Simmer Fidelis

Always Faithful,
The relationship states,
But they always fight,
They always hate.
Forever together,
Ever-together,
Their relationship lies,
I say as their relationship dies.

The Word is Law,
As mine is mine,
As yours is yours,
And to fail is to slip into the Lion's maw.
What are we,
To go back on our word,
To lie and hate,
To rage against machines,
To Destroy others fates?

Sometimes things are not meant to get along,
But the bells toll,
Ding-Dong,
And the heads roll...
To the sound of music.

They survived,
Separate,
Whole.
Survived,
But lost the will to live,
And died,
Trapped souls still inside,
Without the will to Live.

And In the one,
Who watches all,
This especially,
A Modern Fire,
Burning meat,
That fragile doll,
Cracks under the heat...
Filled by a stronger destiny...
And speaks his words to keep...
Semper invisa,
Semper Fidelis.


ISA

The Performers

She twirls and twirls,
In the sound of love,
Sorrow fleeting on the wind,
She dances merrily.
And to join in the furl,
An Opposite moves,
Sorrowfully with the wind,
Dancing hopefully.

These two opposites,
Dancing,
Must,
Liven the performance in the play,
So they practice, these opposites,
Dancing,
Thrust,
They weaken by the day.

Practice, Practice,
The days go on,
His wrath,
Her joy,
And they end their practice,
Tired and weary,
A groan escapes their lips,
Comforted by the dancing words...
Pleasured by the simple joy.

Their performance nears,
His Sorrow at its peak,
Her Happiness the highest it can be.
They meekly dance upon the stage,
Singing careful, wondrous songs,
And dance, they dance, they dance.

As their performance comes to an end,
As dear, as dear can be, deary,
His Sorrow profound,
The eaters eat,
Her Joy so bold,
The eater eats,
They bow before the praise,
Singing carefully,
One Last song,
As the curtain dances the stage away,
And so they dance, and they dance, and they dance.
Goodnight.

ISA

Conclusions of Sleep

To dream, to dream,
In endless sleep,
Nightmares wading back and forth,
Gluttony waiting to eat,
And Rage my wrath to keep.

My emotions whisper, whisper,
Whipped into a froth,
Confusion of my sanity,
Of the beings that venture,
And hope to guide,
To harmony my mind.

Chaos, Chaos,
Ever-moving,
Ever-free,
My Destiny,
Tortured in my sleep,
Bones that move,
Without my will,
Infernal Soul,
My demons till.

If the lies,
And the dreams,
Cease to hold me tight,
I waver, waver,
Till they waver,
And hate me much.
No longer bold,
No longer proud,
No longer held within a body,
Keeping me held in though.

I wish to be free,
Free from Sleep,
Free to dream and dine,
In Peace.
I wish to be free,
Free from being awake,
To hold myself in the tortures of my psyche,
Beheaded endlessly,
Better than being alive.

"And thus man fell to his whims, and bit into the apples of Eden."-Somewhere in the Bible

ISA

Apathy from Boredom Beach

It falls and flutters,
The rainy day,
And the wind utters,
Its contempt of earthen clay.
Down with the dawn,
And up with what's right,
But the human lifts up his arms,
And lays on them all night,
Long.

***

Active is the day,
He thought,
Driving home the sands of May,
And singing music deep and stout,
As Deep with Wonder,
A Wide Bell's Mouth.
Contempt with what lies yonder,
And resting against life's clout,
He closed his eyes and dreamed again.

***

He woke again,
No feeling in his limbs,
Souls resting from the apocalypse,
And still he rested,
Laid back upon the timber,
Cloth and pitch,
And picked up the match,
And with a flick of his wrist,
It lit.


ISA

White , Wyt, Weiss (August and December's Winter)

Cold and yearning,
The traveler stands,
The Mirror waiting,
As the blizzard rolls on by.
Ever-freezing,
Ever-Fighting,
Blighted whispers wonder wildest whims,
As the lights begin to dim.

We view the tragedies,
He has faced,
With a critical view,
Never concerned for the pain and torment,
That our character faces,
And pass him by,
For the Ever-Freedom,
Of interest catches our eye.

