rayraythemanape

Ballad of Vreeland

I remember the days when I was master of all the realms.
I remember when people would bow to me and none would try and oppose me.
I remember the day that a man dared to deny me.
I remember the hatred that poured from my soul.
I remember the legions I sent after him and the years that went by with him dodging my justice.
I remember the times that I thought I had won and the times he escaped.
I remember the day of that the defiant ones came.
I remember seeing how many there were.
I remember the day my empire fell.
I remember when the sword pierced my heart.
I remember dying and the release of my power.
I remember cursing my arrogance in pushing one man.
I remember that it was that action the brought apart my end.
I remember this for eternity drifting in limbo wondering if I shall ever be whole again.

LeMac Prophesized

We all hated the man in Colossus
There were two Knights
There was a Priest and
There was a Wizard

We had our doubts
We had our fears, but
There was a Wizard
That would prophesize our success

He was a laugh at spells
He save for the time
That would prophesize our success
In telling that Pewt would free the Realms

It wasnt random
It wasnt a fluke
In telling that Pewt would free the Realms
He gave hope to them around

The dark lord foresaw
And in that fear
He gave hope to them around
Until he was dead

The man in Colossus waited
Never restful and always fearful
Until he was dead
And Pewt would free the Realms

LeMac Prophesized Re-write

There is a man in Colossus, that we all hate with all our hearts.
We were few but two Knights, a Priest and a Wizard and a warrior.
We all had our doubts, we had our fears, but
we had a Wizard.
and he would prophesize our success

He was a laugh at spells, our enemies not us.
Save for the time,
that would prophesize our success.
In telling that Pewt would free the Realms.

It wasnt random,
though many thought it was a fluke.
Some strange wild tale in telling that Pewt would free the Realms.
He gave hope to those all around.

The dark lord foresaw, that man in Colossus,
and in that fear
he gave hope to all those around.
Until he was dead.

The man in Colossus waited,
never restful and always fearful,
Until he was dead,
and Pewt freed the Realms.

Val

I sneak around a cave looking for a beast.
While moving through the darkness I smell a grand feast.
I move in closer to get a better sight.
But the sight I saw gave me quite a fright.

There I saw a troop of goblins stirring a pot.
Beside it I saw children all tied up with a knot.
Such a travesty I could not let come to pass.
I slide out my sword ready to kick some ass.

I crept up to the doorway ready to charge upon the creatures.
The closer I got, the room took on more features.
There stood men in gleaming armor.
And there stood a wizard with all standing enamored.

If these things where not doing this action by choice?
Then what am I to do butcher them for succumbing to a witchs voice?
Here I stand thinking,
here I stand debating and waiting.

Until I feel a pinch at my back.
Looks like I am captured, next to be a snack.
I surrender my sword feeling like a fool.
Into the room I walk looking like a tool.

The wizard has me held before him children all crying.
He chants to me softly like loving words from the dying.
I feel a tingle down to my feet.
But my will is not broken, I play the deceit.

Yes, Master I say to the witch most foul.
My sword they return, I hide my smile.
I play the fool and wait for the moment.
I move to the rear my patients becoming fervent.

I have moved to the back of the wizard to cleave.
I swing and I hack, the wizard shall bleed.
I am the hero the people are freed.
Then I wake up and I am told to rake leaves.

Dreams of a boy ready to be a man,
I tend to my chores and brush my ram.
Jett one day well leave this place.
The creature looks up and licks at the smile on my face.

All of MY Pretty Flowers

I walk down the street my eyes darting around looking over all of the pretty flowers.
Their colors and scents, petals and blossoms each of them different and all of them the same.
The stems, the length and the color how smooth and silky some are.
beware of picking a flower with thorns
as they tend to try and do you harm.

I chose my flowers as I walk around,
but I never collect them till the sun goes down,
as there are some that would stop me if I just grab them up.
I only note their location and description in my little book.
I think of my collection of flowers, their scent now faded.

An awful odor has replaced it, but I cannot part with them.
The hues of their petals have faded from time.
Their blossoms have faded and been replaced with decay.
All that is left is the shadow of their bloom.

I discard the petals after a time,
I cut away the stems and keep only the blossoms.
What brought them to me, what made me chose them,
a memory faded away with time.

