April 31 2007

Love = hate?

Fuck, is love really real?
Is it something that you feel?

And is it true that you feel butterfly's in your tummy?
And is love suppose to be sweeter than honey?

But fuck, what happens when you kill,
does the love flow in blood that spills?

And hell, if anyone can feel this joy,
than why does men feel this void-

Of pain and hate
and no consent

To those who enjoy their happiness?

And tell me something about hate
Why the fuck do I feel this hate?

I hate everyone that I ever know
and I kill them all if I had the power too!

I'd make a lover die
for his lover to cry

I'd make them all bleed till they're weak
They'll be in shock (too shock to speak)

and I ask again "what is love?"
is it carried on a diseased crow?
is it carried on the wings of a dove?
For sure as hell, I will never know,

but to me they both are the same,
nothing more to be said,
nothing more to be gained.

Now heed my words, for I speak the truth,
love the lies
fuck the truth.

----------------Poet's notes----------------------
1 words: Ankhst (haha ankh and angst)
-------------------------------------------------

May 11, 2007

The Poet, The Artist, and The Ghost

I am the poet with little words,

-The artist with no inspiration to yearn;

Heed not what in the past I hast done,

Heed not what sorrowful hearts have sung.

For we are the descent of this world,

Thy name be nothing to what may concern,

Dost not matter of thy contempt,

Dost not matter of thy timely spent.

For yon the horizon we may find peace,

For here, our thoughts may never be at ease,

So heed the words that the poet speaks,

And heed the vision that the artist perceives,

Heed not the laments of your sentient life,

and embrace the calamites and strife,

Betimes thy life may past by,

So drain thy tears that form from thine eyes,

And sith thy ignorance is said to be bliss,

Mayhap something may, or may not be amiss.

For the poet hast pen and ink,

and the poet chooses lines,

and the artist hast brushes,

and he paints what tis on his mind,

For sooth- tis a morbid tale,

- but nevertheless a tale is a tale.

So as the poet is finished,

and when the artist is tired,

and ending may never end,

And the words may never expire.

----------------Poet's notes----------------------
I have asked about 20 people what they think this poem may mean, and all of them have very different perceptions of this poem. (I think that this means the poem is really good).
-------------------------------------------------

May 12, 2007

Modern Monster

O'er yonder the hills lived a BEAST.
A creature so vile, and with rows of sharp teeth.
Besides that fact, that isn't all.
On its fingers lie sharp claws.
- And a stomach only a couple of inches,
A creature so evil, yet too small.
'Cause it lived off of flying finches.

Because of his hunger, it trailed off, leaving his home,
He walked down the hill, on the path alone-
To a city that made no sense.
For there were lights, technology blinking bright! Only a small nuisance!
He broke all the signs,
And broke all the lights!
He lost his mind!
He fell into fright!

Then he spotted some lovely young girls.
How much joy he had (since he lived of birds and squirrels).
So he gulped the all up and then left,
Off he ran, off he went!
Of he left to find his "Next."

He meandered to a bookstore.
He saw his next victim (it satisfied him more and more)
He saw a gothic girl with black hair, and an ankh,
He conversed about poetry, and then he ate her all up.
Then...

He was slightly full, so he walked on home,
(Alone)
Then he said to himself:
"I'm still a little hungry, some dessert sounds swell!"
Well...

Near his home was a park.
It had a gleaming lake,
At the moment it was dark.
And at the park I - I mean he- spotted a girl,
This girl was reading,
And I - I mean he- gave a little twirl.
Because he was overjoyed.
To eat something pretty.
And...

She stared at him and said:
"Have you heard of Edgar Allen Poe? His work is good, but he's dead."
The monster replied:
"Yes I have. His stuff is pretty sweet. But dear girl, I am hungry, and it is you I choose to eat."
So...
The girl knew what he was about to do.
She saw the loneliness in his eyes,
He started to come close, and she was about to die.
Then for some reason, she kissed his head,
Then he fell down smiling, and then he was...
DEAD.

