Picture worth a thousand words

The task is quite simple but has alot of depth to it.

You have to write only about this picture, anything in it, anything around it, anything you may know about the origin of this picture. You can come up with your own little stories as long as it goes along with what is visible. If I feel you deviated to far from what is actually in the picture, you will be disqualified. Winner get's the prize of having the best poetic eye. Possibly something else if I can think of something. I won't participate since I've already had alot of experience with writing about this picture and know where it came from. Good luck and I hope to see some great poems. I'll pick the one I think is the best.


http://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa91/mentaly_unsound/XIIIDeath.png

I have written this poem with the storyline of the reaper speaking to the symbol of Christ with blows of hatred from his tongue for the injustice done to his image by the followers of the Christ during the 14th century. In the end, the reaper commands the raven sitting on his arm to begin the countdown & prepare for an attack.So the reaper says:

Alright!
Finally I speak to you
In this crimson manifestation
Not at your will
Nevertheless at mine
Call it destiny or fate
Chance, luck or choice!

I wish to ground your head upside down
But my rage is enough for you to catch fire
You've flourished enough on my behalf
As I've fed your followers
By keeping them in business all these years

Yes listen to me
I'm the evil one with a scythe
Long lost in the mist you see at your feet
It's true that your men are callow
Carping about the carnality

The era of nonchalance
Evinced the end of my divinity
Not in the true sense of the word
For it is then
That I became your best friend
Feeding you even more
With false doctrines
About the protection I give
To the beasts whom you call man

Known to me was forever
The difference between the normal
And the natural
Your pride in the former
Should I quote 'Vanity' from your book?
My love for instincts
Infected by sarcasms pickled from the religious rights
From the basic feelings that arose
In the hearts of your mortals
Adapted by you once, forget not

Hence showered my varied names
I agree
I do agree, mark my words
I stress on this for a hypocrite like you
Indeed I am the Shiva,the Sammael,the Supay
Through me, Mephistopheles comes to life

Bow down, surrender unto me
Before I burn you alive
The best in necropolis
I am the grim reaper
Hurling spits of hatred
With my diabolical tongue

Look at this arm
And help me choose a path against you
Just like the branches of a tree
Where your petty morbids drive
Their endless decisions with uncertainity

And for you my raven
Travel to the moon
And glide on its rays
Ask darkness to descend with ebony
While the grass shivers at the commence
Of a sinful event...

101 Words, the poem needs no intro:

Carrion Rift

Carrion Rift

And came the curdling cry that rang throughout the nigh
that across the killing fields he stands
with the reapers' reaper in his hands
to quench a race's thirst for blood
crushing skulls with a melodic thud

And came the ravens cry that pierced the midnight sky
That the deaf should hear their own demise
As they stare into his crimson eyes
While lacerations dance on flesh
Parasites, their bodies enmesh

And as we wait beneath the waning moon
Carried to an unmarked tomb
Anxious for untimely doom
We understand the Devils tool
For he is you,
And I am too.

A slithered moon,
curses the sky.
Blood red clouds,
smother in decry.

Black blades sweep air,
of musty smoke.
A clash with colour,
the moons provoke.

An unknown figure,
stands alone.
Amongst the black blades,
overgrown.

One arm extended,
to sky height,
to catch the bird of death,
mid flight.

Fingers part,
like starving veins.
A touch of death,
the hand sustains.

Rags of shredded,
fleshy skin.
A scythe in hand,
to rid of sin?

The figure seems,
to stop and stare.
A prediction, you think,
to be beware.

You see this card,
you hear its name.
No longer wanting,
to play its game.

But death thirteen,
is not to fear.
It's just a change,
in what appears.

But you can't change,
even if you try,
that everything born,
is destined to die...

Well there is mine. I tried.
By the way, I know where that picture is from. ;)

[quote]Bron said:
Crimson dust settles upon the plain
Distruction felt he ponders those slain
With Ravens blood close to hand
He draws upon the blood shed land

A mist crys upon the earth tonight
As the Reaper performs his ghostly fight
Terror watched as the moon divide
Left in part admist midnight skies

Dressed in a shroud of torn human flesh
The field salutes as mist lays to rest
Distraught grasp of hand to tool
Rest under cross the crimson fool.



I enjoyed that..It felt good to draw on something I would not usually use!
Lets do another one!


My hand is the tool choosen by both my mind and brain to convey what needs to be penned.

