Poetry competition CLOSED 18th June 2013 5:02am
WINNER
Mourningcloak
Mourningcloak
RUNNER-UP:
Kou_Indigo
Disturb
(This comp ends on my birthday so I should win! Jk;) can we post more than one?)
My kitty Lilly
I have a kitty
lets call her Lilly
she once was so tiny and small
but then my daddy, oh so silly
hurt my poor Lilly
he tried to ride her that day
soon she grew wider
from what he put inside her
He would feed her fishies all day
My kitty Lilly
I have a kitty
lets call her Lilly
she once was so tiny and small
but then my daddy, oh so silly
hurt my poor Lilly
he tried to ride her that day
soon she grew wider
from what he put inside her
He would feed her fishies all day
Anonymous
I AM SCARED TO GO HOME AFTER SCHOOL
i am 14 years old and i go to school each day
i have lots of friends and the teachers are nice
however when the school day ends
i am scared to go home
my daddy died and my mother is a widow
got herself a boyfriend - lucky she thought
it is hard to find a man
when you are the age as my mother
so she did what she can and found Vladimir
Vladimir himself gave a good impression
came over from Russia with good intentions
learned English - got a job
and kept it for a while
then came the recession
no job for him
he was dejected
started drinking and drugging
he sold his soul to the devil
he no longer goes to church
and he has found a new direction
of pimping me out
first he crept into my bed
in the middle of the night
told me he would kill me
if i would shout
i told my mother
who hit me when i told her
said i was a liar
told me to shut up
now when i get home
Vlad always has a “friend”
who gets to sleep with me
and Vlad gets his money
by using me this way
as much as he can
when i got pregnant
i could only tell him
he took me to a doctor
who took it out
and put me on the pill
i take every day
so everyday i have homework
the type the teacher gives
and then i go home to work
as a little prostitute
the neighbor lady knows
she is nice to me
she has phoned a social worker
who came around one day
but Vlad with his charm
got her to go away
my mother gets home at 7
i get home at 4
for three hours all i do is fuck
men i have not met before
i am thinking of killing myself
it is the only way out
to stop this horrible stress
but i have to think of my mother
what would she do
without me and does she really doubt me?
Anonymous
PETRA AND HANS
my name is Petra
my brother’s name is Hans
we are two years apart
and we are lovers by chance
we go to High School together
and there we separate
with me in science
and he in arts but we relate
our parents are nice people
who emigrated when we
were very young
and both work very very hard
to make the family strong
we have good family values
my mother is a good cook
my father treats us all well
and makes sure that we look
like the typical family
of his chosen land
to church we go on Sunday
we both have part-time jobs
so that we are the very model
of the values that we want
the neighbors to think we have
i think it started
when we had to share a room
because my parents were so poor
there were only two bedrooms
when we were tiny
this was ok
but as he grew
Hans started with me
just for play
i grew to like it
and one day
just like that
we went all the way
i never dreamed
it would be so nice
that we did it every day
some days we did it twice
this was easier than you think
our parents were always at work
and in our bedroom
we made pushed the dresser
against the door at night
and made love very quietly
so no-one would have a fright
we did not know that this was wrong
but soon the rumors began
because we had eyes for only
each other
and for no other in our clan
the students at school started whispering
and so i was forced to date
and so Hans and I made it seem
like we liked others and
started to be careful and seperate
we realized we were in love
a love that was a sin
but could not wait
to get home
and get in bed again
i wish i could tell you the ending
but it never ended
for while we both got
married to others
our love never ended
and our desire was very hot
we still go to confession
to confess the same old sin
but cannot stop sinning
for the love we are in
we realize we will meet in hell
but it could not be more hot
that the desire between us
which could melt a pot
i watch my children
for signs of this abnormality
for they are my brothers children
that were born to me
they are alright
they seem ok
but every day I pray
forgive me God for I have sinned
yet have continued sinning
every day....................
Anonymous
ERZSEBET BATHORY, COUNTESS OF TRANSYLVANIA
The Noble Bathory family stemmed from the Huns
A family of great Kings, Princes, Judges, Religious and Civil distinction
Elisabeth Bathory was a fit and active child
As a young girl - she was quite beautiful with a creamy complexion
Married off at age fifteen for political gain
Became the Lady of the Castle - of Csejthe - in central Roumania
Then only known as Transylvania
Bored with her life, Elisabeth gathered her friends
Persons of peculiar and sinister arts
Witches, Sorcerers, Seers, Wizards, Alchemists
All taught her the dark arts
Her husband was away at war - Elisabeth took lovers
Both men and women - were struck by her beauty
Left a widow at 43, she wanted another husband
Convinced that bathing in the blood of virgins
Would give her youth and beauty back
This notorious serial killer had almost a thousand maidens killed
Tortured in the most horrible ways so Elisabeth could bathe
Is this a legend or is this true?
She was said to be an exemplary mother
Women of her day were not supposed to have sexual pleasure
Or political power - Countess Bathory was the niece of the King of Poland
She was the Aunt of the Prince of Transylvania
She boasted to rival lords: YOU WILL FIND A MAN IN ME
Her noble neighbors and her own daughters were after her wealth
In 17th century Europe it was unheard of a woman to wield such power
Rich widows were regularly stripped of their possessions
Bathory's entourage was a brazen provocation to a male-dominated society
Her senior courtiers were all women, her confidantes all women as well
Could she have been the victim of suspicion, resentment and vengefullness?
They could not do anything to Elisabeth - because of her status
She was under house arrest and locked into a room
Where she died with the reputation of the FEMALE DRACULA
How much of this is true? How much is legend?
For a person so horrible she has been an inspiration
The Brothers Grimm, Johann Ludwig Tieck, and Sheridan Le Fanu
All wrote about her....but the most well know is
BRAM STROKER'S DRACULA....
- A Smile Too Broad -
A Parable of Madness
I saw the horrors of the world, and they left me unfazed,
But when the horror came to call, it haunted me for days.
I could not bear the loss I endured, or muster but a grin,
Because I had lost all I loved, and could not smile again.
So in my hand I took a blade and opened my mouth far,
I made my smile far too broad, and left two smiling scars.
Now even frowning it seemed I smiled, my pain to deny,
Until my sanity snapped at last, and I longed only to die!
It only took one bad day to drive me to the distant brink,
One bad day in one awful life, until of it I could not think.
