Beauty stood up on that scarlet skin,
Her locks were rouge with quiet rain,
And then she turned and walked on sin.
Sin; a sordid spirit who knew no lover true,
Nor one in clue as she saves me from my pain.

The Pain WithinLet go of your hate,
Your revenge can wait.
Whoever did you wrong,
Can never know the hurt,
That made you strong.

You know it's a part,
Of you're aching heart.
Whoever broke your smile,
Can never understand the pain,
That turned you vile.

Don't give up on love,
Though you'll feel rough.
Whoever killed your hope,
Can never believe the longing,
That more you cope.

Ready To IgniteMy chest feels like a furnace,
And my lungs are on fire.
Death is my mind's only desire;
But I will carry on with bitter grace,
Knowing my ashes may leave no trace.

My chest feels like a grenade,
And my heart is about to explode.
Shall I continue down this road?
But now I stop because I am afraid,
That the life I lead may never be saved.

My chest feels like an anvil,
And my ribs feel like lead.
In my palms is black blood that bled,
But I am scared so much my stare is still,
With bleak eyes I accept misery for good or ill.

The Weeping AngelShe holds her head in her hands,
Never breathing or blinking.
She is a morbid master of the sands,
Of time that terrorises your torment:
Gaze upon her vile visage and away you go.

She stands alone in such grace,
Never talking or thinking.
She has her elusive eyes on your face,
Of innocence that isolates your idiocy:
Look at her sinister snarl and you'll depart too.

She watches you with utter patience,
Never whistling or winking.
She'll turn lights low in her defence,
Of malevolence that murders your mind:
Stare out to her granite guise and forget all you know.

The Hardest WordTo say goodbye,
It's not the hardest word.
My honesty is all but broken,
And I look away with eyes so blue,
I cannot say with these tears I cry.

To say sorry,
It's not the hardest word.
My ignorance only leaves you shattered,
And I know in my heart so black,
I should apologise but I'd rather fly.

To say no,
It's not the hardest word.
My addiction drives you insane,
And I feel that my ears bleed so red,
As I struggle to answer your one question: why?

The Lost GenerationIs this existence of time worth my life?
To struggle through each day's heartache,
With all this stress and strife?
Nobody can answer this fundamental question,
How can we save the lost generation?

Is there meaning of conscious left for me?
To hurtle through every night's sickness,
Without any faith to be free?
Nobody will deny this radical emotion,
Where can we find the lost generation?

Is that suffocation of will ready to die?
To tussle through early morning's hunger,
Without the courage to cry?
Nobody shall crave this political flirtation,
Why can't we rescue the lost generation?

Apocalpyse ChildStanding alone amongst ruins of rubble,
Waits a little angel with eyes expressing fear.
She wears a dress of shining so light and clear,
And in her palm she holds her teddy so tight,
Whilst scarlet skies turn black to herald trouble.

Flames fly high over her raven crown without care,
Scorching grim ground beneath her feet.
But this is no angel that any army can defeat,
She'll break bullets with breath of a terrified sound,
And she'll tame those who torment with her stare.

Standing alone amongst wreckage of war,
Sings a little angel with hands howling pain.
She walks in boots of mourning so brash and vain,
And in her gaze she wiel

The Solemn VersesI spend my days awake in the darkness,
Where going forward in life is but a guess.
Alone I muse on the memories I regret,
Images that floods me in cruel embarrassment,
But I fear not the experiences I won't forget.

So you think you know everything about me?
You understand what makes me truly tick,
And how you can cause my conscience to click.
You really believe everything you hear and see,
To a point where my death is all you'll hold dear.

I spend my nights dead to the nightmare,
Too cold to the rhythmic heartbeats that care.
Alone I ponder on the possessions I bide,
Items that curses me in flawed attainment,
But I hate not the

Escape From RealitySometimes when I close my eyes,
I dream of a calmer time when I didn't cry.
To slumber alone in those sunshine days,
Where I was at peace: away from the craze,
Yet I fear I'm wondering lost in their urban plague.

Sometimes when I close my eyes,
I escape to a darker place where I can die.
To linger awhile in that luminous night,
Where I can be content: caught in the daze,
Yet I know I'm struggling now in this hopeless phase.

Sometimes when I close my eyes,
I think of a serene dawn while I sigh.
To vacate away in that voidless space,
Where I shall be alive: independent of that maze,
Yet I wake I'm choking air in that distant place

The Angel Who Fell From HeavenThere was an angel of the honest skies,
Who's white wings were struck,
By the lashes of lightning cries.
She fell from above into earthly muck,
To the wistful wonder of two youths of yore.