The fate of one such traveler,
Was to be eaten by beasts,
Another caught in a snowdrift,
Another died from lack of heat,
And all we care is ours continue on,
Entertained like the demon's we are,
By the pain of ours.

***

Heartless,
We continue,
Blood as Black as Bone,
The Shadows we are continue watching,
To sate our intellectual thrones.

Ice is bound in Water,
A place The Wind holds a throne,
As our traveler's ancestors,
Walk weary to their homes.
Away from all the worry,
To relax away from fear,
The work Ever-tiring,
Across the Devil Leviathan's bones.

Frozen Hell,
It makes its way from new birth,
A summer tide just beyond,
Worms the weeding grass and roots,
And makes a swamp where life does call it's own,
Among the New growth and year again,
Death does flee from the traveler's own.

***

Brutality to survive,
A need to go away,
That Traveler,
Makes his way from the road of Ice,
To a forest frozen in stone.

Its trees grow tall and rigid,
And shimmers in the sun,
Shines like the newborn babe,
That are the Moon and Sun.
The Pride of this forest,
Are thickets wrapped in sweets,
Food abundance,
A feast for every man's home,
Its all too much,
He cries in tears,
He at last found the land of titans,
Gluttons punished by the men of god's might,
With the Foulest of Weapons,
In a false war of holiness,
The Peace of Death that only the traveler knows.

At last the man has his peace,
The wasteland finally yields,
From Fire to Ice to Grass,
At last,
Something can be redone,
If only he wasn't alone.

"In honor of your world, and the children of men, we claim this world as our own."-Humans

Well...the third poem in a single day...Anyways, since I'm going to be celebrating a special date in a months time, I decided to give you one of the ones I was planning to release, earlier than the specified date. Besides...I'm curious as to what people would think of this anyways, and I wonder if someone will actually figure out the references I'm giving besides the ones to my own earlier poetry, (some of which aren't on this site, but will be soon).

ISA



 

Orange (June-July)

Unique,
But nothing in common,
A leftover of heat,
And a rejection of water,
His story is a lonely one,
But bright in his eyes,
Shining with the sun.
But alone is he,
In the words of love,
(Though not for lack of trying),
As he woos the maidens of Green.

His friends all gave him in,
Nothing fits quite right,
And his only true companions,
The Black and Nightmares of might.
He wishes fondly to fit right in,
But only black sheep take him in,
Their rainbow manes draw him back again.

All in all,
Something fits,
But not quite right,
As humans ignore his feelings,
His desires left and right,
The picture faintly broken,
His eccentricity at quite a height.

"What makes a genius, is it IQ, or something more?"

ISA

Aphorism of Boredom Beach

Finished,
Waiting,
Ever-baiting,
The feelings of the world.
Restless,
Broken,
The need to walk,
To contempt the stolen,
Not to rue my rights.

Walking, Walking,
Heavy footsteps waiting,
To renew with every stride.
I Hear the Broken, Crush-ed Remnants,
Of Shells Long forgotten,
Rinsing along the tide.

Clean Pain,
Hard and Sharp,
Lingers longer as I walk, alone at night.
The Beauty wavers,
As the stolen sand sifts beneath my feet,
Reminding me of the Stars within my reach.
And I hear the sands hold tight,
Dragging me along.

Nothing Here,
Nothing There,
Nothing Everywhere.
No distractions,
No deceptions,
No one to separate wrong and right.

Yes, I tried to hide here,
Yes, I tried to lie here,
Yes, The relaxation got to me,
Yes, I'm made to be busy.
Yes, I wandered and forgot my pain,
Yes, I wandered, and remembered again,
Yes, I forgot in the winds of the past,
Yes, I lost, And I'm here to break the mast,
That guided me towards deceptions.

Now I walk down this lonely road,
Moving forward, forward,
Through the pain,
My pain,
Brought only alone by me.
I never thought of others,
I never thought I'd care,
I became mean and malicious,
And only wanted to gain,
That which had been taken,
Time and Time again,
My movement long forgotten,
The moving sands my only friend,
All along the Boredom Beach.

"What to dream, what to wonder, is only the amalgamations of possibilities, and your brain trying to come up with them."