I painted my face to hide what I had done, like a clown…
And oft I noticed on others a scowl, a grimace, or frown.
I could not bear all their sadness; it reminded me of mine,
So I helped them all to smile broadly, a smile for all time!
The blade that once ran across my face, now I used new,
To help others to be happy and make dreams come true.
Perhaps if someone had loved me, I would not be thus…
But now I play the harlequin, a slave to laughter and lust.
I try to tell jokes when I help them, but it makes it worse,
Because I see they cannot laugh, only scream and curse.
Oh, if only love had saved me, they might still have lived,
And I would not have slain myself for I could still forgive!
I tell this tale likely from Hell, where my tears will not fall,
For the smile I carved upon my face is laughing at it all…
Now I am Hell’s jester and I tell jokes to all the damned!
But their screams turn not to smiles even at my command.
Perhaps comedy was not my calling, and tragedy my lot,
But somebody must love me, at least in twisted thought…
For, though damned, I have never been burned in flames.
Hell has a sense of humor, and a need for fun and games!
A Parable of Madness
I saw the horrors of the world, and they left me unfazed,
But when the horror came to call, it haunted me for days.
I could not bear the loss I endured, or muster but a grin,
Because I had lost all I loved, and could not smile again.
So in my hand I took a blade and opened my mouth far,
I made my smile far too broad, and left two smiling scars.
Now even frowning it seemed I smiled, my pain to deny,
Until my sanity snapped at last, and I longed only to die!
It only took one bad day to drive me to the distant brink,
One bad day in one awful life, until of it I could not think.
I painted my face to hide what I had done, like a clown…
And oft I noticed on others a scowl, a grimace, or frown.
I could not bear all their sadness; it reminded me of mine,
So I helped them all to smile broadly, a smile for all time!
The blade that once ran across my face, now I used new,
To help others to be happy and make dreams come true.
Perhaps if someone had loved me, I would not be thus…
But now I play the harlequin, a slave to laughter and lust.
I try to tell jokes when I help them, but it makes it worse,
Because I see they cannot laugh, only scream and curse.
Oh, if only love had saved me, they might still have lived,
And I would not have slain myself for I could still forgive!
I tell this tale likely from Hell, where my tears will not fall,
For the smile I carved upon my face is laughing at it all…
Now I am Hell’s jester and I tell jokes to all the damned!
But their screams turn not to smiles even at my command.
Perhaps comedy was not my calling, and tragedy my lot,
But somebody must love me, at least in twisted thought…
For, though damned, I have never been burned in flames.
Hell has a sense of humor, and a need for fun and games!
- Witch Queen -
Based on some of my past-life memories…
Let me tell you a tale of another age,
When wicked giants filled with rage…
Met the steel of knights of noble birth!
I was a queen of much honored worth,
My gowns of red silk, my hair black…
And of feminine charms, I did not lack.
No king had I, my throne was lonely…
Though many sought passion’s honey,
In my bed, and many lovers were mine.
Some called me harlot in that past time!
But I was seeking love, my soul pining,
Whilst on lust my flesh was so dining…
My cup sipped oft by princely tongues.
I had many daughters and many sons,
Each one called a bastard or a bitch…
By my enemies who called me: witch.
Nobles schemed to remove my power,
But a witch’s will must have its’ hour…
And each noble who did wickedly plot:
Was brought low, my hot enmity begot.
Their skulls were sat before my seat…
And I crushed them, beneath my feet!
They called me whore, called me fiend,
Now where were they all, to be seen?
My knights found every traitorous cad,
And soon they said the queen was mad.
Once joyful dances in the opulent halls,
Made glad all within my castle’s walls…
When did screaming replace laughter?
My children wept, their lives a disaster.
All I wanted was to protect them true,
And to find love before life was through.
Now I was hated, despised and feared,
And my lovers were not filled with fear.
So I slept alone, and wept in the night,
Whilst my gardens became but a blight!
All around me, my kingdom was falling,
Whilst beyond, I heard a voice calling…
And so one day I rode out of the gate.
I left behind my kingdom fallen to hate,
For someone waited for me in a tower.
In the mountains, both grim and dour…
Which the people I had ruled besieged,
To take me back from where I did flee.
I had found my soul mate, another maid,
And for my time with her, I then paid…
For they made me watch her execution!
I wept rivers wet with blood’s pollution.
They then called me degenerate, base…
Spat on me, tore at my clothes and face.
I was violated, tortured, and dragged…
Before my enemies who then bragged,
How they took my lands in my absence.
Gone were: my gardens’ rosy fragrance,
The flowerbeds were covered in blood.
I cried for them, my tears made a flood,
Upon the floor where my children lay…
Each one slain cruelly: in the light of day.
How did this rebellion come to even be?
My knights were disloyal, betrayed me.
Each one took his turn in my shaming…
Then I was manacled to a stake, flaming.
Mercifully, a sword pierced my breast,
Saving me from burning alive, at best…
And so the witch queen’s reign ended.
I and my children died, our land bent…
As, the flames consumed us, hell-sent.
I would return, to search for love anew,
But that memory was too awful to undo.
It haunts me sometimes when I feel hurt,
And in those moments I long for comfort.
Based on some of my past-life memories…
Let me tell you a tale of another age,
When wicked giants filled with rage…
Met the steel of knights of noble birth!
I was a queen of much honored worth,
My gowns of red silk, my hair black…
And of feminine charms, I did not lack.
No king had I, my throne was lonely…
Though many sought passion’s honey,
In my bed, and many lovers were mine.
Some called me harlot in that past time!
But I was seeking love, my soul pining,
Whilst on lust my flesh was so dining…
My cup sipped oft by princely tongues.
I had many daughters and many sons,
Each one called a bastard or a bitch…
By my enemies who called me: witch.
Nobles schemed to remove my power,
But a witch’s will must have its’ hour…
And each noble who did wickedly plot:
Was brought low, my hot enmity begot.
Their skulls were sat before my seat…
And I crushed them, beneath my feet!
They called me whore, called me fiend,
Now where were they all, to be seen?
My knights found every traitorous cad,
And soon they said the queen was mad.
Once joyful dances in the opulent halls,
Made glad all within my castle’s walls…
When did screaming replace laughter?
My children wept, their lives a disaster.
All I wanted was to protect them true,
And to find love before life was through.
Now I was hated, despised and feared,
And my lovers were not filled with fear.
So I slept alone, and wept in the night,
Whilst my gardens became but a blight!
