Killing JokeThe walls of my roost, they sigh;
For awake and prowling within,
A purpure silhouette writhes;
Hoarsely, he beckons me to begin;
" Be gone." Me thinks aloud;
Yet, an exemplar of glory is he!
Such exquisite chaos, endowed;
Manners of dementia sold comely;
" You complete me."
Hastily, he stems blaring a glare;
Books, pens, dust rattled off the desk;
His stance culled of a nightmare,
Now looms he, droning my neck;
Seated I, eyeballing the screen;
Naught a twitch for an itch,
As leathery hands locked keen,
He acquaints me own hands to script;
A fool I felt, a Puppeteer's aid;
'Tis then he bent, tongue in me ear,
Grains of a chalky mask fade,
Abandoned his visage with a sere;
His tale enraged of muted irony,
Etched for keeps, a laugh so rubious;
I withered, as his lips rasped cruelly-
" Why so serious?"
Deluder's DelusionMake haste! Make haste!
Naught a minute to waste!
Shovel those bittersweet coals!
They be warrant for your souls!
See now! Harken titian fields!
The laborious aria it yields;
Of rancid sweat and bloody tears,
To condemn tables of miserly meals!
-Spake my spirit-
Thou art of age, twenty-six!
Drunk by thine mother's bosom,
Thou hast clasped thine lips!
Varlet! Thou most loathsome!
Thou art treacherous scribe!
Merchant of baneful plums;
Thou lyest, borne of foul tribe!
Bard of swindling poems!
-I contended myne voice-
'Tis true yet 'tis naught;
Ye sought well to ravage,
Of myne repreve from the noose!
I canst no more hide and rummage;
For bittersweet coals charred my bliss;
And miserly meals churned my shame;
Fiendish words to the earth, my kiss;
Grisly tears suckle my blame;
Make haste! Make haste!
I shall soon come undone;
For naught a minute I wasted,
Dashing my foot against a stone;
Of a much modest price!
Be myne burial,
Than of my sombre life!
An Army BeforeThey stand as Pillars of ravenous claim;
Pariahs of Asgardian pathos,
Ever-ready moths to my game;
Seething desperation embossed;
Sacrificial armoured wounds,
Nations borne of savage feasts! Hark!
Paeans of kindled tongues resound!
As crushed knees love their Monarch!
My feet of assembled bargains,
They shall scorch the graces of Odin;
For Thor, my brother, Jotunheim awakens,
A mate, they seek! Oh! Dear Jane!
My fate of a hateful life,
To rule giants and mortals;
With a leeching scepter as wife,
Yes, with the boot, an ant has no quarrel
My army courts menace,
Splitting skulls for only me;
Glad tidings flow intimately,
Slowly, by the scream of my name