With her face in distress of her plight,
She took two feathers of fire,
And gouged out her eyes of eternal light.
In the dirt this heavenly being did tire,
Until she was awoken by the prodding of paws.

Two days rolled past her corrupted visage,
As meek mortals tended to her pain,
To the dismay of the denizen's rage.
In tears this being of beauty tried in vain,
To call out for help from her blood brethren.

For a month and a day she did heal,

Black-HeartOh look at her with ivory eyes,
Striking the velvet veil of starless skies.
Is she a draconian demon ready to bring ruin,
Upon those that ripped her life apart,
With every pulsating beat of her black-heart?

Oh look at her with crimson claws,
Maiming the satin skin of monstrous maws.
Is she a bedlam beast desiring to grant devastation,
Upon those who mocked her for a start,
With all the wild begging of her black-heart?

Oh look at her with ebony breath,
Purging the flaxen flesh of devilish death.
Is she a cruel creature who wields her earthly wrath
Upon all who took to hurt with such art,
With the aching echoes of her black-heart?

Innocence of the LostLook at the little girl,
Who wishes to be a beautiful ballerina,
In a dream where she'll twist and twirl.
With happiness in her childish laugh,
And no inkling of the meaning of wrath.

Look at the little boy,
Who wishes to be a courageous commander,
In his fantasy all the demons he'll destroy.
With ignorance in his youthful mind,
And no warning of what future he'll find.

Look at the weary woman,
With a frown on her fragile face,
She's doing the best she can.
All hope in her heart is gone,
But for all her woes she'll carry on.

Look at the moody man,
With a grimace upon his grim grin,
He's tired of his life's plan.
Now he sits

FragileHow could something so fragile,
As the humble heart of a lover's longing,
Be so easily torn in twain?
Was it his desire to deal in danger,
When he first gazed upon your glance?

How could something so fragile,
As the sweet soul of a valentine's virtue,
Be so tragically annulled once again?
In his honour and humility for you he did hunger,
But never did you care or give into chance.

How could something so fragile,
As the flickering fire of a sweetheart's seduction,
Be so pathetically ruined in the rain?
His amorous advances are all but asunder,
With malice you've split his love with your lance.

The SirenShe's a siren of the airwaves,
And I love it when she misbehaves.
Burning air I lust after her elegance,
Breathing in all her melodies lasciviously,
Pursuing her blindly over currents of crimson chance.

But every single time she cries my name,
I don't know if to her it's all just a game.
Weeping tears only for me,
Wailing along the air seductively,
Drowning me softly in glades with gruesome glee.

She's a siren turning me into ash,
Yet her love like tempestuous waves crash.
Sitting down next to me,
Singing down my ear promiscuously,
Killing me gently upon shores of sombre seas.

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Hell's AngelAll I need is an angel from hell,
She's the only beauty who can control my desire,
When she breaks the ice and kisses me with fire.
I've been asleep for so long when I return to life,
The cherubim of heaven will hear my soul yell.

All I need is an angel from hell,
She'll be my fair lady who will purge my regret,
When she calms the thunder with tears she wept.
I've been lost for all time but now I have no strife,
The seraphim of heaven will ring out an immortal bell.

All I need is an angel from hell,
She can do no wrong when all I see is her honesty,
When she slays the wind in those skies of piety.
I've been alone for an eternity

Genesis Of The White DragonBefore morning breaks the mysteries of the moon,
Wakes fiery lungs of a calm dragon clouded in conscience,
Above bright skies of solitude dancing in the heaven of doom.
Arming itself the venerable victim upon acts of violence,
Against the shield and the sword of a mind mauling her soon.

Before silence bursts the shadows of the sun,
Wakes blue sight of a pure dragon purified in patience,
Above night sands of shadow roaming in the purgatory of ruin,
Calling itself the rhetoric royal upon cries of radiance,
Against the fragility and the fractures of a heart howling in fun.

Before explosions shatter the echoes of the earth,
Wakes white

Genesis Of The Black DragonBefore tides from the tears of twisted time,
Came icy breath of a demonic dragon driven so insane,
By the evil of eternity pouring like acid into it's brain.
Naming itself the judge over justice to cleanse celestial crime,
With a corruption that scars purity with wings of pain.