All around me, my kingdom was falling,
Whilst beyond, I heard a voice calling…
And so one day I rode out of the gate.
I left behind my kingdom fallen to hate,
For someone waited for me in a tower.
In the mountains, both grim and dour…
Which the people I had ruled besieged,
To take me back from where I did flee.
I had found my soul mate, another maid,
And for my time with her, I then paid…
For they made me watch her execution!
I wept rivers wet with blood’s pollution.
They then called me degenerate, base…
Spat on me, tore at my clothes and face.
I was violated, tortured, and dragged…
Before my enemies who then bragged,
How they took my lands in my absence.
Gone were: my gardens’ rosy fragrance,
The flowerbeds were covered in blood.
I cried for them, my tears made a flood,
Upon the floor where my children lay…
Each one slain cruelly: in the light of day.
How did this rebellion come to even be?
My knights were disloyal, betrayed me.
Each one took his turn in my shaming…
Then I was manacled to a stake, flaming.
Mercifully, a sword pierced my breast,
Saving me from burning alive, at best…
And so the witch queen’s reign ended.
I and my children died, our land bent…
As, the flames consumed us, hell-sent.
I would return, to search for love anew,
But that memory was too awful to undo.
It haunts me sometimes when I feel hurt,
And in those moments I long for comfort.
- Bloody Mary, Quite Contrary -
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does thy garden grow so very high?
A moment ago it was bleak and desolate, a place fit only for the dead…
But Mary, dear Mary, thou hast an evil streak that no man many deny!
And now thy garden hath become a place of terror, horror, and dread.
Oh Bloody Mary, oh Bloody Mary, thou hast been contrary too long…
And now, the ravens gather, to feast upon the blood; the winds hasten!
Soon all that will be left is some lost child’s most fevered nursery song.
But none will remember thee, or of thy terrifying tale, attempt to listen!
Oh, what shall become of thee! Oh, what shall become of thee!
Oh Bloody Mary, oh Bloody Mary, why art thou always so contrary?
Mayhap it has something to do with how thy garden doth now grow!
With hanging silver bells strapped to all the screaming children’s shells,
As the twisted living vines ever entwine their quivering flesh all in a row.
Oh, what shall become of thee! Oh, what shall become of thee!
Oh Mistress Mary, oh Mistress Mary, queen of harlots so contrary…
I wish I had not seen, that horrible way thy garden doth forever grow!
Things spawned from the hells tend it in ways that no mortal soul tells,
And so thy evil scarlet garden grows, and so thy scarlet garden grows.
Oh Mary, what hast thou done? Oh Mary, what hast thou done?
Oh Mother Mary, oh Mother Mary, no virgin or Madonna is that one,
But another Mary, another Mary! Oh how vile her garden doth grow!
Like rotting flesh it smells, and oft of brimstone that no ice ever quells,
That is why they burned her, where witches’ stakes blazed all in a row.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, now thy garden can no longer grow at all,
For thy ashes are scattered upon the winds of the surrounding lands…
And the vines thou didst grow grew to form a high, impenetrable wall!
Beyond it, the desolation has returned, reduced to hot, burning sands.
Oh Bloody Mary, oh Bloody Mary, thou art not contrary any more…
As the ghosts of the children who played in thy garden wail most shrill!
The place where they burned thee is forsaken, with darkness in store,
And, no one but the dead remember thee, when the wind blows chill!
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does thy garden grow so very high?
A moment ago it was bleak and desolate, a place fit only for the dead…
But Mary, dear Mary, thou hast an evil streak that no man many deny!
And now thy garden hath become a place of terror, horror, and dread.
Oh Bloody Mary, oh Bloody Mary, thou hast been contrary too long…
And now, the ravens gather, to feast upon the blood; the winds hasten!
Soon all that will be left is some lost child’s most fevered nursery song.
But none will remember thee, or of thy terrifying tale, attempt to listen!
Oh, what shall become of thee! Oh, what shall become of thee!
Oh Bloody Mary, oh Bloody Mary, why art thou always so contrary?
Mayhap it has something to do with how thy garden doth now grow!
With hanging silver bells strapped to all the screaming children’s shells,
As the twisted living vines ever entwine their quivering flesh all in a row.
Oh, what shall become of thee! Oh, what shall become of thee!
Oh Mistress Mary, oh Mistress Mary, queen of harlots so contrary…
I wish I had not seen, that horrible way thy garden doth forever grow!
Things spawned from the hells tend it in ways that no mortal soul tells,
And so thy evil scarlet garden grows, and so thy scarlet garden grows.
Oh Mary, what hast thou done? Oh Mary, what hast thou done?
Oh Mother Mary, oh Mother Mary, no virgin or Madonna is that one,
But another Mary, another Mary! Oh how vile her garden doth grow!
Like rotting flesh it smells, and oft of brimstone that no ice ever quells,
That is why they burned her, where witches’ stakes blazed all in a row.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, now thy garden can no longer grow at all,
For thy ashes are scattered upon the winds of the surrounding lands…
And the vines thou didst grow grew to form a high, impenetrable wall!
Beyond it, the desolation has returned, reduced to hot, burning sands.
Oh Bloody Mary, oh Bloody Mary, thou art not contrary any more…
As the ghosts of the children who played in thy garden wail most shrill!
The place where they burned thee is forsaken, with darkness in store,
And, no one but the dead remember thee, when the wind blows chill!
- Thief of Dreams -
The little girl, was falling asleep by the window,
In her dark bedroom with red curtains hanging…
And that beautiful child, a daughter of a widow,
Was awakened by the sound of a loud banging.
Tapping, rapping: like bones upon a tomb wall!
Something dark and black was outside the pane.
It was late autumn, and as the dead leaves fall…
The dead were stirring from their dreary domain.
Some shrouded face, features hidden in tatters…
Was staring at the little girl, with blood red eyes.
Misty breath, and large wings of black feathers,
Such were things the demon could not disguise!
“Open the window little girl, I am the sandman!”
Thus spoke a raspy voice from outside the glass.
“If you are he, then why do you bring no sand?”
Replied the little girl, who was no foolish a lass.
Suddenly, a skeletal arm broke through, loudly,
Spilling sand all over the bedroom’s soft floor…
The little girl screamed at a sight beyond ghastly.
After that night, she would scream never more!
Claws reached out to her, cold as an icy doom,
And she was dead before they found their mark.