ISA

The Time of Day

I met a man,
Both dry and cold,
Hiding in a skein of liquor,
Wet and Hot.
He felt no pain,
Upon his heart,
And gave no fold,
At least of his rotting core.

He said his part,
With a face of death,
Nothing moved around his pit,
Save for Cockroaches,
And Demons from the pit,
And still he gave no words foul,
Simply looked at me,
As we stood and bowed,
Eager to escape the bonds and bowels,
Of the very pit of hell.

We stand beside each other,
Death in his soul,
And Murder in mine,
The Killer and The Victim,
To exit upon consuming,
The vermin upon we dined.

The music to which we rolled to our feet,
And took up the act of fists,
Played along a Symphony of Pain,
And a Duet of Torture,
As the soldiers,
Convinced in hate,
Anger and Agony,
That they would hold,
And escape their demons of old.

As Midnight struck the minds,
Of these companions two,
These brothers in might and arms,
Noonday brought the sun,
In this hellish place,
A land of Tolerance,
Of Love and Peace,
Friendship means to hold one dear,
A fate they can no longer face.

They died long ago,
Keeping the spirit of Hate,
And the Will to die,
They are forced to be held,
In bodies not theirs.
In a world not their own,
As their spirits hold,
Tortured by itself,
Because they threw away,
Their meaning for love.

***

Did I say,
I would speak of good,
Of Niceness and Rainbows,
Of Weakness and their broods?
Did I say,
I would fill your heart,
Make you love,
Tend to kindness,
From the sky above?

No.
I am not one to dine,
Upon the feastings,
With friend and wine.

No.
I am not one,
A friend,
A companion,
I am nothing thus,
A hateful spawn,
A bloodthirsty cuss.
I am what people fear at night,
Tell their children to fear if they're bright.
I am spiteful,
A great big dog,
A grateful Demon,
A Friendly thug.

I haunt and connive,
I conceive deceit and bore blight,
I would give hate upon this land,
But even that is no longer needed.
So I hang out here,
With hangman's rope,
To kill and slaughter,
Those close to me,
Until one can do so to me,
I wish to die, (though I cannot),
I wish to be free.



ISA


 

I'm a Monster

Wherever did I learn,
That love is equality?
Wherever did I learn,
That knowledge is brokered,
By terrible men,
Held in terrible hands,
And Violated daily?
Wherever did I learn,
That I learned that I learned,
And lost track of who I was?

I am a Monster.
I Feel Nothing but hate,
Revel in pain,
And whisper war in the ears of others.
I am a Monster.
I succumb to my rage,
Worship my aggression,
And Deceive the Deception Of Purity.

And I learned that I lost,
And lost what I learned,
In favor of Living,
Though only day to day.
And I felt the children of joy,
They themselves the greatest things I felt,
Closest to the Love and Happiness,
I deceived myself that I felt in turn,
And sacrificed it all in favor of Cruelty.

I can be Cruel.
I can break bones,
Dislocate joints,
And Sever appendages.
I can be Cruel.
I can mend spirits,
Teach the ignorant,
 And Tolerate the hateful.
I can be Cruel,
And Love the world,
And then I can't be kind,
As in turn I can't be given kindness,
Peaceful Rest for us all,
The Omnicide we're driving for.

Humanity was born to suffer.
We die, We Live, We cry.
Humanity was born to suffer.
We war, we hope, and we love.
"And if there were nothing above-"
There is not. And we will suffer no more.
We will exist no more.

"Law was made for our happiness."
"We don't have proof of anything."
"You cannot let go of your anger."

Law was made so we can withstand our brief existence.
No we don't, If things were meant to be that easy, then there wouldn't be any questions.
If I cannot let go,
And keep it locked inside,
I will explode.
There as to be a way to let it out,
There has to be a way to let it go,
There has to be a way...
No?
Then When I die,
I will know,
What comes from not letting go.

When did I learn I was a Monster?
That happiness,
Love and kindness,
Are cruel to me,
As cold as fallen snow?
When did I learn I was a Monster,
Capable of So much more?
Of the horrors of the thoughts of man,
The Cruelty I won't let go?
When did I learn I was a Monster,
Who's a bomb that will explode?
When did I forget I was a Monster,
Not capable of letting go?


