evil – Mandibelle16

#OctPoWriMo Day 3: Poem — Free Verse — “Beauty and Chaos Collide” #amwritingpoetry

For OctPoWriMo Day 3, the prompt is beauty/chaos/feelings with the option of writing from an art journal. Form is free verse.

Credit: J.J. Shev via Unsplash.

There’s beauty in chaos, beauty in life,

It shines glorious, shocks, and bites.

There’s pain and there’s sorrow, as if it’s easy to give in;

As if it’s easy to quiet one’s mind — chaos erupts, spills over.

I can’t solve your riddles, jagged secrets, and infinite lies.

In’s and out’s, twisted games lacking delight,

I remind you: I was created to be myself.

That hiding within pliant peacefulness emits a crowd of truthful words discouraged —

Unheard against your wailing in the night, snickers of greed.

More truth, no falsehood, more truth, no games — rotten fruit overripe — you break all the rules;

You climb fences, build pathways leading astray — lie the day away.

If you want to live, you’ve got to surpass mere survival,

The chaos of idols, giants of liars, dabblers of the occult;

Leave it all behind let the wretched flee — forget all misery.

Survive, and swim, survive and swim,

Forget ruthless spirits, criss-crossed spiteful perception,

Forget and let live, no more nightmares, dystopian rule.

I was ne’er a tantruming princess living in fear,

You created that, created a woman, damaged her spirit, brought forth a broken girl.

And her words simple or complex are worth a thousand of your lies;

Truth existed before falsehood, truth the elder wins.

So, go leave, respire night’s shroud of malevolence elsewhere — expire somewhere else;

Your way is a ditch, Christ’s way is salvation.

His way is my home, my way home;

Now, fly away darkness, return to your lives amiss,

Liberty waits in the skies, in the serenity of day,

Wings shield me, hate disperses, and sickness fades.

Poem: Free Verse — “Light Will Win the Day” #amwritingpoetry

Credit: Ahmed Hasan via Unsplash.

You can touch a drop of water,

Or cut a piece of string.

You can move in all directions and try to make life sing;

And all those tiny movements transform you; they’re minute but can’t be bought.

They’re the realization that you’re not grown-up,

And that you’re not a tiny child, not elderly or a tot,

You’re lost wandering why the world you grew up in is for naught;

And if your loved ones saw you,

They’d forever be shocked, that you’d cry and touch their faces —

Hug them hard because even what was imperfect was perfectly flawed.

And though you love them all to bits,

Life may never be the same, though your friends and loved ones are stolen and forgot.

Dark spirits are temporary, as long as that maybe —

And while you practice tiny movements, and fight against the unjust,

God is the only answer — He’ll crush evil in His time.

And though you’re but a lamb bleeting;

Heaven is your family, your garden, your stream with rolling cascades.

Dim moments aren’t forever, and God himself fights near;

For the lamb on high has won the day, and every moment you suffer, times ten will evil cry,

So, you’ll sing the same songs, bleet as a lamb;

But as a match revealing a dark cavern — light will win the day;

As the soothing sound of keys typing,

Or, a paint brush blotting paint, there’s hope within the black.

Though you sin, forgiveness is ever flowing — all wicked foes return to less than dust.

Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Free Verse – “Fallen Angel” #poetry #MLMM #amwritingo

Thanks to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Sunday Writing.

Credit: MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

Sea Angel, transparent wings transport,

With lights of butterscotch dawn.

Your pistils and stamen,

Tangy bright, a heated encounter of self;

A falsehood perverted.

Yet, your wispy grace flutters,

Luminescence lures with —

A cobra’s venom.

Such a strange angel,

No whispered warnings.

Your effervescent petals enchant–

In the dark.

Floral and fluorescent,

A perilous Lilly,

Not one of hope on a casket,

A Lily of spite and survival engrained.

For you are ancient —

As creations dawn and Eden’s loss.

In the depths you’ve continued,

The world changes but you know little of it.

Only of your pincer teeth,

Stings of sunflower razors.

Taking your prey into pitch.

Where you’re the only light,

The only flower.

As coldness numbs, their blood turns blue,

You steal a soul, angel of despair.

You’re the harbinger of evil;

Unrecognized or understood.