Misty breath filled the air, darkening the gloom…
As the sandman began his most gruesome work!
When the child’s mother came to see what was…
Transpiring in the room where her daughter slept,
She found neither her child nor the noise’s cause.
But in that dark room, something horrible crept!
Sand covered the floor amidst sharp glass shards.
Blood was amongst the sand, blood most fresh…
Then a shadow fell, a beast speaking not words.
For on this night, the dead hungered for hot flesh!
What the mother beheld, drove her into insanity…
In the final moments before her breath was taken.
She could not fight her slayer, however forcibly…
For at that demon’s touch, all defiance is shaken.
Alas the widow and her daughter: now departed!
For the sandman came to steal all their dreams…
Bringing them sleep that is endless and uncharted.
For such is death amidst truly terrified screams…
Neither blood nor corpses remained come dawn,
But three shadows now haunted the night’s dark.
And unto slumbering souls, they are still drawn…
On certain autumn nights: both dreary, and stark!
Three shadows stalk and search for easiest prey,
To add more shadows to the army of the twilight.
So into dark rooms, be mindful should you stray!
There are night terrors that lurk beyond our sight.
The little girl, was falling asleep by the window,
In her dark bedroom with red curtains hanging…
And that beautiful child, a daughter of a widow,
Was awakened by the sound of a loud banging.
Tapping, rapping: like bones upon a tomb wall!
Something dark and black was outside the pane.
It was late autumn, and as the dead leaves fall…
The dead were stirring from their dreary domain.
Some shrouded face, features hidden in tatters…
Was staring at the little girl, with blood red eyes.
Misty breath, and large wings of black feathers,
Such were things the demon could not disguise!
“Open the window little girl, I am the sandman!”
Thus spoke a raspy voice from outside the glass.
“If you are he, then why do you bring no sand?”
Replied the little girl, who was no foolish a lass.
Suddenly, a skeletal arm broke through, loudly,
Spilling sand all over the bedroom’s soft floor…
The little girl screamed at a sight beyond ghastly.
After that night, she would scream never more!
Claws reached out to her, cold as an icy doom,
And she was dead before they found their mark.
Misty breath filled the air, darkening the gloom…
As the sandman began his most gruesome work!
When the child’s mother came to see what was…
Transpiring in the room where her daughter slept,
She found neither her child nor the noise’s cause.
But in that dark room, something horrible crept!
Sand covered the floor amidst sharp glass shards.
Blood was amongst the sand, blood most fresh…
Then a shadow fell, a beast speaking not words.
For on this night, the dead hungered for hot flesh!
What the mother beheld, drove her into insanity…
In the final moments before her breath was taken.
She could not fight her slayer, however forcibly…
For at that demon’s touch, all defiance is shaken.
Alas the widow and her daughter: now departed!
For the sandman came to steal all their dreams…
Bringing them sleep that is endless and uncharted.
For such is death amidst truly terrified screams…
Neither blood nor corpses remained come dawn,
But three shadows now haunted the night’s dark.
And unto slumbering souls, they are still drawn…
On certain autumn nights: both dreary, and stark!
Three shadows stalk and search for easiest prey,
To add more shadows to the army of the twilight.
So into dark rooms, be mindful should you stray!
There are night terrors that lurk beyond our sight.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
- The Voice of Darkness -
Part I – Fire and Crucifixion
You could not see the beauty within me, foolish maid,
So jealous were you of the outer beauty you beheld…
Mindless of my ancient soul, of which you were afraid!
Now you shall know why before me the ancients knelt.
It was I, who cast thousands of souls into a wall of fire,
When the volcanoes of Atlantis and other lands flared…
And it was I, who collected their souls in wrath so dire.
In vessels of steel we bore them, to where gods dared!
Were they not of us, and so we saw fit to punish them,
Instilling notions of a hell more awful than we wrought?
It was not I, but: their own sin that did thusly condemn.
You do not realize the mad power of a strong thought!
And in their minds, they crucified themselves so artful…
That the Romans remembered and perfected this way!
Man is the author of countless miseries, as truly awful…
As the doom we imposed, on those souls, on that day.
They could not pull out the nails from their wounding…
For it was their own will that thrust them into the flesh!
The green of their putrefaction, of ravens descending…
Was all in their imagination, and they suffered it afresh.
Part II – Darkness Incarnate
They became twisted wraiths, no longer as they were,
Seeking to possess the bodies of the living once again.
For they could not die, though they lived ne’er more…
And so like demons of a true hell they swiftly became!
Those sons of Theta, who could ne’er forget their fate,
Passing it on to their hosts who suffered so possessed.
Have you heard the legends when the hour grew late?
You hear them now, and soon you shall be distressed!
The flesh hides many secrets, but within mine do gaze,
Seeing with your inner eye the shape of my spirit bare.
In such an image was I remade as a captive in a daze!
But I remembered, and now you will endure my stare.
A dark lord, and lady, an emperor, and also empress,
Was I, ere my estate was to dwell in a human guise…
Fitting punishment for me, upon my soul did so press!
The gods were cruel but in their cunning so very wise.
But of their foolishness, worlds were charred to soot,
And made desolate, with blackened bones that lay…
Here a skull, there a limb, and even a hand, and foot!
As to them, the ancestors of man did kneel and pray.
Part III – Lover of Demons
Behold my darkness, I who loved Lilith by the water,
And made for her a throne of skulls to recline upon…
When the angels could not persuade, Hell’s daughter.
Even so, I moved her to joy beneath the ancient sun!
The blood of the wicked she drank, from my chalice,
And with it anointed the first vampires on this planet!
She and I shared, for early man, our common malice.
And with Lucifer we stood, and could ne’er regret…
For the fallen cannot know remorse for their natures,
Any more than humanity for their wars and pollution!
We, did not harm this Earth as do they; so immature,
That with destruction: they lie as if in dire prostitution.
And you call me evil, when I helped to bring the light,
To your savage ancestors before you were imagined.
Do you know my name, and so know well the night?
You cannot know me, for your reason is abandoned.
Mayhap you should dash your brains out your head…
Their jellied mass to lie: upon ebon altars of ineptness.
How can you call yourself living, you are of the dead!
For it is not living: to deny, what your senses confess.
Part IV – Bride of the Devil
It was I, who had my enemies impaled on tall stakes,
And was called the Son of the Dragon by the people.
Out of their vacant sockets writhed emerald snakes…
Those from whose mouths: was sharpness unequaled.
