Author Topic: Kurashu's Poetry  (Read 843 times)

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kurashu

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Kurashu's Poetry
« on: May 26, 2011, 12:45:25 AM »
I don't usually share my writings with many people I associate with, it comes off as pretentious to me, "Hey! Hey! Look at what I did!" But since Tribble and Solo have decided to share their fruits without shame or pretense, I feel like I can as well. Thank you both.

These are taken from my profile at DarkPoetry so there's more over there if you want to check it out. I don't recommend the site too highly anymore as most people who have joined over the last few years seem to faux-goths and emo-kids and collectively the site lacks a sense of humor. (Maybe I come off that way myself.) I'd take potshots but the community speaks for itself.


Little boy with a tail (8/18/07)
[spoiler]Little boy with a tail
 Jumping gleefully in the yard
 Your eyes as bright as day
 And wide as the clouds
 But your soul is black as night
 And your secrets as many as the stars (if not more)

 I saw your bloody knife
 You hid it well with in my chest
 But it was found, not by me however
 For I was already dead
 Buried in a casket in your sandbox
 Who else do I sleep with tonight,
 Little boy with a tail?
[/spoiler]

Death in the Pews; Corpses in the Church (9/25/07)
[spoiler]There's death in the pews today
 As the preacher tells the message.
 Resurrection Sunday in the House of the Lord
 When the bodies will dance in the rows again
 While the offering trays are passed back and forth.
 The Eucharist sits untouched in the Father's hands.

 We are too sullied to stand before the Lord of Lords.
 Prostrate to the floor is not low enough to grovel.

 Far too dirty to disgrace these sacred fields,
 Elysia is destroyed in flood and fire
 Before our sinfilled eyes.

 As we merge into Perdition,
 I can not imagine why this came to pass.


 There are corpses in the church today,
 As the preacher rots at the altar.
 The Holy Blood spilled across the carpet
 And crumbs of a Body once Sacred
 Only feed the roaches from the walls now.

 We are too fetid to exist in the presence of the Divine.
 Putrid flesh in the ground is much too merciful.

 This bitter end is not what I pictured.
 The organ screams to life...
 But there is no Second Coming this time.

 Was this life a dress rehearsal for eternity
 Or the last performance of our last act?[/spoiler]

Boy of Ash and Cigarettes (9/25/07)
[spoiler]She said my flesh was ash
 And my tongue composed of cigarette butts.
 Breathe like a toxic plume.

 I killed her slowly;
 although, she loved every second.

 Mein schoen Maedchen.
 Until one day when she stopped.
 Her lungs blacker than night.
 The north star lost beyond recognition.

 That night I died inside
 (And fell into the ash tray among my brothers)[/spoiler]

Prison Cloaca (3/1/08)
[spoiler]Yesterday: the first day of death.
 My life felt fallen into this fetid maze
 where bile flows beneath
 the best of demons and worst saints

 Putrid lines drawn of many colors
 but are only tapped of ebon souls --
 just as oil gleams rainbows in day
 the filth shows them in opaque night

 My septic prison:
 a labyrinth, holding hostage the few,
 mocking palatial grandeur
 through grotesque decadence.
 Our sludge minotaur is merely inches underfoot --
 out of reach – but omnipresent in stench, and waiting.

 Perdition and Purgatory hold hands here
 hateful, halfheartedly so,
 is this infinite waiting, wandering

 My corpse is cloacal gatherings
 horrifically composed and piled high
 -– in bulk and stock --
 where only I lie mindful (or so I assure myself)

 Tunnel walls fester and bloom with pus and scabs
 which burst in false flash of light
 and though no prisoner could confuse with second life --
 one often hopes.

 Little life remains trapped in this gaunt frame,
 tangled in my defiled bones,
 though escape from the minotaur
 requires little life.[/spoiler]

ex nihilo nihil fit (4/18/11)
[spoiler]In the beginning, there was nothing.
 From nothing sprung the nothing of darkness.
 From nothing springs nothing; from darkness springs all things.
 Without light there is darkness; without darkness there is nothing.

 After darkness there was light.
 From darkness sprung the allthing of luminosity.
 From luminosity sprung sight; from sight sprung fear.
 Without light there is no fear; without fear, there is no death.

 After light, there was fear, there was hate.
 From sight sprung fear, sprung animosity.
 From animosity sprung sin; from sin sprung death.
 Without light there is no death; without darkness, there is nothing.

 After death is nothing.
 From nothing springs nothing.

 From humanity springs nothing.[/spoiler]

Apollyon (5/5/11)
[spoiler]Deep beneath everything,
 In the broiling hatred,
 Where everything is equally black and equally dead
 Where steam would be a welcome relief,
 That is where we'll make our home.
 We will befriend hate, even as it kills us with treason.

 We will beat ourselves with magma whips,
 Torture one another atop tectonic flows.
 We will break each other in hell.
 And learn what it means to be truly broken.

 In the heat of the Earth's mantle,
 with hammers forged from demon skin and horn,
 wrapped tight around the grip with angel's wings and halos,
 we will forge ourselve anew.
 As one melts a broken sword to form a better in its place.
 We will grow strong.
 We will never be broken again.

 With great dilligence and conviction,
 With motivation beyond any compare,
 With an urge to form a better home,
 we will spread our strength across the world.
 We will destroy the weak, the sedated masses.
 We will encourage the strong, the chosen few.
 We will make the world in our image, a world forged from the ideals of hell and built on the corpse of heaven.

 And in our wake, we will see our hypocrisy and the irony that accompanies.[/spoiler]