Beauty is your survival, your instinct;

And you’ve not the wit or care to know —

You’re a curse, you’re a witch,

You’re without light’s truthfulness.

You’re a ghost transculent;

Your poison, the end.

With vivacious glory,

Enthralling and cursed.

You lead astray,

Such lambs of the water,

To the depths of misery.

To the finality of nothingness.

Woe to you,

Fallen Angel,

Pandemonium’s first stone.

Day 15 #NaPoWriMo/ Saturday Mix: Poem – Triquin Chain – “She’s A Witch” #amwriting #SaturdayMix #poetry

For Day 15 NaPoWriMo the Prompt is: “writing a poem in which a villain faces an unfortunate situation, and is revealed to be human (but still evil).” I’m combining with Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie ‘s Saturday Mix Prompt on Triquains.

—

Triquain Chain

A string of 2 to 4 Triquains, a space between each triquain.

2 stanzas – 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3

3 stanzas – 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3

4 stanzas – 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3 3, 6, 9, 12, 9, 6, 3

—-

Credit:Lucas Sanky via Unsplash

—-

She’s a witch,

She burns and she twitches.

Fire glows, sparks raise, burn high into morn.

She doesn’t feel, because she’s real; she burns all day.

Clergy stoke fire, she doesn’t expire;

The rabble wish her pain —

She’s a witch.

But not finished her time,

For real spell-casters can’t be murdered.

They drowned her, she floated; they hung her, her neck snapped.

Then, when they untied her, she laughed;

Her neck clicked in place, her spine healed fast.

She’s a witch.

*****

She burns fields.

She’s not kind, far too real.

She misled children, gave everyone pox.

It wasn’t her plan, to be mean and vile –to kill;

But those ‘Holier-Than-Thou’ tortured —

Dismembered her family —

Powerless.

They untouched with dark arts.

And all those woman not real villains,

Masked in their veins wasn’t witchcraft or evil brews.

Perhaps, they were too pretty, too —

Wealthy; had much power.

Then, she flipped.

***

She’s truly —

A witch; they made her one.

They buried her alive, let her sink,

Chocking in the putrid river with their repulsive waste.

She’s seen the flesh on innocents burn crisp;

The crackle of their hair.

Tied as she,

On a pier, with hellfire;

To destroy her vengeance, her wrathful ways.

She’s evil, sins with peasants, priests, their hateful hearts.

Cursing their Lords, besieging her home;

Survives fire, lives to smite,

Twisted witch.

****

——–

PhotoChallenge/ Sunday Writing Prompt: A Fairy Tale with a Bad Ending: Maleficent #amwriting #fiction #photochallenge

Thanks to NEKNEERAJ of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s photochallenge. I’m combining prompts with The Sunday Writing Prompt of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie and using the title prompt tale: A Fairytale with a Very Bad End.

Credit: Jeff Simpson

Maleficent stared from her dim dungeon-like castle eyeing King Stefan’s daughter, Aurora, playing in a wide open field.

She whispered to Crow, “They’re supposed to be watching her those three dim-witted fairies. When I was a good fairy, I watched my charges closely. How foolish they are, I could end her life now.”

Crow cawed, “She’s but ten years old and it isn’t her fault Stefan is her father. She doesn’t know what he did to you to become king.”

“Quiet, Crow. I’m thinking.”

“You think a great deal but never do much. Aurora knows what her fate is, those ignorant fairies told her. Now, whenever she can, she escapes to this field to play. She has no care for danger or death. Sometimes she sits and stares into the sky crying.”

“Why should I be merciful to her because she knows she will prick her finger and die in six-years? I owe her nothing. She is a means to an end.”

Crow cocked his head. “She is not responsible for her father’s crimes anymore than your parents were responsible for leaving you alone to rule the Marsh; your parents did not intend to die. Aurora, does not want to die either. Why not raise her yourself and find a way to undo the curse? Simply losing her will hurt Stefan deeply as the queen can’t have more children.”

Maleficent pinched the bridge of her nose. “I cannot undo such a powerful curse and I will not do Stefan any favours despite Aurora’s innocence. He raped me Crow, I was helpless. He cut off my wings. I will not save the girl.”