And into a chalice I squeezed out their wicked blood,
To offer up to Lilith, so that they might taste of wrath!
And for Lucifer, we offered up a truly crimson flood…
So that my sister may bathe: in the warm scarlet bath.
Do you fear the night, for in it I find my forgetfulness?
You would have me recall the things you most fear…
And so I shall be cruel in this, as I don a silken dress,
To sit upon my throne infernal, and beckon you near!
I, who knew the Devil when that queen ruled on high,
And was her lover, ere the gods brought on us a ruin.
Have a sip from my sanguine chalice, and come nigh!
For in my kingdom is room for one more child of sin.
There are worse things than fire, of immortal making,
And you will smell the burning brimstone you do seek.
Upon its’ coals your naked skin most willingly baking,
For some hells you make yourself to make you weak.
Part I – Fire and Crucifixion
You could not see the beauty within me, foolish maid,
So jealous were you of the outer beauty you beheld…
Mindless of my ancient soul, of which you were afraid!
Now you shall know why before me the ancients knelt.
It was I, who cast thousands of souls into a wall of fire,
When the volcanoes of Atlantis and other lands flared…
And it was I, who collected their souls in wrath so dire.
In vessels of steel we bore them, to where gods dared!
Were they not of us, and so we saw fit to punish them,
Instilling notions of a hell more awful than we wrought?
It was not I, but: their own sin that did thusly condemn.
You do not realize the mad power of a strong thought!
And in their minds, they crucified themselves so artful…
That the Romans remembered and perfected this way!
Man is the author of countless miseries, as truly awful…
As the doom we imposed, on those souls, on that day.
They could not pull out the nails from their wounding…
For it was their own will that thrust them into the flesh!
The green of their putrefaction, of ravens descending…
Was all in their imagination, and they suffered it afresh.
Part II – Darkness Incarnate
They became twisted wraiths, no longer as they were,
Seeking to possess the bodies of the living once again.
For they could not die, though they lived ne’er more…
And so like demons of a true hell they swiftly became!
Those sons of Theta, who could ne’er forget their fate,
Passing it on to their hosts who suffered so possessed.
Have you heard the legends when the hour grew late?
You hear them now, and soon you shall be distressed!
The flesh hides many secrets, but within mine do gaze,
Seeing with your inner eye the shape of my spirit bare.
In such an image was I remade as a captive in a daze!
But I remembered, and now you will endure my stare.
A dark lord, and lady, an emperor, and also empress,
Was I, ere my estate was to dwell in a human guise…
Fitting punishment for me, upon my soul did so press!
The gods were cruel but in their cunning so very wise.
But of their foolishness, worlds were charred to soot,
And made desolate, with blackened bones that lay…
Here a skull, there a limb, and even a hand, and foot!
As to them, the ancestors of man did kneel and pray.
Part III – Lover of Demons
Behold my darkness, I who loved Lilith by the water,
And made for her a throne of skulls to recline upon…
When the angels could not persuade, Hell’s daughter.
Even so, I moved her to joy beneath the ancient sun!
The blood of the wicked she drank, from my chalice,
And with it anointed the first vampires on this planet!
She and I shared, for early man, our common malice.
And with Lucifer we stood, and could ne’er regret…
For the fallen cannot know remorse for their natures,
Any more than humanity for their wars and pollution!
We, did not harm this Earth as do they; so immature,
That with destruction: they lie as if in dire prostitution.
And you call me evil, when I helped to bring the light,
To your savage ancestors before you were imagined.
Do you know my name, and so know well the night?
You cannot know me, for your reason is abandoned.
Mayhap you should dash your brains out your head…
Their jellied mass to lie: upon ebon altars of ineptness.
How can you call yourself living, you are of the dead!
For it is not living: to deny, what your senses confess.
Part IV – Bride of the Devil
It was I, who had my enemies impaled on tall stakes,
And was called the Son of the Dragon by the people.
Out of their vacant sockets writhed emerald snakes…
Those from whose mouths: was sharpness unequaled.
And into a chalice I squeezed out their wicked blood,
To offer up to Lilith, so that they might taste of wrath!
And for Lucifer, we offered up a truly crimson flood…
So that my sister may bathe: in the warm scarlet bath.
Do you fear the night, for in it I find my forgetfulness?
You would have me recall the things you most fear…
And so I shall be cruel in this, as I don a silken dress,
To sit upon my throne infernal, and beckon you near!
I, who knew the Devil when that queen ruled on high,
And was her lover, ere the gods brought on us a ruin.
Have a sip from my sanguine chalice, and come nigh!
For in my kingdom is room for one more child of sin.
There are worse things than fire, of immortal making,
And you will smell the burning brimstone you do seek.
Upon its’ coals your naked skin most willingly baking,
For some hells you make yourself to make you weak.
- Sacrifice of the Spider -
Part the First: (The First Smile)
Black skies boil with rage unrepentant, and in righteous fury!
A being made flesh I am, though not of mortal understanding.
In cavernous places I have walked, where demons oft scurry,
And worse places still: in search of a love not too demanding.
In the stucco halls wherein my unmoving throne was raised…
Upon a hill of sorrows where lost souls labor in mundane toil,
I wait and plan to transcend the bonds the faithful so praised.
To my right hand is the altar where fire and sulfur always boil!
I force a smile upon my face, for one will not come as willing,
As in the hours when I was a golden youth filled with ideals…
Which I have paid for dearly, beyond the price of any shilling!
Now I long to pay back those who know not how this feels…
The madness born of solitude, the anger born out of contempt,
For you who despise me without cause, provoking my wrath.
What impunity has man, to think that he might ever be exempt!
When wiser civilizations than yours did sink: in the fiery bath.
Do I speak of Hell, which the faithless do not realize is come?
Nay, for their eyes have been gouged out by their own nails…
I speak of torments, far beyond that which devils have done.
The first smile shall me mine, when every cruel wish so fails…
To save the flesh of those who spit upon me as I walked on,
Never realizing that my face was just a mask, hiding another.
Only the fool pays no any attention to the piper’s lonely song,
Thinking it only a melody passed from a sister unto a brother.
But in what celestial incest has been born the thing alchemical?
It dwells within me, the secret sin of a bonding long forgotten.
Would that I could force the world to hear music whimsical…
Like unto that which guides my spirit in all that was begotten.
