2012/06/22

First.

This is the first poem I ever wrote. I was 11 or 12. Check out the lols.


MURDEROUS VISIONS
The wind is cold,
The new moon gives no light.
Inside the eerie stillness takes hold
But the wind wuthers on in the midst of the night.

A murderer lurches around my mind,
Haunting me
And  all mankind.
Terrorizing my soul.
Like a hunter ere springing on his prey,
Ready, waiting
Eyes black as coal.   

I envision the madman crawling in my house,
Crazed by dementia   
Stalking me like
A cat and a mouse
Ready to strike,
With knife in the air,
Sharpened to a glisten.
I feverishly listen
For the tiger;
His claws he will bare.

I shiver as the open curtains tremble in the wind,
Like a tall spectre the depths did send.
The vision will not end.

The blackness, the phantasm
Will encompass my mind
The dread will take hold
Making me blind
Gripping my heart with fingers so cold.
Paranoia, Insanity, Fear combined
Into a vortex of derangement
Which puts all
Rhyme and Reason
Into estrangement

The look of venom fills me with pain
It's shot a trice ere he strikes where I lay
I asphyxiate
And see shades of gray
As I feel the sharpness of a frigid knife
Closing in on my tender life.
The point of the dagger pierces my vein.
Warm blood drips onto the floor
Cold and white--
Mild and crimson
In the night.

In fear I scream,
The sweat on my brow cold
At that moment I feel very old.
With my eyes shut I can see the gleam
Of the blade which will not leave.
It strangles my soul;
I cannot breathe.

Opening my eyes,
There's nothing to see or hear;
An uncanny coldness
Has settled in on the sphere;
Deluding the mind
My eyes play tricks
I fear I am on the bank of the Styx.

Mists encircled everything in pallid whiteness
Dark as the new moon
Cold and lightless

I will never see Aurora's bright face
Apollo's warm rays will be lost in cold space
As I was lost in this mad dream. 
I would not be as I would seem
The Triple Hecate would haunt me on;
Mors would have me in not long,
Cerberus was waiting.

Lightning cracked
Thunder growled
And day would never come.

2 comments:

  1. Um, when I was that age, I am pretty sure I was writing poems about snowmen and about how secrets are scary. And I probably still can't write anything with big words like these. haha so good job.

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    Replies
    1. I don't remember specifically, but it seems likely that a thesaurus did a lot of the work here. I used those a lot back then.

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