“You may change your mind yet. You have watched her for years and have become fond of her. You hate that she’s putting herself in peril now.”

“Fond?”

“Yes, you have this soft smile on your face when you watch Aurora. You never smile that way except with her.”

Maleficent’s voice went cold. “In that case . . . ” she pointed her wand at the blond beauty. Heart beating loudly in her ears, she struck the small girl down. Aurora death was instant and a single tear slipped down the dark fairy’s cheek.

“Now, you see, Crow? I have ended her life. I’m not attached to her and we will bury Aurora’s body in the Marshes. Aurora’s early death will bring Stefan greater pain. He will live his life not knowing what happened to his daughter. His queen will die in grief.”

Tears dropped as diamonds from Crows’ coal-black eyes and wouldn’t stop. “I do not think Stefan is the most evil being in the kingdom. You are the person most full of evil. Just as he lost his heart to become king and hurt you, you have ended the life of an innocent child and are no better.”

“I meant for you to truly act as Aurora’s Godmother — not to kill her. You should’ve been the one to guard and protect her; I thought you loved her.”

“Love is as treacherous as running off alone to a field . . .”

Crow’s caw was forlorn. “Aurora could’ve had a new beginning with us, but I cannot serve a fairy whose heart has become black with revenge, with blood on her hands from an innocent’s death. How far you have fallen, Maleficent.”

“Stefan is not responsible for your evil deeds; you are responsible for your own crimes.”

Crow bowed once and flew away forever. Maleficent was left alone and inside her chest her heart’s ache was perpetual.

#OctPoWriMo Day 23/TaleWeavers: Poem – Free Verse – “Curses and Betrayels” #amwriting #poetry #taleweavers

For OctPoWriMo Day 23 the Prompt is on the Greek Mythology tale of Iris the Godess or Rainbows and Arke her twin sister and what is the message of their tale. I’m combining this with the Tale Weavers prompt making sense of nonsense, using the nonsensical word cloppsright from Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.

—

——-

Cloppsright, a definition,

A stereo type;

What they swear.

Not the lively,

Iris’s fresh brilliance,

Providing hope,

After the storm.

I’m but a shape,

The form an arch;

One fallen,

A woman of sin.

Cloppsright, the curse.

Most use the ‘F’ word these days,

But it used to describe,

Their thoughts,

On a goddesses betrayal.

Chapped lips snarling, learing,

At my black corsettes, ruby red gowns,

Too showy, such a whore,

A little cloppsright.

Nothing compared to her radiance,

Iris the light.

The brightness of painting pigments.

A sky of azure vivacity,

She’s utter joy.

I’m the darkness,

That seeps inbetween good,

Twisting its form.

The feeling in a room,

Causing you to shiver,

Your hair to rise on end,

When the house is quiet,

When floorboards creak,

My thoughts of loathing,

Of disgust, wreck the night.

For I am the tempestuous storm,

And she is the finale,

The glory of a promise made and kept.

Betrayal is a poison,

And she is but an Iris,

A beaming delight, a flower.

But I’m more than an Arke,

Shaping lights reflection.

Let her compose and carry,

Her own color.

I’ve torn myself from the sky,

The darker twin.

The seductive cloppsright so fallen,

Nature’s disgrace;

Yet still there is power,

In the silence,

Of grim nights,

Before your fears become real;

My messages bring death,

Swear and say cloppsright,

Curse me in your native tongue.

For Iris she withers and Arke rises,

Up into the angry heavens.

——

#OctPoWriMo – Day 2 – Poem: Free Verse – “Of Terror & The Dying” #amwriting #poetry #yegstrong #vegasshooting

Welcome to OctPoWrMo Day 2 . I’ll be going back to Day 1. But today’s prompt was writing what we must. And this is what resulted, sorry to begin with the topic isn’t light.

It’s inspired by two events the Las Vegas Shooting and terrorist events in Alberta, Canada.

——–

——–
I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you wouldn’t shoot.

I wish you didn’t feel the need,

To take others with you to the grave.

I wish you knew your pain,

Was a problem that could’ve been helped,

If wish you had only asked.

I wish you weren’t indoctrinated

That morals halted your,

Urge to kill and wound hundreds.