Part the Second: (Cold Revenge)
The blood roses bloom in gardens where desire plants seeds,
I, the hand that waters those hungry beasts whose thirst rises!
In my search for love, I have fed the beasts of desire’s needs,
And what would cause you to blush has, for me, no surprises.
Oh human, with what impunity did you dare to exclaim aloud,
That you believe love to be beyond my reach; and you smile!
Like a coward, you degrade me and run to hide in the crowd,
In your feigned superiority, you make yourself an animal vile.
Conjoining your words to your tongue, like a web to a ceiling,
You become a spider; then flee on eight legs to a filthy nest…
Having already become unworthy of any warm human feeling,
In thinking yourself better, you sink lower than all of the rest!
That means my life is worth, a thousand times, your very own.
I become a creature of the night, and wait for you, oh spider!
Think not that I cannot hear. the creaking of each leg bone…
Your odiousness goes before you, the horse before its’ rider.
And in your own web I catch you, my sharper claws immune,
To your toxic poisons, as cannot ever save your eight eyes…
Which I dash from their sockets, without a fear, and so soon,
That your own pain consumes you, like fire lighting the skies!
Forcing you to recant all that you say, lest pain overcome all,
The powers you thought did not exist do manifest ever visibly.
And I ascended still higher, all the more to relish of your fall…
You should never have resulted to any such childish mockery.
The clocks of your house all melted, for time is not your ally!
In abandonment of the chaos that is joy, your order is ended.
A new order rises in its’ place born of chaos none may deny,
Whilst you sink lower into perdition, for all that you offended.
Part the Third: (The Last Laugh)
An angel appears before me and so thinks herself a goddess,
But to call her an angel is to imply that she holds any beauties.
Those whose ego is larger than their grasp are oft the oddest,
For they fancy themselves perfect, ignorant of their cruelties!
You think love a prize and I a beggar for mere crusts so stale,
That lesser men than I have eaten heartier meals than yours…
But your kitchen is so bare: as your oven goes cold and pale,
Making you prize yourself beyond the worth of your chores!
Like a harlot who charges a fortune for her meager charms…
If you think love a prize, and I a beggar, you are so mistaken.
What you call love is a disease that shames one and harms…
Both mind and soul alike, making the body at last to weaken.
You saw only my mask, and would not dare look beneath…
Making me a phantom in the darkness, lurking in the shades.
Round your neck, your false esteem hangs as a dead wreath,
As I leave you to your barren world, awaiting my handmaids.
They rise from the ashes you leave in your wake, my kindred,
Their hands take me far from where your feet stumble about!
Lie in the cemetery that awaits those who live as though dead,
I cannot raise you incorruptible; you have far too much doubt.
Carried hither by the silent maidens who weep bloody tears…
To my castle, where I shall brood again upon mankind’s way!
I cannot feel regret for those who give in to their foolish fears,
Any more than I can transform a leaden night into golden day!
Such is the power of the alchemist who knows his true limit…
And in the dark arts I was schooled by beings from the abyss.
Thusly, am I set about to transform my creation as I see fit…
We are the demiurges of our realities wanton for any hot kiss!
Part the First: (The First Smile)
Black skies boil with rage unrepentant, and in righteous fury!
A being made flesh I am, though not of mortal understanding.
In cavernous places I have walked, where demons oft scurry,
And worse places still: in search of a love not too demanding.
In the stucco halls wherein my unmoving throne was raised…
Upon a hill of sorrows where lost souls labor in mundane toil,
I wait and plan to transcend the bonds the faithful so praised.
To my right hand is the altar where fire and sulfur always boil!
I force a smile upon my face, for one will not come as willing,
As in the hours when I was a golden youth filled with ideals…
Which I have paid for dearly, beyond the price of any shilling!
Now I long to pay back those who know not how this feels…
The madness born of solitude, the anger born out of contempt,
For you who despise me without cause, provoking my wrath.
What impunity has man, to think that he might ever be exempt!
When wiser civilizations than yours did sink: in the fiery bath.
Do I speak of Hell, which the faithless do not realize is come?
Nay, for their eyes have been gouged out by their own nails…
I speak of torments, far beyond that which devils have done.
The first smile shall me mine, when every cruel wish so fails…
To save the flesh of those who spit upon me as I walked on,
Never realizing that my face was just a mask, hiding another.
Only the fool pays no any attention to the piper’s lonely song,
Thinking it only a melody passed from a sister unto a brother.
But in what celestial incest has been born the thing alchemical?
It dwells within me, the secret sin of a bonding long forgotten.
Would that I could force the world to hear music whimsical…
Like unto that which guides my spirit in all that was begotten.
Part the Second: (Cold Revenge)
The blood roses bloom in gardens where desire plants seeds,
I, the hand that waters those hungry beasts whose thirst rises!
In my search for love, I have fed the beasts of desire’s needs,
And what would cause you to blush has, for me, no surprises.
Oh human, with what impunity did you dare to exclaim aloud,
That you believe love to be beyond my reach; and you smile!
Like a coward, you degrade me and run to hide in the crowd,
In your feigned superiority, you make yourself an animal vile.
Conjoining your words to your tongue, like a web to a ceiling,
You become a spider; then flee on eight legs to a filthy nest…
Having already become unworthy of any warm human feeling,
In thinking yourself better, you sink lower than all of the rest!
That means my life is worth, a thousand times, your very own.
I become a creature of the night, and wait for you, oh spider!
Think not that I cannot hear. the creaking of each leg bone…
Your odiousness goes before you, the horse before its’ rider.
And in your own web I catch you, my sharper claws immune,
To your toxic poisons, as cannot ever save your eight eyes…
Which I dash from their sockets, without a fear, and so soon,
That your own pain consumes you, like fire lighting the skies!
Forcing you to recant all that you say, lest pain overcome all,
The powers you thought did not exist do manifest ever visibly.
And I ascended still higher, all the more to relish of your fall…
You should never have resulted to any such childish mockery.
The clocks of your house all melted, for time is not your ally!
In abandonment of the chaos that is joy, your order is ended.
A new order rises in its’ place born of chaos none may deny,
Whilst you sink lower into perdition, for all that you offended.
Part the Third: (The Last Laugh)
An angel appears before me and so thinks herself a goddess,
But to call her an angel is to imply that she holds any beauties.
Those whose ego is larger than their grasp are oft the oddest,
For they fancy themselves perfect, ignorant of their cruelties!
