Tag: poem

The Elven Fire

Shaneise, a little birdie told me of your b-day.
There is so much good stuff for her to say.
You’re the only one shes ever connected.
So deeply, as if by universe, you were selected,
And your fashion sense does apparently slay.

So just like her sister’s poem before you,
You get a very special rhyming tale too
A tale of a woman so natural and wise
One who helps others in a state of demise
Adding yet another Gryffindor to the slew

This tale will be of a magical woman
That was bound to no mortal man
She came from the land of dragonshire
And to be a fashion model she did aspire
To show the world her skin ever so tan

But little did she know about her past
Of how much magic her line had amassed
900 years of magic concentrated down
Now triggering the final countdown
To the cleansing of the great Belfast

1000 years ago the great seer saw
Images of when the land would thaw
‘Tis when the great evil will be free
To corrupt from the land to the sea
But he wouldn’t be any ole outlaw

As Shaneise was born way too soon,
Another born to an Aquarian moon,
She was left to a fragile single mother
But then she was passed to another
As the sun rose on a hot day in June

Taken away before she could learn
About the inner magics that burn
So she led a eccentric girl’s unique life
Accompanied by lots of grief and strife
From a mother that was greatly stern

The ragged clothes she always wore
Greatly affected her to her very core
So every day she plotted her escape
For a life that she could reshape
And by that she absolutely swore

One day she saw an opened door
An escape she could easily score
For there was a call for females tall
To model in Belfast and bare it all
This was what she was made for

She arrives to the Celtic city
Looking like grace and beauty
The city was sprawling and grand
Ready for molding at her hand
And not ready for one so pretty

From here the story gets good
In a land where evil once stood
A pretty little wood elf now resides
In fashion she makes great strides
Magically weaving cloak and hood

But then a strange thing occurred
When she read an ancient word
Her unseen runes went neon
Her magic now fully turned on
Her vision blurry and words slurred

The power rushed through her core
Dropping her to the cold hard floor
She rose with rune tattoos glowing
Strength and power now overflowing
The elf is now ready for the new war

As the shockwaves rocked the nine hells
And penetrated the space-time parallels
Lord Dughall new the time had come
And sounded the demon war drum
Into Shaneise flooded ancient spells

The Lord Mayor unleashed the nether
The tear brought dark, stormy weather
The people of Belfast dropped to knees
Uttering prayers in repeats of threes
But Shaneise pulled them all together

As unimaginable evil rapidly descended
The entire town she fervently defended
earth, air, fire, water, and aether merged
So that the horrible evils could be purged
In the beautiful lands that were contended

Lord Dughall descended to the battle field
With is demon enchanted sword and shield
Shaneise’s power was almost depleted
But the Lord Mayor was overly conceited
The young elf refused to get herself killed

With her strength now almost expended
She lifter her head with her arms extended
With her last breath, she dug deep within
And the runes lifted off of her elven skin
The explosion had time and space bended

As evil was defeated and nether closed
Shaneise’s body lay lifeless and exposed
But the story wasn’t over for the heroine
The girl from Gryffindor had narrowed in
Primrose came and her life was reimposed

Masculine Sun

The sun. Masculine giver of light
2025 his spots reach thier height
His prime cycle of double one
When he dies, we are all done
And cold will be that fateful night.

Isn’t strange that Jesus was thirty three
Dying, completing three cycles, did he
And on top of that he is the “SON”
Do you see what I’ve just done?
I made the sun a part of the holy trinity

When men harnesses the sun power
The world will see a great light shower
Apollo, god of the sun, bringer of light
The masculine holder of oracle sight
More men need to harness this power

The Feminine Moon

Moon. Feminine mirror of the light
She lights up the darkest of night
When she’s full, she radiates energy
Charging crystals and water so tenderly
Sometimes she’s red and others white

The masculine are powered from the sun
But the feminine get to have more fun
As they power up from sun and moon
With the moon their bodies attune
With twice power, emotions can overrun

Apollo’s twin, Artemis, the moon deity
Goddess of the wilderness and chastity
She represents equality between gender
Reminding women to never surrender
To be any man’s acquired “property”

The Demiurge

When chaos and tragedy emerge
Before the eyes life’s events merge
To look up is many people’s urge,
But No matter where beliefs diverge,
Almost all paths eventually converge
And bring us back to the demiurge
What matters is where we splurge
Which things we choose to purge
And that we don’t become a scourge

The Angel’s Touch

Though he traveled alone
And shivered to the bone,
Darkness was his respite;
So, from light he did exit,
buying time for to atone

She watched him from afar.
Every alley, street and bar
She saw through his façade
And cornered him in Cape Cod
As he was meeting a porn star

She felt a kind of chemistry.
Like an unsolved mystery,
The attraction was baffling.
Oh, the hormones shes battling,
Her next move makes history

As her arms reach from behind
And his chest they certainly find,
A bright light penetrates inwards
But also violently blasts outwards
Leaving them confused and blind