It is I! It is I!
The spirit of the beast!
It is I! The creature with sharp rows of teeth!
It is I! It is I! The one with no heart!
I died from a kiss, yet that kissed saved my heart!
My body decays, it rots then it reeks!
But my heart is the object that still lives and beats!

Even though I am dead, I thank that girl!
She's given new meaning,
To what seems to be my soul!
And I thank that one girl!
She showed me to loves!
And yes, I am DEAD!
But I stand watch from above!

----------------Poet's notes----------------------
This was the first story I attempted through a poem. You can kind of notice that the monster was telling the story.
I think it was pretty bad because I could think of reasons for the girl to kiss the monster, and I brought in random characters like the Goth girl. W/e
-------------------------------------------------

Written Jan 5, 2008

The King's Travels

A burning Name
A forgotten flame
To top it all off with a kiss

Broken homes
A Torched home
The kingdom is structured through this

Among the stars
A place on Mars
I'll try to meet you there

Past lands old new
to get to you
I'll be sure to see you there

On ships of old
Of silver and gold
You'll see me very soon

From dusk till dawn
And journeys of long
'neath the pale moo

And to end all this
A lasting kiss
From me, the prince, to you

As I grow old
The stories I've told
The travel I would not undo

----------------Poet's notes----------------------
This is a story I tried to put into a poem about a king who travels searching for the one thing that he loves.
-------------------------------------------------

Written Jan 5, 2008

Her

I buy you a dozen roses
I write for you a song
I protect you while you sleep
You wait for me while I'm gone

I ask you for your hand
I give, all you do is take
I gave you my heart
This object, you steal and break

I had a this sadness I must take
The blades of my use
Tonight you'll drown in the lake
My love will no longer be abused

Your grave the last to make
my shovel, the last tool
Last a gun, my life at stake
I choose not to be your fool

----------------Poet's notes----------------------
A friend once told me I was too angry, so I felt like writing her something sad.
-------------------------------------------------

(UNKNOWN DATE AND TIME)
Tarot

Oh tarot tarot
tell me something
Tell me how I should live

Tell me what I should take
And tell me what I should give
tell me why I have lost so much
yet have nothing to earn

why have I suffered so
there so much answers I yearn
Oh tarot now

please tell me so,
why I must suffer your curse
to the day the sun will not come
starting from my birth?

Oh tarot please
tell me of my love
why she must fall ill?
and tarot please
be my key
to know why my clan's blood spills

From Major Arcana
To lesser Arcanum

From what I may not know
a cut, a bruise
mental delude
A curse, a swift blow

----------------Poet's notes----------------------
The ending started sounding like shit cause I wanted to get it over with and I was tired because it was 5 in the fucking morning!!!
-------------------------------------------------

My Newest Poem: Fear Of The Beautiful Obsession
BY Johnny Hell
3:33 AM 1/19/08

Your Image Burns in the dark like a silhouette
A feeling of nothingness overcomes me
silence creeps

Your Voice, the sound of an angel's dulled sigh
The Vicinity of decadency
Perversed thoughts rape my SANITY

Your Presence
The arousal of my fears
The CALMING of my ghost

Nothing more has overwhelmed me so
Nothing has caused such obsession
The FEAR of beauty
Silence
 
------------------------------
Poet's Notes: During this moment, I thought of nothing but a rose, the captivating beauty of one, in comparison to a feeling of being near a person, who I am truly afraid to speak because of shyness. Pretty good for a Friday night. ;D, And if your wondering what the word ghost means, you can think of it as spirit, soul, mind, and body. Like always, if you have questions, your allowed to ask.
------------------------------
 

< FONT>

January 21, 2008 3:42AM

To Sit and Wait Inevitably

Here I sit alone in my room

Waiting for it all to end

Waiting for our doom

Waiting for a friend

Here I lay in my room again

Wondering- how long, why?

When will I move again?

Is this where I will die?