You think love a prize and I a beggar for mere crusts so stale,
That lesser men than I have eaten heartier meals than yours…
But your kitchen is so bare: as your oven goes cold and pale,
Making you prize yourself beyond the worth of your chores!
Like a harlot who charges a fortune for her meager charms…
If you think love a prize, and I a beggar, you are so mistaken.
What you call love is a disease that shames one and harms…
Both mind and soul alike, making the body at last to weaken.
You saw only my mask, and would not dare look beneath…
Making me a phantom in the darkness, lurking in the shades.
Round your neck, your false esteem hangs as a dead wreath,
As I leave you to your barren world, awaiting my handmaids.
They rise from the ashes you leave in your wake, my kindred,
Their hands take me far from where your feet stumble about!
Lie in the cemetery that awaits those who live as though dead,
I cannot raise you incorruptible; you have far too much doubt.
Carried hither by the silent maidens who weep bloody tears…
To my castle, where I shall brood again upon mankind’s way!
I cannot feel regret for those who give in to their foolish fears,
Any more than I can transform a leaden night into golden day!
Such is the power of the alchemist who knows his true limit…
And in the dark arts I was schooled by beings from the abyss.
Thusly, am I set about to transform my creation as I see fit…
We are the demiurges of our realities wanton for any hot kiss!
- Little Girl Lost -
A poem about the supernatural
In night’s slumbering symmetry, the moonbeams swift fell,
Bathing the ancient crossroads in pale, bluish illumination.
The earth was soaked from the rain, and had a damp smell,
A scent that confused the senses: with its’ fetid incantation.
Amidst some old foundation from a house abandoned long,
In woodlands dark and mysterious, in old haunted country…
An owl was perched upon crumbling stones, singing a song,
Cooing of the night that was its’ home, hooting comfortably.
The ruined dwelling could not speak of a fate that unfolded,
Whereby it came to be no more: save as an abode for ghosts.
Their lonely vigil to walk the night, in darkness so enfolded,
Such spirits linger long, and lose all memory of bodily hosts.
The air itself became their abode, things borne on chill winds,
Whose breathing life was ended, though they continue ever!
Only the wise owl recalls of their lives, and their secret sins,
An animal that cannot speak, and so the eternal curse: sever.
Once a family knew the joys of life within the ruined house,
But each died of grief after the tragedy by a storm brought…
Leaving a place of happiness now mirthless as a gray mouse,
Whilst at least one spirit remains there, lost in living thought.
This was a domain of spirits, a crossroads of death, and life…
Where one may wander, for a time; and come to remember.
I wandered there myself attempting to flee decades of strife,
In the month of October, only two months before December!
Outside the dwelling, wolves let cry their howls unto the air,
Whilst the crickets chirped merrily, macabre tunes to play…
For there was darkness on that place not ever bright, nor fair,
And none living there were to speak of it, as live still today.
Quiet divinities of those woods, old goddesses of the green,
Themselves have gone mute with long silence of the years…
And no longer venture forth amongst man to more be seen,
Than as a dream, and so the old place weeps unheard tears.
All that remains is a small tower, in which lives an old soul!
Black curtains over the windows block out even the moon…
And therein lies a secret held, over which none can control.
She walks in a lonely beauty, eternally young in the gloom!
Stuffed animals decorate her lonely bed, amidst red covers,
Of: sewn silk, where the girl would oft lie in a silent repose.
Not dead, but no longer living and having known no lovers,
The child of the night awaits her visitor as cold wind blows.
So like another evening long ago, which she cannot recall…
She rather simply passes through her familiar daily routines.
She knows someone is coming for the owl cries on the wall,
And so she combs her hair, by the light of pale moonbeams.
Her mother is now coming, but she wears a stranger’s flesh,
And so her daughter tries to prepare all things as they were.
The better to make her mother remember, to recall afresh,
Old maternal instincts, which had all meant so much to her!
I came to her dwelling as an exile from the world I had left,
When in that season I thought to forget my mounting woes.
And so did I befriend that ageless soul, she who was bereft,
Of any thoughts of adulthood, lost in her childhood’s throes.
She had no mother, so I was like one to her for a brief span!
I cared for her, living her mother’s role as if I had long ago.
Did I live here once; did I die here once, in this savage land…
Was this my daughter, bringing me back to a place of woe?
We lay upon that scarlet bed, telling stories to one another…
Amidst the candlelight’s dim glow, our shadows monstrous.
Whilst outside, the owl did cry out as it lost a pale feather…
To the coming storm: of which we had been truly oblivious.
We awaited its’ fury, our arms wrapped in warmth shared…
Both of us eternal beings long used to the chills of the night,
Breathing as one, pulses racing whilst we felt utterly scared.
I: like a child myself lost in the reality and memory of fright!
But for my ageless angel I betrayed no sign of my dismay…
I sang a song that kept her content, lulling her into slumbers.
And soon the storm had passed as the dawn brought the day!
I kissed her forehead and she smiled, one who remembers…
The kindness I showed her, and all the love a heart can give.
But as I stepped into the morning glow, I pondered longest,
On why a child would be here alone, and so continue to live.
Undying and immortal as she was, a child is never strongest!
I stood outside the tower, waiting upon the crossroads to go,
Unable to decide which way, when I heard the owl cry out…
As if I should not leave just yet, and I turned around just so,
That I might return unto the tower, to banish my own doubt.
I looked, and the room that had been kept in splendid order,
Now seemed long abandoned, dark curtains hung in tatters…
Dust covering stuffed animals and no sign of a child boarder.
I knew not where she had gone, and that was what matters…
For in that thought I rushed outside and called out so loudly,
Therein lay an old graveyard, where the owl landed proudly,
Upon the grave of a young girl, her epitaph making sense…
Telling how she died in a storm, when a limb had struck her.
I looked, to see a branch through one of the tower windows,
And the night I had spent with the little ghost was like a blur.
It passed into memory, like the mists before bright rainbows!
Her name was too faded to read, upon her gray tombstone…
But I needed it not, to remember her kind and friendly laugh.
As I set out down the crossroads, a being of flesh and bone…
I wept for that little nameless girl, long lost to nature’s wrath.
My daughter, for whom I once grieved until I died from grief!
I recalled what I had named her; it was Lily and I now knew,
The tragedy, as made our life together to be cut all too brief.
And in that knowing, I could move on to the next life so true!