There are those that disagree with my collection,
they call it monstrous or demented,
knowing as I do, that my collection would be frowned upon
I keep them hidden away,
deep in the dark
hidden out of sight.

And even with this precaution,
I realize here and there,
that someone might see me burying the stems or the petals or leaves,
that someone might catch the scent of my blossoms rotting on the breeze.

And stop me,

from collecting

all my pretty flowers.

The Silver Dish

I feel the tingle,
the change coming in waves
hair raising up on my skin
my teeth bared.

A scream cuts from my throat
the light pours down upon me
my eyes adjust to the nights embrace
I hear my heart race and jump.

My claws are bared and they dig
as knots into the soft
wet
earth.

The scream shifts to a howl
and the howl become a call
a sound of lust and hunger
a call to all things primeval.

The scent in the air is of prey
the cool night air carries it over the distance.
I shake off my clothes, kicking them off as rags. Naked to the world,
natures perversion, but closer to her then I was before.

Reborn,
embraced in the darkness
under the light of the Silver Dish,
I sniff the air and tear off into the night.

The This or That

I stare at the shelves holding my generations great literature.
A drama, a comedy, horror or something from the realms of science fiction.
I think of the number, well over three hundred.
I think of one of the numbers at random and grasp at the choice.

A drama, something with gangsters,
I touch the jacket of the modern work
and the story flashes before my minds eye
tired, I have seen this too often.

I grab a number at random again,
a serial, a series, one of heroes.
The story was charming,
The characters enduring, and the tale touching to the heart.

But it was perverted. The writers shuffled and the story lost and changed
to a point that the familiarity is just lost.
Looking on the shelves I scan for something I have not seen in the longest of time.
A series, long dead, Science Fiction. Aliens.

I take the discs from the case and pop the story into the story teller.
The screen pops on, a theme song plays in the tongue of the aliens within the story.
I learn to the music the tapping upon drums and the foreign language
written to fiction.

When the story is done,
I count out the time,
I used in viewing,
the literature of my generation.

and weep at the loss of imagination and wonder.

Weakness of the Heart and Foolishness of the Soul

I made the decision to put a gun to my head.
Pulled it from of its case and lay it on my bed.
I undress from my clothes and lay them on the covers.
I think of the two in my room, and the forbidden lovers.

I take up the pistol and walk to the bathroom.
Wondering on why she decided on him as her groom.
Naked as the day I was born, I lay in the tub.
I take out the pistol, absent the one I love.

I place the gun to my temple.
I think of the mess that will spout and be ample.
I take the pistol and place it in my mouth.
A mess of my corpse is not what I want.

I place the barrel to my chest,
just above the heart thats broken,
I tremor and tense and then let out a shutter,
the hammer draws back and I take a breath.

It clacks into place,
my breath is released - there is no bang - no pop - no blood - no death
I look down upon myself as liquid trails from my groin.
I check the guns cylinder for the error in my plan.

No bullets in the piece, I toss it from my tub and shower off my disgrace.

I walk to my room disappointed in events,
I redress in my clothes and I draw out a new plan.
I head to the store to purchase new rounds.
Slim and light to be quick as a knife, not as messy as a hound.

My wallet is empty I run to the bank,
I am overdrawn there, as broken as a Saint.
I head to the store credit card in my hand,
paying them wouldnt be part of the plan.

Here at the store I look for my ammo,
I pick of my brand and take it to the counter,
the clerk rings me up but I am declined on my card.
At this point the end is seeming kind of hard.

I laugh at the way I cant end this day.

A new plan develops,
I need not the gun.
I thank the clerk kindly,
leaving without another word.

I get in my car and turn the key,
it runs and the radio starts playing Gods know what for me.
I dont need a gun, but I dont want a mess.
There is a knife at home,
I can plunge into my chest.

I listen to the CD as I start off home.
I laugh at the tune,
enjoying my roam.

When I get to the house, I see my friends all waiting.
They are all sitting in front smoking and joking.

Lets go out shooting, one says,
lets go out and have fun.
I tell them sure and go get my gun.

Do you have any ammo?
One asks and then
I remember theres some sitting up in a bin.

I do at that. I say with a grin.

Suicide is pointless.

Find love from within.