Dusk

Through the winding forest where the bodies of Disillusioned peasants lay in the catacombs, Gothic oakwood may once again take its real form And grasp for Your soul, As the night falls, Green turns to the colour which brings forth the eternal rest, Reach forth and separate the mystical branch As the moon is surpassed by a blanket of unholy cloud And echoed shrieks, Ambience of the dark evolves from beyond the divine nightshade, Faraway from the forest, The souls of the dead travel beneath the earths soil to arrive At the tree of life and death, Now a disoriented monk banished from the order finds solace Within the cold surroundings of the untouched ground, The secrets are revealed to him, It is who commands the living, The dead - The dead.

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 26, 2025

You, wander through the fields, Your, sorrow as I advocate the depression, Stumble into the hardened earth And become engulfed by the seeds of plague, The sky submits to the colour purple, Descending from above, The holy ghost, does their saviour seem holy? A black spectre is sent downwards instead, Lowered downwards into damned soil, Peasants mourn their own plagued death, The shephard of the unwanted valley, Turning black and purple, His spirit bows down, Dark waters streaming down a precipice, Among the sheep mists arises slowly, The land is burned by the beggars, Ornans-a place of fear and disease, Burial-no requiem shall take place, Eclipse of the sky as impurity casts, No requie, no return, Peasants mourn their own plagued death

Submitted by Dahmers Fridge — Apr 26, 2025

All is calm, all is quiescent-the colour magenta, The afternoon breeze finds its way to my soul, AsI sit there and enhance the tranquillity, The solace of sensory magic, Irreplaceable nirvana, My body feels the effect of blood-letting, The winds brought in from the south coast replace Such drainful inhabitance, My eyelids voluntarily close as the blue horizon line takes shape, Stretching out far beyond the sun, The sound of the blue, an eternity of complete aquiescence, I cannot move, nor do I need to, for it is enough to lie on the cliff And become entrapped in a world of escapism and peace, Cerulean transience of all my imagined shores, A bird of the ocean perches before me And lets out a shriek which transcends me back, Back to where I write, And the calm breeze continues to enter my peripherial

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 26, 2025