Dark Lord

Dark lord unsheathing sword from scabbard.

There was a lord; a man of kindness, of light
After years of service had put down his blade
Known far and wide for his fairness and insight

Though tales of his past battles are lore still oft’ spun
He now lives life with wife and sons, a man genteel
His locks are fair, nearly white though he is still young

Of course there are the ones in life who will harbor ill
The major flaw in things seemingly perfect
A hate grows unchecked for this lord’s blood to spill

Clothed in acts of friendship a darkness they bring
Vile thought became vile deeds slowly put in motion
The first step – smooth as silk, the loss of a ring

Little thought is given, such things occur in a life
Until said ring implicates him in the murders
Of his most precious, his own sons and wife

Still in control, he senses the hand of evil’s spark
As those who try to champion him fall one by one
Some say his clothing was the first to turn dark

Determined on his own, to prove his innocence
He becomes a fugitive slowly alienating all
No longer wanting others death in his defense

Though he never draws on those who doesn’t draw first
The kills mount in the search to clear his name
His quest slowly becoming a mission of blood thirst

As a crimson heat of hate spawns from rancor’s seed
They say the light in his eyes were next to grow dark
For black are his thoughts, oh black they are indeed

The path to truth has taken him past a point that can be undone
And the causes of such, now have great fear of their dark creation
As those of schadenfreude dwindle down to the first – now last one

His life, once a heaven most people only dream about,
Was one he had never given much of a second thought
But his dark soul exists in hell now, of this he has no doubt

Somewhere in the distance a church sounds a midnight chime
A hope of forgiveness flares briefly but is quickly stamped out
Former allies now foes come face to face for the last time

The reasons for the start of this are lost as final justice come due
Down to the dark strands that were once his locks so fair
The once lord of light’s heart has turned to one of the darkest hue

It’s the price for his sins, to be paid of their own accord
The final flame of pure hate, extinguishes the last light of his soul
”One way or another this ends” he snarls drawing first his sword

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dVerse Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar – Writing Characters

Into Azure

From the cerulean
Gold falls
And ocher vales
Crimson plummets
In violet frenzy
Solemnly descending
To the depths
The nadir

Of night’s indigo

Reaching out
The vast emptiness
Bitter reminder
Of what was

Once again
Finding it fitting
My heart
As deeply plunged
Into azure

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dVerse Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar – Impressionistic Writing

This Room

I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair

Tonight Will Be Fine – Leonard Cohen

This room has seen many a thing
All the joy, the pain that a life can bring
The secrets invisibly etched into each wall
That only a select few can claim to recall
And there’s not too many of them left at all
As over time some secrets have come to air
And for each secret in which I took delight
Others I wait hoping they come to light
But that’s on another’s shoulders to bear
I choose the rooms that I live in with care

Decorating has been tried, a different vision
Very few things in this world I find lacking derision
Fresh paint never gave this room much cheer
Too much has simply happened I fear
I don’t pretend laughter is ever found here
Some have asked why, but most no longer dare
To look, you wouldn’t think there’d be much to say
And to be honest, I kind of like it that way
Dimly lit, my room lacks any savior faire
The windows are small and the walls almost bare

My sprees were tidal like the moon and the waves
I farm emotions just enough to seek what I crave
Only my bloody goals to orient
As every life I’ve touched – went
Once their value to me was spent
This life was one always destined for the chair
As my life like these wall crumble within
I know there’s a deep circle for my sin
It’s the bed I’ve made, and it’s too late to care
There’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer

Long ago your malaise took root in my soul
But I never even tried to keep it in control
The news inform folks of my lesser glory
But most things I’ve done are so gory
That only you know the complete story
My hide’s destined only for you to wear
Here in this room I sit each day awaiting fate
Knowing even then hate won’t alleviate
Pray for heaven? We know I’m not going there
I listen all night for your step on the stair

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dVerse Poet Pub | Meeting the Bar

November 18, 1978

April is National Poetry Month. Today is a not so gentle reminder of why we should not forget out past. So I won’t end with “Enjoy!” as I usually do. This time I’ll say “Remember!”

November 18, 1978

Morning dawns anew upon a utopia time
A place filled with fluffy white cloud skies
No poverty or hunger or the slightest crime
Where no one ever hurts and no one ever cries

A special place where all can belong
Where God is followed and faith so strong

Built on the words of a charming teacher
Very few noticed beneath the sheen
Of the dashing, dark-haired preacher
Was the susurrus of something mean

A ‘Peoples Temple’ built for equality, tranquility
Headed by a monster of no comparability

But just as all seems right in the dawn
Utopia shatters and blood falls like rain
Sweet cyanide sips are over 900 gone
Bodies die writhing and screaming in pain

In the end the ugly truth is passed
among all the dead bodies amassed

Many simply drank if their faith was true
Or were met with murderous fusillade
But why did the babies have to die to
In the service of this monster’s façade?

Some survived to find their own truth
Forever scarred by the ashes of youth

All they wanted was an earthly paradise
With races coexisting side by side
Who could have ever known the price
Would be one of genocide

Nearly forgotten shadows of a madman’s fate
Jonestown, November 18, 1978

Jonestown massacre 1978
[Bodies at the Jonestown compound under a sign that reads:
‘Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it’]

In case some forgot, never heard of, or were not old enough to know about, the Rev. Jim Jones and the horror of what happened in Jonestown, Guyana, November of 1978, don’t worry; man definitely finds a way of letting bad history repeat. David Koresh and the Branch Davidian massacre in Waco, Texas, was twenty years ago in 1993. If you don’t know/remember either event, tick…tick…tick….
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar: The Unfathomable