Experimental story time part one

I'm going to start by saying that this is being written without any sort of editing being done before posting. If this ends up going somewhere, it might not look quite like this by the time it's in print.


The darkness wrapped around me, cold black mist. I felt like it was shaping me, rather than shaping itself around me. Screams rang in my ears, those of the dying, the damned. This nightmare was excruciating. When would it end?
I don't think it's ended. I don't think the screams have stopped. But the dark mist stopped swirling and tightening. I think I wear the mist now, and inside the hood are the souls and the screams. Or maybe it's the scythe that holds the remnants of those who refused to die quietly on my watch. Sometimes these are what I think about, when I have enough free time to think. It's then that the screams are loudest and the tension highest. It's then that I ponder whether the general view on my position and profession are correct in that it's a punishment.
I'm a Reaper, an agent of whoever holds the office of Death. In essence, I'm one member of a unit of souls with the fate to provide the justice of death to the masses. After all, one of the few justices in a miserable mortal existence is the right to die. I am not one committing a crime, for I am not the murderer. If blame must be doled out, my scythe is the murderer. I am just the vehicle for the scythe's will.
If you do not believe me, allow me to provide an example, a story of when I first woke from the dream called Life, and into Eternity. I still remember the man who greeted me, so long on the position that his features were all cold and gray, darkened and gaunt form looking devoured by the robe--or the scythe.
"Sir, you have just awakened," he said.
"Me?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. You have been chosen as one of the Reapers. We carry out Death's will upon humanity, since a different set of rules governs the higher animals. I have little to say, except that the manual you will find inside your Robe is invaluable. It cannot be lost, but I'd suggest reading it right away, after you have had time to meet your Blade."
"What's going on? I vaguely remember an end, a cord being cut, and then the darkness and chaos bound me, and I presume they became this cloth that drapes over me like so. You imply that I've awakened, I assume from 'life' and into 'after'." Of course, you yourself have seen the various mistakes I made in my naïve state. The man, whose name I still don't know, gave other small pieces of information not worthy of speaking of. What is worth speaking of, however, is the Scythe.
I was led by the cold man across some bridge through space and time that never existed, from one dark room lit by torches to another. Stone floors, stone walls, and no apparent ceiling--nothing at all above, in fact--were all that I noticed in this place, the Stronghold of Death. The last room we reached, though, was full of sharply curved blades with pieces of wood attached. There was no "iconic" scythe, with a perfectly straight handle and a blade with a perfect curve.
The one that called out to me was at first the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and then the most terrifying, and still after that the most powerful. A twisted, gnarled limb of willow was the shaft. The blade almost seemed to curve down, then up again, before returning back down almost to the point of pointing straight at the ground. Its initial color was bronze, but I have since seen it turn silver and occasionally red. The fluidity of the curved blade, the apparent strength of the shaft, called out to my very soul. I think that's where it hides, now, inside Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water, as it calls itself.
This scythe rent my spirit open and tore out all of my worth. It's my home, now, with this husk as its vehicle. My name is Mordus, or The Bringer, and sometimes Darkness-Eating-Burning-Water.

Story time?

I'm tempted to start writing a story, and posting it bit by bit in the spaces where I'm not posting poetry. This is still only a possibility, but something I might enjoy seeing happen.

By the way, the Facebook page for this blog is:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/New-Perspective-the-Poetry-of-Andrew-Maben/103139123067323

That's the ONLY WAY I know how many fans I've got, since few people seem dedicated to doing anything with a Blogspot account in the tiny fanbase I appear to have. Thanks!

Reapers' Chant

Breathing deeply, hope to find
The darkened secrets in your mind.
With my claws will you I rake,
Pray your Lord your soul I take.

Scythe of darkness so profound,
Taking lost souls never found.
Its dark beauty hard to see
Hiding in its master Me.

Colored robes of darkness drained
Hide inside My eyes well-trained.
Rotting hands, only bone,
Ice and steel and cold hard stone.

Foolish dreamers never wake,
Never see their lives at stake,
Darkness ‘round in every dream,
Cutting off that little scream.

Damned am I to serve my days
As harbinger of ancient ways.
Death my partner, its cold soul
Bringing justice to a world unwhole.