ISA

Pills taken by the Man of Night

A Child's whispers wakens Mom,
And Rises Dad from Sleep,
And they turn to the Child's room and hear the things of kings,
 His moods in his playtime,
 His imaginative Dreams.

But Mom finds her son Crazy,
And takes him to a Doctor thus,
A Doctor of lies,
Deceit and sugared pies,
Candy coats his every word,
Draining the Mother's Coffer,
As he tears down the Child's Dreams.
 
And Dad gives his son advice,
Teaches him all his wrongs and Vice,
To recognize those Evil from an early age,
And to face them with his wrath.

But Both are wrong,
And the child lies in Bed at night,
Worried from his parent's whispers,
Arguments and Foul words exchanged,
The Love and Kindness rearranged,
Teaching him he is insane.

Suppressants and Ulcer's,
Headaches and Pain.
Depressants and Sepulture,
A life inane.
All given by the Church of the Pill,
A life lead by Insanity's Will,
As people are fooled,
And fooled again,
Never seeing the Child's Pain.

A year later,
He is confused,
His parent's continue a growing feud,
Till one day,
The Father Snaps,
And rearranges his Mother's Neck.
They Fight and Fight,
And Fight some more,
And rush the children,
Now one more,
Out the door.

"Call for Help,"
His mother yelled,
Fending Off the Feral Father,
Slammed into the table more,
And second later,
Outside the door,
Frozen as the Child watched,
His Father Carried off by the Blueblood's boars.


His Manipulative Mother,
Got on the Phone,
And Called all who thought they could,
Help with this,
This Travesty,
To break up this family,
From Four to three.

Long later,
A plan made up,
The divorce successful,
Family broke up,
The three held on,
After Father's Death,
Only one effected best.

The boy was loved,
The boy did care,
Stricken greatly,
But showed no wear,
Showed no tear,
Torn asunder was his soul,
And invited in,
This Devil Poet More.

The tragedy struck,
Time moved on,
But Hatred Held,
In the boy's heart.
For the longest time,
He held his grudge,
God taken his father,
The big fat Fudge.
But that Sadness kept,
Held on through lies,
Held on through years,
Of books and Life,
And Hid itself,
In the recess of the Soul,
To not come speak,
To hold in thrall,

All the while,
The Child Grew,
His Hatred and Anger,
Grew, Grew, Grew,
Till it could be sustained no more,
And he lashed out at his friends,
And more.
All his friends,
Called him 'Wild Man',
His teacher's called him 'Problem Child',
Insults hurled,
Attached to him,
From Harry Potter,
To 'Hey yo, Fat Kid'.

Eventually he learned,
To be nice isn't enough,
"I've had enough of the fluff,
And they think themselves tough,
Lets give them a run for their money,
Show them what's it like,
When I've had enough."

And so he did,
And he fought and he raged.
He bullied, and broke them,
Taught them his Rage,
Told them to Shut up,
Hurt them so bad,
Taught them to be broken,
Like him so he wouldn't be sad,
Or mad.

But it back-fired,
And though they finally left alone,
The kid was expelled,
And his problems got worse,
Sent to a living hell.
Nothing was appreciated,
Nothing was enough,
Too good was offensive,
To be smart was to be dumb,
To be tough was to be broken,
Insulted and besmirched,
To be righteous was to be naïve,
To be religious was to be dirt.

But long ago,
Did he free his misconceptions,
Everyone could be hurt,
And religion was already a burden,
His righteousness held him down,
And though he longed to be a hero,
He became a Villain,
Who teaches his hero and guides him in his plan.
The Villain who loses,
But is heard in the end,
Satisfied upon his death,
Long as he teaches with his last breath.

After three long years of waiting,
He finally left that place,
Enter into 'High' School,
And to finally start the race.
Little did he know,
That he was wrong,
He was sent to one,
Working for the factory of hell,
And gave him trouble,
Gave him hell,
Guff and Gripe,
And Pain and Tripe,
Burning as he was in the fires of his hatred.