Come on guys! I know everyone can do this one!! I would like to see the ones that you wrote about this one Mentaly. :)

Heh, i kinda liked this one.... :D

Yeah me too! It is a very creative idea for a comp! ^_^ Where is your entry though?

beneath a waning moon, my untamed shadow,
the existential frame shifted coldly, blunt
through separated motions inside
crossing beyond mortal reach

past luxurious rest inside
beside the cross of was
calculating my  time
focussed so bleakly
this crimson song

past solemn sighs
it exceeds control
staring back now
surrenders me
to this chill
death

So this is me, afterall
An eerie jigsaw
Your perfect foil.
I make no sense in parts
Unlike you.

Im no martyr,nor a saviour
I dnt have a halo behind
Nor a crown, even of thorns!
Im just an adjunct
Of your nightmarish fancy.

I spell fear ofcourse
I m the reaper, and Im solitary
But no romantic , for sure
I drip vitriol
The waning moon above me knows my poison.

The raven's cry is but mine too
His perch, my spidery arm, you sponsored.
Put me in broad daylight
And I will be your scarecrow
Your laughing stock.

You can play your game
You and you
And hit me bull's eye
With tinsel-crowned arrows
Time and again

But then funny isnt it
How much u need me?
Me of this crimson-night
To make sense of
Your hallowed white!

The night is still young,dear
And nights have always been black.

The sky's heartblood will nourish
the harbingers below,
death's domain to flourish,
ruin's seed to sow

Scythe in hand he waits,
his raven hugs the night.
King of mortals' fates,
bane of morning's light.

Brambled hand and glowing skull,
red omnilucent eyes,
mortal kin shall face his cull,
his blade to end their lives.

The Moon takes careful pains
to watch this scene unfold,
as evanescent night remains,
she revels in the cold.

A cross stands there beside,
a sign of final days,
and with it death stands to preside
as ghosts move through the haze.

As the moon is rising,
up to the highest of the sky,
one day I’ll be waiting,
for your life to pass me by.

Where the grass starts blowing,
following the way of the wind,
where no human escaped,
and all were merciless pinned.

A dried tree starts changing,
into a man out of the mist,
before you realize,
it will be the death you kissed.

When sky turns violent,
and the painting of red begins,
say goodbye to the world,
and forget about all sins.

Attracted by ravens,
who are black as the darkest night,
will follow the black list,
of the death who’s always right.

Who knows when it happens,
you will not  know what you will see,
this is just the smallest,
of the cross that grows in me.

Don’t be afraid of me,
you just need to go with the flow,
it will soon be over,
before you will even know.

i got quite inspired by the picture and i came up with a short story! i hope im not disqualified!
i'd also like to add that any grammatical mistakes were consciously made!
hope u enjoy it! so here it is:

Come here my child for i shall tell you a little story...
listen to me carefully for i shall tell this only once.. close your eyes and feel my every word. Close your eyes and let the darkness overwhelmed you...
"Somewhere of what's real and what's fantasy you shall feel a peculiar, unpleasant presence lingering at the gate of the cemetery. The sky was painted the colour of blood. No moon was seen that strange night. A legend has it that such nights the Grim Reaper would appear to mourn the loss of his beloved. With an age old raven bird his only company he would wander his way in the cemetery. Suddenly, screaming more like the death of a mortal some would say when they burn him alive. But you're mistaken my child that was the voice of his beloved, Cassandra was her name.Only then her spirits would come to haunt his every thought. Also Cassandra was the name of the raven bird. He named the bird after her so he would have her near him forever.." he ended the story while a single tear was falling down the valley of his face. And behind his black cloak his face was covered so as not to reveal his intolerable pain...

that was my story i hope u liked it!

And the winner is Jenna(Jenerator) The Twisted Dreamer. I think this was one of the best in both it's description and story. It really captures the image, giving you a vision of the scene without ever have seeing the picture itself. I liked the dark feel with the lightening twist at the end.

For those that did not know, this image is Death (XIII) from the Tarot Deck: The Gothic Tarot (So cleverly named).

Sorry for the very late response on all this, I actually forgot about it.

Great job to you all, I think all of them were quite well written.


Jenerator said:A slithered moon,
curses the sky.
Blood red clouds,
smother in decry.

Black blades sweep air,
of musty smoke.
A clash with colour,
the moons provoke.

An unknown figure,
stands alone.
Amongst the black blades,
overgrown.

One arm extended,
to sky height,
to catch the bird of death,
mid flight.

Fingers part,
like starving veins.
A touch of death,
the hand sustains.

Rags of shredded,
fleshy skin.
A scythe in hand,
to rid of sin?

The figure seems,
to stop and stare.
A prediction, you think,
to be beware.

You see this card,
you hear its name.
No longer wanting,
to play its game.

But death thirteen,
is not to fear.
It's just a change,
in what appears.

But you can't change,
even if you try,
that everything born,
is destined to die...

Well there is mine. I tried.
By the way, I know where that picture is from. ;)