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HereafterNo time for the wicked – The day of their judgement is nigh; No rest for the blameless Their every tear to dry.Hereafter
No God to hear our prayers, But a Devil takes joy in our woes; No reprieve from above, But a promise of suffering below.
Too soon the day shall come
When every beast and man Shall surely leave this Earth And meet in Hell again.
by ~ViolentGrey
Shall I Call Thee FriendNow true hearts are proven false And old affections feigned; Now I am grown desolate, O, shall I call thee Friend?Shall I Call Thee Friend
When all the world is barren, And bright hopes withered lie, When all the earth has wasted, And the air is stale and dry,
When all the house is quiet And the light is growing dim, The wind goes howling through the halls, And the walls are stark and grim,
When all the house is empty, And the day is at its end, When all the house is lone and still – O, shall I call thee Friend?
by ~ViolentGrey
O Fuhrer MineSpeak to me, o Führer mine, Of Thy heroic struggle! Where the world is troubled, Is not the Kingdom of Glory Thine? Speak to me, o Valiant One, Of Thy sphere – where Thou art chiefest And foremost, as befits One so well-spoken! Age must marvel at Youth, For the world, in Revel, is saved; And from the loins of Pleasure spring forth The seeds of Light and Truth. Where the world is stricken with poverty, And where man’s hope grows dim – There in Thee they trust, O Champion of Charity!O Fuhrer Mine
by ~ViolentGrey
050408I am tired now. Do not be fooled: My calm is outward; I am not the peace you seek.050408
Something has inserted itself. Look: I am seeping Here, there And another place also.
See how they weep. Do not be mistaken: I do not grieve – I am only looking.
It is nothing really. I do not concern myself over it. It is nothing I can remedy anyway.
It is faster now. I was only saying – I do not take excessive interest – Only... it is faster now.
by ~ViolentGrey
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- Favourite poet or writer: Anne Brontë, Sylvia Plath
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$7
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"How did I know that someday—at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere—the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?"
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
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$7
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When your god gives you lemons, pick a new god.
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