Note: this is probably my new favorite. I'm really enjoying making poems that are supposed to be chanted. This one decided to feed off my dark side. 'Twas epic.

Lateness

I'm gonna be starting back up with the normal schedule tomorrow. I guess I've just been lazy.

Another Acrostic

Thanks Kenshur for reminding me of the name of the poem style.

Chaotic
Representative
Energy
All
Timelessness
Impossibilities
Visible
Eternal

Prime
Entertaining
Real
Fierce
Elusive
Creative
True
Inspiring
Opportunistic
Near


Perhaps these explain some of who I am. Maybe?

Late Poem-thing

Okay, so I've been struck by a song so hard I've not been able to do much...shall we say, "productive thinking"? In a small flash of inspiration, I'm going to do one of those poems that can be made by second-graders. I don't remember what they're called and don't really care.

Duty

Inspiration

Service

Confession

I Love

Prayer

Leadership

Imprisonment of impurity

Nurturing

Empowerment

Note: I sort of thought of the first part in church. I had trouble with most of the second part. >.<

Random proverbs/sayings

Don't expect many of these to be accurate:

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

A good proverb is worth two bad.

Feminists! In my keep? SLAY THEM ALL!!!

Treat others as you wish to be treated.

The cake is a lie.

Life's a dream.

Okay, it's late, and I'm tired, so I guess I'll stop here before I have a chance to get a cease & desist letter. >_>

This is immensely late

Well, title says it all on this one. My sister didn't let me onto the computer Monday, and I didn't feel creative anyway the past few days. If I was diligent and altogether good, I might post two poems here. I don't have two new poems to post. I got back from Denver under two hours ago, and I'm glad to be home. Oh, well. You'll just have to wait until Saturday for a new poem. >_>

Double

Double the trouble,
Double the fun,
I'm hopelessly outnumbered:
Two to one.

Two minds against me,
What can I do?
I'm out of options:
I had two.

You didn't need to suffer
The likes of me.
Basic math was on your side,
For two and one make three.

Thanks for all that;
I'm too scared to run.
For me, one time is not enough:
The real nightmare's begun.


Note: This one is pretty much nonfiction.

Late Thursday Poast

I saw Despicable Me on Tuesday, and it was nearly as good as Up. I will admit to it making me get close to crying at the end, similarly to Up with the Ellie Badge thing (if you don't know what I'm talking about, then watch Up ASAP).

I went to Pike's Peak yesterday, the 31st tallest mountain in Colorado--the #1 is only a few hundred feet higher, so they're all extremely close. I didn't feel the altitude's power much until I exerted a little bit of force moving around on rocks at the pinnacle, which we took a cog-train up (down, too). There's a lot less oxygen around at 14,110 feet than there is at one mile up, which is where I'm at right now. I'll probably be writing the poem for tomorrow...tomorrow. I'm going to be seeing the Nature and Science Museum, as well as an art museum near it in Denver, along with the State Capitol Building.

Cave

I seek a haven from roaming sound,
A cave with dark and silence all 'round.
Inside the cave I'll have no fright
From those things lurking in the night.

The only light is crystal glow,
With hidden pow'r not oft to show.
The light is there to ease my mind
And keep my eyes from going blind.

Time is fading; I cannot think,
Thoughts and soul gone down the drink.
Vicious noises in my head,
I'd rather voices in their stead.

When I lay me down at night,
My mind is plagued with dead men's blight.
Cave hears first what I have in store:
Mad souls screaming forevermore.


Note (this is becoming quite a commentary, this Note section): This is the second time I typed this out as it broke the first time. I wrote this without sleeping for almost a full day, before the plane from LAX to Dallas left the airport. There were some annoying people from another P2P delegation nearby, probably middle schoolers. I think it turned out well. Also, from here on out, my poems are going to be more recent than Australia, as this is the last of that batch I have.

Movies

In the next few days, I might be seeing a few movies. I've heard great things about both Toy Story 3 and Despicable Me. The latter one I'll probably be seeing today, if all goes as planned. I also might wanna see The Sorceror's Apprentice, which looks pretty cool from the previews. What do you guys think? SAY ANYTHING

Lost

One time hence I was on a road,
Walking through a morning frost,
On my back was the heavy load
Of dreams and lovers found and lost.