Here I'm in my room again

My Lights aren't on

God, I'm so damn tired here

I want it all to be gone

Here I'm in my room again

There's nothing here to do

Except sit in the corner

And dream about you

Here I'm in my room again

But I choose to look outside

Through the window, past the trees

I forgot, I can't be looking out

Because inside is where I died

I'm outside of my room (for once)

And now I'm looking in

It's too bright out here, too bright for me

I guess I'll go back in (again)

----------------Poet's notes----------------------
This is my own expression of numbness. I'm tired of feeling so unclear about how I feel, and at moments I don't know if I'm depressed or happy, I'm looking out, then I look in, and I can't make up my mind. I still think I'm going crazy.
-------------------------------------------------

July 8, 2008
(First poem of written in months.)
Fallen Angel
By Johnny Hell

Fallen Angel
You've gone so far
lifted by hate
envied by the stars

Loved by none
Admired by all
Hated By the "God"
We watch as you fall

Fallen Angel
Lord of hate
representation
Of my so called "mistakes"

Your sword strewn
Across Your back
Confronted by your enemies
You kill, kill, ATTACK!

Fallen Angel
You've never been loved
Cause you've chosen
To defy what they think is above

Denied by those
Who have no choice of will
Embraced by those
When hope is blood thats spills

FALLEN ANGEL
be my heart still
I am the angel
My choice, my free will

Never be chained
To fallacy, but to "sin"
Cause when you die
You'll Live FOREVER AGAIN!!!
-------------------------------------
With so much depression, and violent rage,
I decided to write something that is seemingly
Religeous, or anti-religeous, or whatever.
Just the first things that came to mind, considering I didnt even plan out this poem. I just wrote whatever came from the top of my head. So ya, anti-depression pills and sedatives may be the inspiration for this. W/e...
-------------------------------------

Insane
By Johnny Hell
(Oct 5 2007)

Where the fuck am I?
Where the fuck is this place?
Metal straps and syringes,
Unfamiliar face.

A padded cell
Catacombs; tombs
Straight Jackets and Meds
Am I inevitably doomed?

Clanking, Screamings
Goddamn the sounds
I'm in unbearable pain
Are the doctors around?

Yay. Showers.(sarcasm)
Some crazy guy's ass
A meal of synthetic food
Will this containment last?

Injections, damn shrink
I'm not insane
Those fucking people,
they made me that way.

Nighttime. Rest.
My hard lumpy bed.
No comforts of home.
I wish I was dead.

Hope? Freedom?
A small distance away?
A noose around my neck,
Saves me another day.

Death
bestowed humbly at my feet
Finally comforts
My insanity at its' peak.

----------------------------------------------------
When ur sick at home, it all seems like another insane asylum. ;)
----------------------------------------------------
 
Human.. Obsce..nitie..s
By Johnn..y Hell
(Oct 6 08)

Repla..ce metal.. with skin
Add some emoti..ons and sin
And you Creat..e Man

Give it lust
Some greed.. is a must
And you'..ve made him evil

Let it  smile
And think for a while
And he becom..es a philo..sophe..r

Give it life
then give it death
and you'..ve made it morta..l!

----------------------------------------
If men were robots.
----------------------------------------

Z--
Another poem about a person i know
By johnny Hell
She is the life of my smiles
The fire of my soul
She is filler of my voids
The only love I've known
Super cute gothiness (Wada couple)
When we're kissing
For sure as hell
theres nothing missing
Town center moments
When im high as fuck
when I'm alone with her
She makes life not suck
Yaaaaay. (yes thats part of the damn poem)
-------------------------------------
2 words: Goth love. =)
-------------------------------------

only a few people could guess what this is about. I havent written anything in a long time, so i thought i would change that.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Broken

He wakes up crying
to the nightmares of the past
Of his family and home
He wishes it had last

He looks around now
to see what's life become
he misses all those days
he misses all of them

The painting from his window
seems so desolate, gray
Something that kills him deeply
Things are not the same

He's so suicidal and alone
In his empty home
Theres no sound to be heard
He's alone

Looking to the future hurts
but not as painful as the past
His life has changed for the worse
He hold onto what he can

He tries to be a man
just for this time
but inside hes a child
the tears justified

The drops on his pillow
proves otherwise
because hes still a little boy
But the boy died inside.