Ut est non mortuus, quod est validus ut eternus recubo...
Quod per insolitus aeons vel nex est validus morior.
A poem about the supernatural
In night’s slumbering symmetry, the moonbeams swift fell,
Bathing the ancient crossroads in pale, bluish illumination.
The earth was soaked from the rain, and had a damp smell,
A scent that confused the senses: with its’ fetid incantation.
Amidst some old foundation from a house abandoned long,
In woodlands dark and mysterious, in old haunted country…
An owl was perched upon crumbling stones, singing a song,
Cooing of the night that was its’ home, hooting comfortably.
The ruined dwelling could not speak of a fate that unfolded,
Whereby it came to be no more: save as an abode for ghosts.
Their lonely vigil to walk the night, in darkness so enfolded,
Such spirits linger long, and lose all memory of bodily hosts.
The air itself became their abode, things borne on chill winds,
Whose breathing life was ended, though they continue ever!
Only the wise owl recalls of their lives, and their secret sins,
An animal that cannot speak, and so the eternal curse: sever.
Once a family knew the joys of life within the ruined house,
But each died of grief after the tragedy by a storm brought…
Leaving a place of happiness now mirthless as a gray mouse,
Whilst at least one spirit remains there, lost in living thought.
This was a domain of spirits, a crossroads of death, and life…
Where one may wander, for a time; and come to remember.
I wandered there myself attempting to flee decades of strife,
In the month of October, only two months before December!
Outside the dwelling, wolves let cry their howls unto the air,
Whilst the crickets chirped merrily, macabre tunes to play…
For there was darkness on that place not ever bright, nor fair,
And none living there were to speak of it, as live still today.
Quiet divinities of those woods, old goddesses of the green,
Themselves have gone mute with long silence of the years…
And no longer venture forth amongst man to more be seen,
Than as a dream, and so the old place weeps unheard tears.
All that remains is a small tower, in which lives an old soul!
Black curtains over the windows block out even the moon…
And therein lies a secret held, over which none can control.
She walks in a lonely beauty, eternally young in the gloom!
Stuffed animals decorate her lonely bed, amidst red covers,
Of: sewn silk, where the girl would oft lie in a silent repose.
Not dead, but no longer living and having known no lovers,
The child of the night awaits her visitor as cold wind blows.
So like another evening long ago, which she cannot recall…
She rather simply passes through her familiar daily routines.
She knows someone is coming for the owl cries on the wall,
And so she combs her hair, by the light of pale moonbeams.
Her mother is now coming, but she wears a stranger’s flesh,
And so her daughter tries to prepare all things as they were.
The better to make her mother remember, to recall afresh,
Old maternal instincts, which had all meant so much to her!
I came to her dwelling as an exile from the world I had left,
When in that season I thought to forget my mounting woes.
And so did I befriend that ageless soul, she who was bereft,
Of any thoughts of adulthood, lost in her childhood’s throes.
She had no mother, so I was like one to her for a brief span!
I cared for her, living her mother’s role as if I had long ago.
Did I live here once; did I die here once, in this savage land…
Was this my daughter, bringing me back to a place of woe?
We lay upon that scarlet bed, telling stories to one another…
Amidst the candlelight’s dim glow, our shadows monstrous.
Whilst outside, the owl did cry out as it lost a pale feather…
To the coming storm: of which we had been truly oblivious.
We awaited its’ fury, our arms wrapped in warmth shared…
Both of us eternal beings long used to the chills of the night,
Breathing as one, pulses racing whilst we felt utterly scared.
I: like a child myself lost in the reality and memory of fright!
But for my ageless angel I betrayed no sign of my dismay…
I sang a song that kept her content, lulling her into slumbers.
And soon the storm had passed as the dawn brought the day!
I kissed her forehead and she smiled, one who remembers…
The kindness I showed her, and all the love a heart can give.
But as I stepped into the morning glow, I pondered longest,
On why a child would be here alone, and so continue to live.
Undying and immortal as she was, a child is never strongest!
I stood outside the tower, waiting upon the crossroads to go,
Unable to decide which way, when I heard the owl cry out…
As if I should not leave just yet, and I turned around just so,
That I might return unto the tower, to banish my own doubt.
I looked, and the room that had been kept in splendid order,
Now seemed long abandoned, dark curtains hung in tatters…
Dust covering stuffed animals and no sign of a child boarder.
I knew not where she had gone, and that was what matters…
For in that thought I rushed outside and called out so loudly,
Therein lay an old graveyard, where the owl landed proudly,
Upon the grave of a young girl, her epitaph making sense…
Telling how she died in a storm, when a limb had struck her.
I looked, to see a branch through one of the tower windows,
And the night I had spent with the little ghost was like a blur.
It passed into memory, like the mists before bright rainbows!
Her name was too faded to read, upon her gray tombstone…
But I needed it not, to remember her kind and friendly laugh.
As I set out down the crossroads, a being of flesh and bone…
I wept for that little nameless girl, long lost to nature’s wrath.
My daughter, for whom I once grieved until I died from grief!
I recalled what I had named her; it was Lily and I now knew,
The tragedy, as made our life together to be cut all too brief.
And in that knowing, I could move on to the next life so true!
Ut est non mortuus, quod est validus ut eternus recubo...
Quod per insolitus aeons vel nex est validus morior.
Torment
Welcome to my lab,
Come and stay awhile.
Lay upon this autopsy slab
That would give me a smile.
I’m shocked—you say I’m sick?
You have no idea.
It’s all because of you, you prick!
What could I do to you while you’re here?
Enter the wrong result on your slip?
How easy it would be.
And I’d be on a power trip,
With the illusion of how ill you’d seem.
AIDS or leukemia? I can’t decide which.
But your doctor would treat you the same.
Just a returned gift from your little bitch,
Through my rollicking, sadistic game.
Perhaps a needle to draw your blood,
Raked first across a bacterial agar plate,
To shoot in an infection you’ve never heard of.
Oh my, wouldn’t that be great?!
It’s my turn now, to have control
And oh, so in that would factor,
To make your life a toilet bowl,
And your veins coursing with Campylobacter.
Lucky for you, my shift is done,
See you next time you jerk.
Change my mask, to my child I’ll go home
And say “Guess what Mommy did at work?”
(Disclaimer: this in no way reflects my viewpoints concerning my being a lab tech, and was written in response to what has been in the news at times, of medical personnel using their positions unwisely, for power over others)
