IsolatedI had no choice but to be isolated
For there was nothing truly left of me
After the monsters ate my insides.
And now that I am as hollow and empty
Perhaps I should eat myself alive.
Wanderer in the SandAnd what would you do
when the world has turned to dust.
When all that remains
are but the two of us.
In fiery determination,
we burned the entire world
And now there is as much emptiness
as a clam without its pearl.
And though I hated them,
so too did I love.
Perhaps, even as my father once loved.
And yet I was not as merciful as he
for I had grown up selfish...
And now that only the desert remains,
I see why he forced me down.
A world he could spin again
with but a wave of his fingers.
But the same it would never be
as the 'forever' that was lost.
In the end I can only say,
that across the empty desert sands,
"I'm sorry dear sister,
I will make this right, by my hand..."
March of The Mad KingI forged an army from the frozen wastes.
Even as the chilling wind wheezed in my lungs.
Blood coughed onto white snow;
Was ignored by the fever in my eyes.
I saw only a chance for glory
A chance to relive the past
To once again clash upon the field of battle
With the legends now resting in their graves.
Would the younglings be as their predecessors?
Would they be strong enough to stand against my infernal tide
Or would they wither and beg,
As mewling kittens undeserving of mercy.
Even as my body died upon these bones,
I kept working.
I kept toiling as I built an army
Of steel and magic script.
And come the summer I would march them
So a new history may be writ...
Dear heroes, I wait
An insane warmonger
Dying upon his throne of skulls
With an eager smile
Plastering this palid face.
Castle of the Mad KingIn the falling snow of a dreary winter.
I see in the distance a spark of hope.
A hero that may yet rise
From the ashes of a once dead kingdom.
So come to me my fledgling poet.
Come into the castle of horrors and dread.
My snap-dragons wait with bated breath;
My hydras spew their poison into the very air...
For this cold heart of mine
Could only feel the barest of joy
When it feasts upon THINE!
So bring to me your polished verses
Your swords of wit and silver.
Plunge them into my flesh and I beg you;
Let me feel once more...
For what I seek is not chatter
Not a hundred and forty characters.
Nor the bilious micropoetry spewed
As if it were a drunk text to a forgotten lover.
And in my mind I have wished only
To revive this ancient art.
To feel once more the glory of the winters past,
When poets sundered verses and cracked even the toughest of hearts!
I long for that inspiring conflict--
Of sword and tooth matched in fury and wit.
For only when I am able to slay the unassailable
- Written by Word of Chen
This is an account created for Siddhartha Chen Yuan Wen. Poet/Writer. It is run by me Chen and my co-captain Hayes
My days of being a pirate are now behind me, but I do hope you'll join me in what might be my last push into the art world. We're going to do it with a bang and do it hard!
If you want to help, then faving, commenting, liking and sharing my work is the way to go.
Don't forget to view all the videos and such that will be up on my youtube account: www.youtube.com/channel/UCbxaD…
That said, let's get this party started!
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because I have enough to feed my psychosis for a lifetime!
And even when you're here with me holding my hand,
It takes all that I have not to scatter like sand.
And I'll blow in the wind like a thousand pieces of me,
Each one an insane fragment of the man that couldn't be.
Who was lost in the wind as his shell lived it's life,
A ghost in the machine, buried in ice.
but those are few and far between.
I leave myself caught in the embrace of debauchery,
because to face reality is to admit that I am unclean.
And I chase my problems with sex and wine,
Hoping that the haze might never lift.
Because if I were to open my eyes this day.
I would finally see all the life that I've missed.
And that would probably break me...
I wished to put my flower,
into a shell of glass.
I wished to keep her forever,
but I knew she would not last.
So instead I would leave her,
in the garden where she was green.
for even if someone picked her,
my heart would remain serene.
"For at least she is free..."