I respect the angels that guide me
For the job they have is no easy task.
I doubt, if they wanted, they'll ever go free,
But all it would take is for them to ask.

Dream a dream, cry to sleep.
Darkness touched my soul today,
Reality takes a flying leap
Into the crimes I must repay.

I've made new order in my life,
A new feeling's entered my soul.
Lost I am in inner strife,
Broken once to be made whole.



Note: There are no crimes, as this is fictional. I really like this one.

Shift

A short while ago I lost my control,
Floating free and prone to drift.
Now, however, I've reclaimed my soul.
Now is the time for a balance to shift.

This might be swomething that's hard to get,
As devious as a sorceror's stone,
Or maybe some music, where it's hard to let
Freedom get in the way of tone.

I saw myself changed yesterday,
A new reality was accepted as true.
Now I might not have far to stray
Before I remember I belong to you.

Twice I lost what wasn't worth keeping,
But only once I made a shift.
I saw two cars, and children sleeping,
And one poor soul gave me a lift.


Note: this is nonsensical, sure, and I'm typing this with Internet Explorer in Hays, Kansas without any spellcheck. I didn't like how this one turned out, but it's still a poem.

Denver

I'm leaving for Denver today, and will get there Saturday. I think I'll be able to get more poetry posted while I'm on the trip, since I'll have internet access.

Noise

The prose in my head

Is leaving me dead

In feeling, or maybe just name;

The noise all around,

The unbidden sound...

I'm quickly going insane.

I can't quite be discreet

With the roar of a busy street

Drilling into my brain.

The silence I need,

The short time to feed

On the foods of thought and pain.

Nothing left in my mind,

I left it all behind

In the time before the roar.

I seek only quiet,

My mind's simple diet

Of the calm before the storm.

Note: Notice a theme in some of these poems?

Behind the Poetry

If you look hard enough, behind my poetry you'll see some stuff I wouldn't just say normally. How I see the world, for instance, can only be grasped by reading my poetry. It's such an abstract way of thinking that the only medium is something equally abstract and artistic. There's other stuff there, too, some of which I probably don't even realize I've put in there.

Something else would be evident in all my darker poetry. I've got a side of me that's probably soulless. It's frightening, actually, to have that inside, but I think I'm used to it. Even more than these two things, if you try hard enough, you can see just how lonely I am sometimes by reading my poetry. Or is it obvious by now?

Cycle

Crying souls and bleeding stars,

But nothing I can do to help.

Gods of war like ancient Mars

Rise up and strangle me like kelp.

Not in the cycle, I'm not a tool,

Not for intents or purposes.

My time is later, I'm not a fool,

I'm not a clown in the circuses.

Is this silence just a dream,

Just an illusion so easy to break?

Smash the reverie and watch me scream,

Scream for the souls I can't save while awake.

You steal my joy and break my rhyme,

Leave me mindless, and to the side

Of Nature's cycle, of proper time;

I'll be swept away in high tide.

Make the cycle, break the cycle,

Epiphany is not at hand.

I am the master of that grand bicycle,

But time sifts away like wind with sand.

Note: I was craving solitude when I wrote this. My experience in Australia had cycles of introversion.

Arms

I'm tired of this tiredness,

Jealous of the utmost bliss

Found in a lovers' kiss.

I'm dark inside from hidden shame,

One part life to two parts blame,

As well I die without a name.

Hear me now my helpless cry,

Arms flung out to open sky,

Today is not the day I die.

Chance is broken with me here,

But no-one willing to lend an ear,

Still, what have I to fear?

Is now the time to be filled with pride?

Is now the turning of the tide?

Yes: your arms invite me inside.

NOTE: This is purely fictional. This didn't happen.

Thursday

Fun, fun. Bicycling gang had a ride (sorry, Garth, for being too late) and I swam in the Gentry Estates pool. I just got back from driving to and from Kroger. It's been a great summer so far, I say. YOU READ THIS, PLEASE POST. COMMENT ON YOUR DAY. JUST SAY ANYTHING.