Before sails spread from the shadows of space,
Came crimson eyes of a dark dragon damned to enrage,
By the ill of immortality like dust of it's age.
Heralding itself the angel over anarchy to grant grim grace,
With a loneliness that taints romance with claws of rage.

Before voices vacate from the vortex of the void,
Came black screams of a dire dragon destin

The Merchant Of DeathWho is the merchant of death?
He rides on a steed of stars that never shine,
Whose lungs are a furnace that wields a fiery breath.
Selling wares of war that bear his sinful sign,
And he drinks the blood of innocence like impure wine.

The merchant of death does not forget,
He deals in a suffering of souls that never smile,
Whose minds are a bastion that shields a bold regret.
Valuing laws of life that hide his visage vile,
And he eats the marrow of sincerity with sordid guile.

Fear the merchant of death and his judgement,
He wakes from a silence of sirens that never sing,
Whose voices are a theatre that yields a toxic scent.
Pur

Never SurrenderIt's all unjust. It's all unfair,
Why does anyone give a care?
Whether life is cruel or kind,
I reserve the right to laugh than die,
But I'll never surrender to these tears I cry.

It's all untrue. It's all unbearable,
Why are these thoughts in me so horrible?
Whether death is clairvoyant or blind,
I deserve the dignity to question my time,
But I'll never surrender to these words I rhyme.

Caffeine AddictI adore that addictive aromatic aroma,
Which wakes my senses in a senseless morning,
When my eyes are bound in an eternity of sleeping.
I drink it like the intoxicating ambrosia of angels,
And then I spend the rest of time in a caffeine coma.

I enjoy that enriching essential essence,
Which calms my anger in an anarchic day,
When my mind is lost in a mania of delay.
I thirst for it's poisonous nectar like some necrophiliac,
And then I dream the rest of time in a caffeine conscience.

I love that potently positive poison,
Which lights my mood in a mournful night,
When my soul is dead in a suffering of might.
I desire that drink as b

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The Poet's Quill

by ~NemoX7, Sep 28, 2012, 4:40:19 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

River's ink flows deeply from his writer's quill,
He wields it's worth with signs of sublime skill,
And those magic words materialise under his will.
Where once was a vacant void of white clear light,
Now comes a sorrowful song aching for his sight.

Man's blood drips softly from his writer's pen,
He holds it's honour with odes of ovation often,
And those complex symbols collude in his den.
Where once was a musing mind of black air dark,
Now comes a powerful poem burning for his mark.

Tear's oil runs boldly from his writer's grace,
He bears it's beauty with paeans of perfect pace,
And those platinum verses protrude below his face.
Where once was a glorious gaze of silver blind pearl,
Now comes a tormentful tune longing for his girl.

The Poet's Quillby ~NemoX7

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Wrote this out at random. All of this was off the top of my head. I suppose I was mostly inspired by the word 'quill', that's the main focus point I had when I began writing this out five minutes ago.

Critique by ~LuvThemHungerGames Oct 2, 2012, 3:48:53 PM

Thanks again for the oppertunity to critique your poetry! You should know that before I realized who asked for this critique, I said to myself, "This reminds me of the unique style of NemoX7." And lone behold... it is you! Thats always a positivie thing to see in great writters- the recognition of their style.
First off, I must confess that there is a spelling error. in your first stanza, line three, you have "materialise" instead of materialize. I'm curious to see if you did this one purpose for effect and for the flow of visually pleasing letters, or if it was simply a spelling error. Let me know

I am curious.
(don't get me wrong either, I am known for making spelling errors myself!)
I must again appluad you on your diction! It isn't as flourish-y as your last poem on Harbinger, but in some ways that is a positive. It can make it easier to read without as many chuky words. However, you always seem to keep a smooth flowing poem no matter how many extravagent words you may use.
Your imagery is also once again very powerful. I can visualize the rivers of ink, the dripping blood, the white clear paper that is now marred by the soulful wors of the man's soul.
The romantic touch at the end is a great way to interest women (not saying that all women are into romantic things, nor are all men indifferent of such things either); and the darkness that seems to envolope this poem is also a great use of attention getters.
For writting this out of your random impulse, I believe you did exceptionally well. In fat, I also believe that some of our greatests works comes from the most random of impulses. And it is then, when we go with the impulse, that we make the most memorable of memories. In the words of an aquaintence, "Every experience is a lesson learned. Ever lost moment is a regret earned."-J.R.
Keep on writting your poems, and following your impulses on writting! And may the odds be ever in your favor.
-LuvThemHungerGames

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