The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Thus It Knocked 'Pon My Door
02:55 May 25 2011
Times Read: 535

Someone's words had reached me,

a word I've heard so far away,

a word I've seen a mile away,

a word whose presence hides away;

but no one is listening;

thus it knocked 'pon my door.



Someone's thoughts had reached me,

a thought whose mind had died away,

a thought whose message twas thrown away,

a thought whose vision had lost it's way;

but no one was thinking;

thus it knocked 'pon my door.



Someone's heart had reached me,

a heart whose tears had long since dried,

a heart whose chest still beats alive,

a heart whose love had never stopped trying;

but no one would love it;

thus it knocked 'pon my door.

Tree
18:06 May 21 2011
Times Read: 540

Oh tree,

would I linger under thee.

To bask within your shade,

would leave me feeling free,

to sit, caressing leaves.



Oh tree,

how good it feels to breathe,

where water drips from top my sleeve,

I take my next reprieve.

To feel your bark beneath my touch,

tis more then I believe,

tis more then what my senses gifted me.



Oh tree,

what countless ages have you stood upon the green,

basking in the sunshine air, impervious to breeze.

What knowledge lurches through your roots,

and what you must've seen,

I wonder what your wisdom thinks of me.



Oh tree,

without you, where are we?

Would air still flow for us to breathe?

Would fruit still bear for us to eat?

I contemplate these questions three,

and pray to find no answers bleak.



Oh tree,

there be no entity personifying peace, but thee.

Sincerest gratitude and love there be,

for those dwelling 'pon the green,

who take all life upon their bosom and ween,

with love so keen.



Oh tree,

why are they killing thee?

The Black Square
20:42 May 09 2011
Times Read: 547




An oil painting wilted;

abuse has shaped it's rotted form.

It's been to war

...and for too long;

unrecognizable is the artwork it's suppressed.



Simply dripping,

dripping midnight pitch upon the parquet floor;

oozing and decomposing before the spectators,

awed by a slow, painful rigormortis.



Whatever color showed, has long been stripped.

Whatever joy remained, has long been faded.

Whatever hand had painted, has long gone limp.



There is only a black square, oozing

'pon the parquet floor beneath it.

Exuding noxious odors,

foretelling disasters yet to come.

Happy Mother's Not
00:56 May 09 2011
Times Read: 551

Thank you mother,

you birthed me,

you nursed me,

you fed and clothed me.



You loved me,

when seems, the word had loathed me.

I'd not want that love in vain.



However this is not your day.



Thank you mother,

for your support,

and your optimistic sheen,

it's inspiring

and always has shaped the person whom I am.



But this is not your day.



It belongs to the greeting card companies.



Who've robbed another holiday.



Robbed it of all meaning,

all substance and heart.

Robbed it of it's very soul.



Deformed it,

corrupted it,

chewed it up and spat it,

till it's obscure meanings long forgot;

faded into history, a mother's not



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In 1870 a woman named Julia Ward Howe wanted to end war and bring about world peace. So she purported to write a proclamation. She formed a committee dedicated to Mother's friendship day and to the promotion of friendship and love, inspired by our mothers over conflict and petty war.



Julia died in 1905. Before the holiday was created. However her mantle was taken up by socialist/feminist activist Anne Jarvis who wanted to push the holiday through. She created a committee to create a Mother's friendship day.



Jarvis succeeded. However upon the declaration of Mother's day, it's original meanings of peace and love were hijacked towards something more commercial. Meanings of selling greeting cards and candy, not ending war and helping poor single mothers and starving children around the world.



After realizing that the holiday was hijacked by the capitalists and their free market, people who have no interest in peace or love; Jarvis turned on mother's day, spending the rest of her life trying unsuccessfully to repeal it.



This holiday is an insult to mothers, sisters and daughters. It is a commercial farce that gives lip service to mother's while the system ups their health care and steals their social security.



Where single mother's have to risk their health to barely feed their children.

This holiday is not a celebration of mothers or women, it's a degradation of them.



It is most certainly a mother's not.

Suspense
03:45 May 08 2011
Times Read: 557




I err forsaken,

ever forgotten soul am I.

Collectively unshaken,

I blindly walk the final mile.



Ridiculous is the uncleansed path,

untread for ages past,

spiraling through eden,

fore every turn could be my last.



I follow faithfully the truest moon,

I follow it towards the north,

fore should I stray from my set path,

my life will be cut short.



Path onset with brambles,

heavy willow's warped with shade,

barely legible surroundings

etch the path with potential graves.



Yet there's something else,

that something; unsettling throughout,

sending chills racing round.



The altitude is thin,

the wind I here beyond,

the panic, harking from my chest

to turn back now before the end.



Despite all reason,

I press on,

through pitch brush

and wheezing.



I press on,

until I'm barely breathing.



Into the final gaping light

that could be my last.