Politically Correct Goth Poems:
Please be aware that the following may, or may not, be
offensive to some readers.
death deserved
My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world.
what have you taken away?
a shadow of pain as memories twist.
once we tasted bliss,
untainted and hand in hand,
but your love drifted away.
a clouded vision of bitterness -
tears follow pain, follow agony,
love burnt to ashes?
in a haze of sorrow,
My humble self still love you.
Or so I am led to believe.
Around, all around, the angels gather.
My dread grows as the passionate hand of Heaven falls against my naked soul.
It crushes me, and darkly my
life's blood drips
to the barren land.
In agony my humble self cry out
while the Reaper takes my hand.
Now alone, my cry of mercy are finally heard.
I apologize if I have offended anyone in any way.
This is my salvation
Or so I have heard.
eternal
It beats me.
It is a night of darkness, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their loneliness. Is that right?
The dark one
stirs.
At least, this is my hypothesis.
Potentially good shrouds her deathly form,
a timeless life?
Or so I am told.
Her silken hair cascades over
fragile milk-blatently white shoulders, and her
full scarlet lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her?
Though I understand this is a controversial issue, and not everyone will agree.
Now a night of new awareness,
My humble self smile vaguely.
Or as far as I can tell.
Alone in Darkness
Or so I am inclined to think.
the night falls with a silent sigh, cold and alone are we?
the light for which you lust
flares once, then dies,
swept away by the all-encompassing dark.
all hope must surely perish.
Please excuse me.
your heart desires no more.
how could you fail to believe?
shadows surround us, crying,
sanctuary.
I wouldn't have clue.
A God that is Yours
Or so I am inclined to think.
Slender beams of moonlight enter
this darkened church as my humble self kneel,
always in prayer, always in pain,
frozen here,
waiting.
It's not a black and white issue.
Haloed forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
spearing my naked soul.
It's not a black and white issue.
Realization dawning on an angel's face.
It's not a black and white issue.
My humble self raise my head, now crying out for
this oblivious salvation.
Or so I have heard.
I wouldn't have been able to finish this piece without the
considerate and guiding hand of my good friend Professor
Spencer, who put this work through a final, rigorous editing,
cutting its size by at least fifty percent.
Please be aware that the following may, or may not, be
offensive to some readers.
death deserved
My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world.
what have you taken away?
a shadow of pain as memories twist.
once we tasted bliss,
untainted and hand in hand,
but your love drifted away.
a clouded vision of bitterness -
tears follow pain, follow agony,
love burnt to ashes?
in a haze of sorrow,
My humble self still love you.
Or so I am led to believe.
Around, all around, the angels gather.
My dread grows as the passionate hand of Heaven falls against my naked soul.
It crushes me, and darkly my
life's blood drips
to the barren land.
In agony my humble self cry out
while the Reaper takes my hand.
Now alone, my cry of mercy are finally heard.
I apologize if I have offended anyone in any way.
This is my salvation
Or so I have heard.
eternal
It beats me.
It is a night of darkness, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their loneliness. Is that right?
The dark one
stirs.
At least, this is my hypothesis.
Potentially good shrouds her deathly form,
a timeless life?
Or so I am told.
Her silken hair cascades over
fragile milk-blatently white shoulders, and her
full scarlet lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her?
Though I understand this is a controversial issue, and not everyone will agree.
Now a night of new awareness,
My humble self smile vaguely.
Or as far as I can tell.
Alone in Darkness
Or so I am inclined to think.
the night falls with a silent sigh, cold and alone are we?
the light for which you lust
flares once, then dies,
swept away by the all-encompassing dark.
all hope must surely perish.
Please excuse me.
your heart desires no more.
how could you fail to believe?
shadows surround us, crying,
sanctuary.
I wouldn't have clue.
A God that is Yours
Or so I am inclined to think.
Slender beams of moonlight enter
this darkened church as my humble self kneel,
always in prayer, always in pain,
frozen here,
waiting.
It's not a black and white issue.
Haloed forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
spearing my naked soul.
It's not a black and white issue.
Realization dawning on an angel's face.
It's not a black and white issue.
My humble self raise my head, now crying out for
this oblivious salvation.
Or so I have heard.
I wouldn't have been able to finish this piece without the
considerate and guiding hand of my good friend Professor
Spencer, who put this work through a final, rigorous editing,
cutting its size by at least fifty percent.