The June Frost

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Silence falls from its sleepless slumber The night breeze falls to the dawn Soundless, solemn, sun broken sky Cried her dirges forlorn; Through winding paths White cold wrath burnt frozen blood I long to writhe in your splendid exaltation Let hands slither down your watery embasquement And arouse the sleeping seraph, from certain mortal slumber Wherein its treasures of inception, become a handbook for the dead What doth lie behind the darkness of the closed eye? From where doth the sun draw it's flames? Answers float in circles, questions dissolve in light 1000 years of peace after, 10,000 years of misery Arc of the angels, hewn by the sunlight dawn Divine crescent burning black, shower the heavens and the earths Kindle the flame, Upon deaths and upon births.

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 26, 2025

Like the joining of two mighty seas The star stream of darkness meets The paleness of dawn Shattering the backbone of night From the horizon and across the skies Brilliant flames first red Climb slowly to the white heat, Lucent slendor arcs westward The shadows cast betrays, As if borne by four winds Overtaking, Overtaking, Inexorable The descent of flames, The rise of calm twilight, As the night smothers the day....

Submitted by NecroGod — Apr 26, 2025

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Black painted hearse idles slowly, Procession follows at a morbid pace, The pallbearers steady in their march, Befitting this most sacred ceremony Ornate brass handles clasped By solemn faced black clad men Shining black casket lid Inlaid in crimson silk In there lies your father, son.... A father to a son and a son to a father Now claimed by the coldest hand of death Faintest scent of fresh cut white rose petal Choked by the musty scent of fresh turned earth Funereal they march....... Funereal they march....... Funereal they march....... Funereal they march

Submitted by Immortal — Apr 26, 2025

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Sometimes I feel, long ago life took the last breath from me Life itself, the grand enemy The white bride of wretched death, did guide me through gardens grey The fruit of which, would only fall to rot away Amidst such vast gardens, even the sun itself doth seem so pallid And the once glorious moon, its pallor so unhallowed Seven statues of saddened stance Perhaps the craft of a man still sadder Fallen leaves of the thrice dead oak A morbid portrayal of a once grand majesty What would one tear filled glimpse stand to reveal? The subtle fragrance perhaps? ...of a bloody wretched death! Up on his grey green throne Stained with the horror of a thousand bloodied suicides Sate the Suicide Choir Kneel before the Suicide Choir... Be judged by your suicidal desire...

Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Apr 26, 2025

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