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you wouldn’t shoot,

I wish that you’d stopped yourself.

Thought of the consequences,

I wish you’d had empathy.

Realized everyone feels pain as you did,

That all people have things in their life,

That wound and maim them,

Throughout life’s winding road;

We all feel internal pain, brokenness sometimes.

But others chose better coping methods,

Not to go about their wicked way,

Taking global humanity to their knees.

*****
I wish you didn’t kill,

I wish you didn’t shoot.

I wish you didn’t choose chaos,

That you chose understanding —

Not violence.

I wish you knew all the family’s hurting,

How your pain became more than your victims,

More than the wounded and the dead.

I wish you knew how you maimed everyone —

On scene, through the online world.

How guns are so destructive,

When they’re attained so easily to murder.

That blood flows, when gunshot wounds,

Cause suffering.

That men and women are lying dead,

Having lost their lives too early.

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you wouldn’t shoot,

Because other people will emulate you.

They will think your selfish choice,

Is the right path for them too.

I hate that you had to take,

So many others with you.

That you didn’t comprehend,

The sanctity of life.

It’s ever so valuable, beyond twisted beliefs,

Your inner turmoil — whatever it was,

More than the false reasons,

You believed gave your actions merit.

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you would shoot,

I wish a place of celebration,

A place of respite and vacation,

Did not become a mass murdering location;

But it did, all because of you.

I hate that you can’t hear,

The moans of the people you hurt.

That you can’t look them in the eye,

And see the their tears, their horror.

I hate that you don’t see,

Children who’ve lost parents.

I hate that you did not realize,

Your actions harmed and injured many.

It makes me sick that you were okay,

With this awful outcome,

Of being a grim reaper.

I hate that you probably,

Wouldn’t have cared,

Even if your cowardly death,

Hadn’t worked.

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you wouldn’t shoot.

That the pandemonium and suffering,

Your victims felt and discovered,

Is something you didn’t experience on earth.

I’m so angry that men like you,

Choose weapons too available, to harm others.

I’m so angry you ruined so many lives,

I’m so angry you made a place,

That once felt safe,

Into a terrifying war zone.

I’m so angry that the country,

You caused your mayhem in,

Has far too many gun related deaths.

And I don’t know how to stop men like you,

How a right to bear arms,

Oversteps someone else’s right to live,

I can’t comprehend;

But I heard the screams, the peppering of bullets,

And it makes me want to cry.

So upset you were okay with,

The consequences of a heartless choice.

That your inner demons,

Got the best of you,

In such a malevolent way.

*****
I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you wouldn’t stab.

I watched a terrorist ram a policemen’s car,

Saw the policeman soar into the air,

But he hadn’t any wings,

For he was merely human.

I watched you stab him too many times,

And he was only doing his job.

While another mad man,

Ran down others.

Tried to hurt them too.

And I wish you wouldn’t slice,

Let blood trickle and flow.

I wish you wouldn’t use a truck,

As a weapon to injure, cause pain.

But I cannot see into your mind,

And I don’t know that anyone,

Could have changed all your minds.

All I know is you all didn’t listen,

To the conscience inside your head.

All I know is your method of damage,

Was a choice to do evil.

*****

I wish you wouldn’t kill,

I wish you wouldn’t shoot,

That you’d dealt with your own turmoil,

In a vastly improved method.

I know that many people think,

All people are generally good.

But few realize being a good is a choice;

We’re not made that way,

We learn to be good people.

And too many choose to twist what’s good.

And commit acts that are selfish and evil.

To many acts of terror,

By lone men or terrorists.

Too many opportunities,

With access to weapons,

Knives and guns,

Defend your family as you must,

But make it harder,

So random men can’t do their evil,

Wound hundreds with bullets,

In blood drenched mass murder.

I wish you wouldn’t choose to kill,

So we don’t hear the screams, the suffering, the dying,

So the images don’t haunt us.

Because it’s sickening that ever day people,

Who appear like me you and me,

Have a monster residing within them,

Have made the choice to murder.

*****
I wish they wouldn’t kill,

I wish they wouldn’t shoot,

But I can’t see what was inside their minds.

Because they looked like everyone else,

Not a demon, a Lord Voldemort, or a Freddy Kruger.