He felt an energy never gotten
His aura turned as white as cotton
His darkness she had purified
Allowing his heart to opened wide
He was no longer dirty and rotten

Lights flicker when they touch
Their energy surges so much
She collapses with every kiss
Her heart racing, lying in bliss
With legs shaking and such

The moral of the story is this:
Even if you are rotten as piss,
An angel’s touch is a game changer
Removing the darkness and danger
Creating lots of ecstasy and bliss

The Message

I know not to whom this is for
But like wind through a door
To me a vision came before
In my mind words did pour
“Know that you are so much more
Even if you’re amidst an inner war”

The solitary life allows us to atone.
But you don’t have to go at it alone
You are a brilliantly lit capstone,
A flawlessly crafted gemstone.
Let no one take away your throne

The Regression

Let me tell you a fantastic story
An adventure of magic and glory
A saga about a necromancer of night
A despicable creature named Dwight
But no elves dressed whorey

Now that the backstory is set
Into my past regression we get
To get deep into this trance
I thought of the walrus dance
And an ice cream quartet

As the higher vibrations begin
A blue-ish purple portal sets in
As I step into the watery portal
I realize it’s actually a wormhole
Which dropped me near a war pen

I soon realize that I am in a war
Without pause, I loudly roar
And rush to a seven foot orc
Putting my magics to work
And then the ground up and tore

A truce between races was struck
But soon we ran out of good luck
After days of stillness and peace
Hatred was on a fast increase
And then came back all the muck

The evil Dwight raised souls from hell
To pile the dead into his evil sex cell
His fetish: deformed toes and necrophilia
Spanned across the human and reptilila
But served him in his sinister spell

Incantations charged his man seed
To create an enhanced undead breed
One that can not easily be stopped
Thus the great war he did concoct
Only for his insatiable sexual need

As the undead horde descended
The humans and elves pretended
That they were hereby oblivious
To he who was ever so devious
And left the walls undefended

As the mighty castle was overran
So started phase one of the plan
Unknown to Dwight, we had planted
Many boxes of disposium enchanted
Before the main undead rush began

As the dreaded creatures got near
I gripped my staff’s crystal sphere
“Ek tu grok skret mi posk tuuk tet”
I uttered. then staff and ground met
Channeling the entire atmosphere

As my staff forcefully detonated
A shockwave rapidly emanated
A chain reaction of disposium
Created an undead symposium
As the land became consecrated

I knew then why I regressed here
To awaken inside me the sightseer
The remembering my days as a sage
Days of me being the great war mage
So that I may elevate to a higher tier

The Call

As a kid I felt the spirit’s call
But as an adult came the fall
The dream to preach deferred
But recently, to me, it occurred
That I still had that damn call

But it wasn’t to Christian preach
Instead all metaphysics to teach
As I woke from spiritual slumber
I learned my life path number
Passing on wisdom is my outreach

You see, the message reoccurred
In so many lucid dreams deferred
In dream after dream, I am a leader
One who is a great freedom feeder
This all may seem quite absurd

In a past life that may not be on Earth
I was rune maker of home and hearth
That occurrence was passed as a dream
But then came the one of leading a team
A single war mage of the highest worth

The more I resisted the spiritual call
The more I saw all my life plans stall
Eventually ideas from wisdom stirred
No longer was the call to be deferred
Once I glimpsed into the Akashic hall

I know now that teaching is my gift
To pass wisdom to bridge the rift
As the planet begins to awaken
My path will be hard and shaken
But I must no longer defer my gift

As I step forward to lead the charge
I hope to help the masses at large
To help guide them to awakening
As the shift seems to be hastening
Then we will help the earth recharge

Let me be testament to a dream deferred
And my knowledge be thus transferred
That others can stand on my shoulders
Without stumbling over the boulders
To leave the dimension we called third

Of Oppression

“My tomorrow must be greater than today”
I heard that once; as if so certain is the future’s way.
Democracy will come tomorrow to remain
Tomorrow the sun will rise and never set again
Tomorrow we will speak out loud against the lies unafraid,
at the edge of desperation we are swayed our democracy under raid

Democracy, what does it really mean?
A rule by the majority to be truly seen?
But if a people are frequently oppressed,
Can democracy really be justly confessed?
There is no place for humans to be mean

Myanmar has professed democratic rule
But their treatment of Muslims is cruel
As many flee to neighboring Bangladesh
Is this an ethnic cleansing in the flesh?
Either way, oppression is not at all cool

The Magus and the Witch

She draws power from the moon
She’ll dance to a wicked tune
And push him to his upper limit
Then cast spells. Candles dim lit.
With her touch he will swoon

The wild feminine of the witch
Satisfies the magus’s sexual itch
His muse. His inspirational bae
A love poem that will not sway
This is the power of the witch

The snakes cometh out to see
The high vibrations, that of she
Like insects flight into the light
Her charm he can not truly fight
But, likewise, the magus is her he

For all the power she possesses
Her love she ultimately confesses
For in him she finds solid ground
And fight for him to be around
To him she moves and coalesces