gangrel_pri: (emo)
Nothing lasts forever
the flowers wilt
their colors fade
petals fall
stems droop
waiting for rebirth

forever gone
the flower blooms
in the mind
of the viewer

immortality grant
a happy bloom
in the mind

nothing forgotten
recorded in Time's
great skein
in memory remain
for eternity

Love bless us all
that we might bloom


The fall fields are felled
the fiendish wind sweeps overhead
Persephone's painted leaves blow by
as she returns to hell
Demeter lets the Earth die
and humanity like the six seeds of damnation
are trapped in the bowels
waiting to be excreted

Mud and cow pie is all we are
each day that passes
brings us closer to being recycled
in hope that we can be saved
our saving grace is simple
love and compassion
when we
like Orpheus
risk hell
to find the one we love


And in the end when all is gone
what is left for the penitent
the loser with a halo
for in the end when all is gone
regret will litter the ground like ashes
but love they say
love conquers all
such sentiment is sweet
but little comfort to one who suffers
man suffers the burden of the yoke
of love
for when the harvest comes
it is bountiful
but to the spring
harvest is forever away
and the oxen called man
toil endlessly
over seeds that mayn't grow at all
so instead we plant seeds of hate
that fester faster
and choke the seedling
love before it can ever grow
and mankind must reap what it sows
until the end
when love will grow again.
gangrel_pri: (Default)
THE splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
gangrel_pri: (Default)
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Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-"The Second Coming"-Yeats
gangrel_pri: (Default)
Probably gonna delete that last entry later on, seems to have hit a nerve with a few people. Which was not my intent.

So, in the meantime, I offer a few poassages that gave/give me comfort.

If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

-William E. Henley


Oct. 1st, 2004 02:01 am
gangrel_pri: (Default)
Would you be proud had you survived?
Could you love a son you had nothing in common with?
I still think of you even know sitting on your lap
even as your face fades from memory a sepia toned photo
yellowing with age
You and I forever seperated by valleys of death and ideas
and me forever questioning your love for me


Sep. 16th, 2003 04:48 am
gangrel_pri: (Default)
I created a world
Just for you and I
Since I cannot have you
You have your own place in the real world
Where I have no place
In your life
So I settle for the illusion
Where you come home to me
Hang up your coat
Kiss me hello
And let me make you dinner
And I pray you will never realize
That this isn’t real
And we are just strangers
Looking across a store
Or an ocean of air
Never to be real

Yes, I'm going nuts. Leave me to my insanity.
gangrel_pri: (Default)
Ok, as I'm sure some of you know, my life has hit surreal. I keep waiting for the clocks to melt.

I first need to apologize for being a bitch to so damn many of you here recently. I think I've hit my cycle.

This is for the recovering Baptists on here )

I'm sorry, my life has been really strange. I don't know what happened.

for my pagan friends )

I just don't get it. I feel like someone flipped a switch and everything went to the Twilight Zone. I keep waiting for Rod Serling to show up. And I'm so sick of people geting mad at me for my politcal apathy. It's not that I don't care, but I have to put my own needs ahead of my ideal right now. War and Peace are going to happen regardless of whether or not I eat dinner. I am just one man. I can only do so much. And I do care. I just have so much other stuff to sort out right now.

Shalom, blessed be, go in peace.

gangrel_pri: (Default)
Hmm, why do I seem to write bad poetry only after a night out?

Anyway, here's
Connexions )


Jun. 25th, 2002 03:51 pm
gangrel_pri: (Default)
Welcome [ profile] videodrome and [ profile] angelsorrow313 to my friend list. The following is a bit of wallowing in self pity.

Another tear rolls down my cheek
the VCR rewinds
fucking thing keeps showing me that image
happy people in love
with their plastic smiles
and doe eyed longing
cooing at each other
fucking bastards.
where is the sturm and drang
when you want to kill someone
just for being happy
since you aren't
and you keep thinking
"Should have been me"
"Should have been me"
reruns of an old love
emotions turning green
trying so hard to be happy
because they're happy
and inside
you rot with hatred
want to stomp them like a grape
just to see them suffer
and then they smile
at the other
and all you can see
is when they smiled at you
and you cry again
knowing that it will never happen
that smile is someone else's
and inside you puke.
gangrel_pri: (Default)
Ok, as ya'll know, I watched The St. Franciville Experiment last night. Problem being that one of the last scenes in the movie gave me a short story idea. This wouldn't be a big deal, but the story involves a rather explicit sex scene between an invisible ghost of indeterminent biological sex and a man chained to a wall. Thus, why I'd rather not take credit for it. (I'm a good boy.)

Thus why I'm thinking of letting my alter ego write it for me. See, I usually write as Steven when I don't want people to know it's me writing it. Hell, even if they do know, there's still plausible deniability. Below are some examples.
Poetry )
gangrel_pri: (Default)
well, for those of you who have achieved couple hood, I am jealous....spring is in the aire, and I'm unsatiated.

With that in mind, here' my favorite poem, by that wonderful pedarist, Lewis Carrol...

"Twas brillig and the slivey toaves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe
all mimsey were the borogoves
and the momraths out grabe

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son,
The Jaws that bite, the claws that snatch,
Beware the jub-jub bird
and shun the frumious bandersnatch.

"He took his vorpal blade in hand
long time the maxnum foe he sought
So rest did he by a tum-tum tree
and stood a while in thought.

"And as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabberwock with eyes of flame
Came wiffling through the tulgy wood
and burbled as it came

"One two one two and through and through
the vorpal blade went snicker-snack
He left it dead and with its head
He went Galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms my beemish boy!
Oh frabjeous day, gallo gallay
He chortled in his joy

"Twas brillig and the slivey toaves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe
all mimsey were the borogoves
and the momraths out grabe."

My apologies for any mispellings, I learned it orally, so my spellings may be off.

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