All I can send is my prayers to the broken,

Those mourning and terrified.

All I know is that some people choose,

To be good people,

And I have faith in God and them.

All I know is that in the end,

God will give every person justice,

Justice that is eternal and right.

And that someday on earth,

We must learn to forgive,

Not to become monsters,

So we don’t commit terrifying evil too.

*****

——

Sunday Photo Fiction: The Horsemen’s Head #flashfiction #amwriting #SleepyHollow

Thanks to Alastair Forbes for hosting SPF.

——–

——–

Ichabode Crane was observing the dim forest when he noticed the bald head buried beneath the tree of death. Each morning it was Ichabode’s job to discover what the headless horseman had left behind from his nights decapitating helpless citizens.

Today he found two headless corpses half-buried. He shivered thinking of the literal trail of blood that often followed the horseman.

Though Ichabod was a medical doctor, he’d never found any heads attached to the bodies the horseman discarded. His heart pounded and he began to sweat as he clawed the head from the ground with his fingers.

The hair felt dirty and greasy. The waxen skin was warm and he was sure the head had soulless eyes beneath its lids. While he stared, Ichabod’s hands shook. The blood running from the head’s eyes, suddenly, caught his attention as they began to open of their own accord.

Coal eyes with pupils as red as poppies, alerted Ichabod this head belonged to the horseman. Ichabod drank from his trusty flask, whiskey and opium to numb him.

But perhaps he drank too much. When he awoke, the head lay on his lap and Ichabod rested against the horrid tree. The moon exposed him and his opium veil faded. He felt too alert. The head’s mouth fell open revealing carnivorous teeth.

Soon, the thundering footsteps of the black horse and the armed body of the headless horseman could be heard. He screeched as the horseman took one slice at his neck, but then, Ichabod offered the horseman the head.

The horseman dropped his sword and went to his knees on the ground. He took the head in his gnarled hands and placed it on his neck. The horseman growled, a sound of rage in a demonic tongue.

He gazed at Ichabod, “Run, go now. I will spare you for returning my head. Everyone else in Sleepy Hollow will join me in death.”

Ichabod had never considered himself a coward but he ran anyways, never peering behind him as screams filled the night.

Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Free Verse – “Lady Hawk” #amwriting #poetry

Thanks to Scribblers Dip of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s Sunday Prompt. P.S, for the purposes of this poem a falcon has cleverly transformed herself into a hawk.

———

Credit: Scribblers Dip – Collage, Quote – Oscar Wilde

———

Lady hawk,

Brilliant feathers flocked.

Climbing unfathomable —

Heights.

Swoops down low,

Prey cannot run.

Has no safe place.

Cannot see —

In pitch blackness,

Stars guiding,

Ignoring for —

Threats from above;

Cause anxiety,

To triple.

The solace —

Of illusions,

Never enough.

Lady hawk,

And her sins;

Indelible,

Cannot be erased.

We yearn for,

We think we’ve forgotten,

Fondness for crimes.

Evil inside us,

A lure;

Turning Rights,

To bitter Wrongs.

Though we think,

All people —

Have innate goodness;

Rather, I say —

Innately we —

Forever choose,

Crimes,

‘Neath delicious —

Sinful starry nights.

It’s only those,

Who pray

For alteration,

We choose to do,

Well for others —

Where goodness,

Can be found.

Not only self-serving,

Serving others,

Above all else,

Not afraid,

To aid,

Though we’ve,

Forever been,

Put out,

Into the night,

Mice running,

From Lady Hawk,

For goodnesses’ —

Freely done.

——–

Sunday Writing Prompt: Poem – Quadrille – “Ambrosia for Fools” #amwriting #poetry

Thanks to Scribblersdip of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting last Sunday’s writing prompt!

——-

Credit: ScribblesDip – MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

———

Are lies beautiful?

White-lies that trill?

Masking darkness,

Tumbling fights.

I know not your demons,

Only mine.

Lies, beautiful?

Is the truth blind?

People desire lies,

Crave —

Drops of poison.

Evil makes life,

Sickly ripe.

Are people capable,

Of goodness, faith?

He chuckled,

Souless eyes void.

Offering opium,

Ambrosia for fools.

——–

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