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Array
(
[sid] => 50184
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Garden of the Dead
[time] => 2004-06-02 22:36:41
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The princess of darkness, in her black satin dress, She sits all alone, in a nightmare repressed. By Satan she has been eternally blessed She shares his fascinations, like the knife’s gentle caress. Her black hair is tangled, her eyes glow deep red Her body is mangled, covered with blood of the dead. Her mind full of hatred, her heart full of fear She sits on her throne and pretends to rule here. In a land far away, a land of eternal darkness A land of eternal cold, A land completely heartless She rules this land, after everyone is gone She sits on her throne and rules no one. Staring over the barren ash She tells herself she’s powerful She tells herself she’s queen She tells herself she’s the most Revered human being But she knows in her heart, this is all a lie. She is no one, nothing, just waiting to die. Beautiful, though, this dark creature may be Her mind is deformed with insanity She calls to her master, through eternal night Asks him to bring her home, to Hell’s fiery light Like an animal she rages, when he doesn’t answer her cry She doesn’t understand why she’s never died. It’s been so many millennia now, she doesn’t remember her plea Doesn’t remember how she lusted for immortality. In exchange for her soul, though she’s long since forgotten, She was given what all humans crave She was given eternal life, riches, power, her spirit rotten Now she lives forever on the world’s silent grave. The silence is deafening, she no longer can speak She is broken and starving, so pale and so weak. But because of her greedy ways, she may never die So stuck inside the stillness, tortured, she’ll forever lie. The crunching of bones under her feet is the only noise she’ll ever hear Her polluted blood runs down her chin, a delicacy she holds so dear. No food, no water, for a thousand years, she’s developed vampire needs And in the world of dust and ruin, she’s the only one who bleeds. The rusty, sulfuric clouds roll everlastingly above her head They rumble with malice as she cares for her garden of the dead She remembers so well when Judgment day came by While everyone else ran, she prayed she would die. But yet here she is, abandoned, the only human left alive Listening to the haunting melody of the dead’s lullaby And yet, through all her misery, she stands up proud and tall She holds her staff in her hand, and refuses to acknowledge her fall. Off a cliff she gazes with her eyes of scarlet red For she’s the caretaker of the Garden of the Dead. [comments] => 6 [counter] => 182 [topic] => 13 [informant] => BlackFire9786 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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