But lets look home,
As the Child Did learn,
Eventually,
To Respect the Teacher Man.

A year had passed since the fateful day,
That Father had passed,
And left to pay,
The Child's Wrath was Great with its lust,
And spread itself in the Child's Mind,
As he hurt all around him,
To teach what Darkness finds.
At first he hit his sister,
When she went too far,
Stole his things,
And lied to him,
Hurt his feeling wide and far,
Told him he'd be useless,
Told him he was dumb,
Told him he should be Dead and Blind,
Not just sensitive to sun,
The boy soon realized,
He couldn't see,
As well as those,
Born to be,
And needed Glasses,
But thought nothing of it,
Never been ridiculed for it.

This continued on,
Child exploding now and then,
But always holding back before he could get a hit in.
Sure he held her Upon the wall,
Hurt her now and then,
But he was never first,
To throw the blow,
And held most of it in,
For to kill,
Was wrong,
Worse than sin,
Murder is wrong even when,
Convicts that would kill on whim,
Held captive for a final blow,
Were killed by needle,
Less and Low.

However the worst had yet to come to pass,
And though he was punished for his causing his pain,
His pain in turn, was never held to be punished,
And every time he rose to rage,
He was put in worse pain,
Than could be imagined,
By the mind he bore,
Dreams all Death and Torture,
Down to execution,
Fallow and Refreshed at every death,
To experience all again and again,
Same in time with her mental whims.

Fast-forward through this,
It only got worse and worse,
As he held his anger better and better,
Until he learned to cut it all,
No more love,
No joy,
No freedom at all,
No life like the other kids,
No vacations,
No friends,
No brief field trips,
So he rose to his hate,
In a sinking hold,
Gave anger, hatred,
And Disgust a call.

And as he rose,
Though some say fell,
 Enlightened by his pain,
He No longer gave a care at all.
His Heroics died,
His creativity lost its color,
His writing grew better,
But lost its imagination,
And he turned to hate them all.
His Mother,
His Father,
Hell his Sisters too,
Did I tell you that they grew to two,
And Twice the pain throughout his years,
Short and Long,
With Time's Odd gears,
So much was his emotion,
That it brought with it the rain,
For long and long and long,
'Amen',
Till he learned to love again.

After high school,
And he gained a friend,
Or two,
He discovered fun to be had,
While playing a waiting game,
In a large community,
Who were all fun, creativity and games,
And to think this was all based on a show,
Controversial, And much ago,
As soon as he read the first Madman's Page,
The Diary that seemed to play,
So vividly and prettily too,
He was hooked he said,
I have to do this too.

Over all this time,
Over this time at all,
Far long upon a demon's paw,
He found a Solace,
He found a Clue,
He found how to be happy too,
And though his pain persists today,
Far fewer than before though I say,
He finally found a useful tool,
On how to be happy,
A happy fool.


"In Soviet Mother Russia, Poetry Reads You."


Seriously? I couldn't come up with a better quote for this? Ah, well...If I find something later, I'll just edit it in.

ISA




 

Feedback of a Man of Day

A shadow races sound on the field of light,
And whispers golden wonder in the ear of enlightenment
As a black and silver serpent sends his venom towards the sun.

The war of ruin fields the day to create anew,
A wondrous world,
And send the peak of death,
Throughout Consciousness,
Throughout Consciousness.

Logic runs while Chaos Reigns,
Illogic holds a counter,
As those deprived of sleep,
Witness a new dream of endless proportion,
Immense and Immaculate,
And as they turn back from their nightmares,
They witness nothing,
Forgetting the happenings of the world.

The stark contrast,
To Peace and Tolerance,
From Bright Unwavering and Insane Hate,
I find burdens my soul,
And I wish to hide from Day,
As Day does Hide from me,
Under the feedback of Storms.



"I don't feel like a quote today..."-Me, Myself, and I.
"Logic dictates that I am Illogical. Thus, logically, because I am illogical, I don't need logic"-Psycho the Psychopath

...See if you can figure it out. Its all there, but you have to look, as I refuse to point-blank point anything out. It's so much fun to be cryptic.

ISA