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The temptress has once again tried to fool me.
I make it a rule not to trust the living.
Is she living? Truly my sworn enemy?
The foolish magician has once again attempted to cast her sadistic spell upon me.
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Deemed a martyr for wickedry, I walk this desolate planet as a shadow, void of light.
Concealed by a cage of holy water; consumed by stereotype.
As a demon consumes and unborn child’s heart.
As a dark cloud dampening the sun, I seek revenge.
Burning with sadistic desires, I am charred.
I have been dealt the cards with a hand of four kings.
While the council of death decides my next move.
I refuse to be controlled.
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Warning: The Following poem is very, very long and contains inside jokes you’re sure not to get. Read at your own risk. It’s an acrostic of a sentence in and of itself, and will probably bore you at certain points. You’ve been warned.
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Never a cloud routing light from the waters shining beneath
Impervious is the golden glow of the light aloft
Cold submits to ardent brisk in the steady reflections glistening
On this night turned day, I feel her presence whisking steadily
Leaving not a single “toaster leavin'” of doubt or dissent
Embers singing from a fire or some unseen sensor
Afflictions made weary in this light she emits
Malice defiled bleeding where malevolence lies pleading
Burning life effigy, my distinct attrition wanes
Under bridges where I once nearly flew as murder
Reaching my hands to the sky asking for just one sign
Endlessly my cries haunting the night’s sky
Yet no answer was given until her voice touched my ears
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I’m Awake.
Chained by the twisted and fettered coils of benediction.
Revived only to wither and disparage those around me as they turn a blind eye.
Or do they merely ejaculate to disorder and lies?
Another mongering emperor with his twisted desires of semantic vengeance, peers over his slaves.
The recreant senate, whom through the blatant ulteriors, leads its pawns toward an already mated king.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2005
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War: narcotic of the malevolent.
Aphrodisiac to the impure.
Reward of treacherous mutiny.
Betrayal of all. Not just an end, but a means.
Like the theocratic monarchies of yesterday.
Over the maniacally slaughtered remains of those who defy ignorance.
Openly eviscerating those who would not deify them.
Dream I, that one day the weak shall not dominate the strong.
Behold: the new messiah of tyranny.
Upon his talons rests the blood of the innocent.
Surrounding those few, those without bended knees.
Honor will die with us.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2005
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Forest was a quizzical, whimsical young lad.
Over years, always happy, never mean, never sad.
Resting assured lay his parents, fast asleep every night.
Even the most ghoulish of nightmares would not give him fright.
Very happy, he always, to awake in the morn.
Eager to make breakfast, so out of the norm.
Regal the smells creeping slowly upstairs.
Yanking mom and dad from their slumbering lair.
On this morning, however, Forest was not himself.
Unknown to his parents, Forest thought something else.
Not a smile did he bare, but a malefic grin.
Cheery yet dark, so wreaking of sin.
Every plate was made neatly, not a piece of food did touch.
On this fateful morning, nobody did think much of
Forest’s cold stare across the table while they ate.
Leaving nothing untasted on their breakfast plates.
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Poupée danseuse her prancing falls to the maiden voyage of uncertainty.
Poupée danseuse to the laughter of all, where reason becomes most violent.
To the night’s cooling shade, hidden away.
Cursed to stay from the light of the day.
Their dreams packed away, marionettes not for play.
Blessed to stay from the light of the day.
Poupée danseuse pleading they call, to the fingers above to bring them to life.
Poupée danseuse begging they crawl, to the fingers above to bring them to life.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2012
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Licking my wounds; clenching my fists.
Crawling back to you.
I remember when you were someone who could do it for me.
Someone who could get me off.
There’s a maggot in you that I just want to burn.
Watch you coil and die.
I remember when you were the maggot in me.
Now you’re just a toy.
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C. Allen Thompson – 2004
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She is the sun rising o’er an eastern, dawning sky
She is the wisp rising from a blackened nocturnal necropolis
She is a deadly storm beneath an ecumenical shroud of grey
She is the benevolent rainbow illuminating the earth when all is calm
She is all powerful
Ne’er broken nor bent
Death and life
Resurrection of purity
Aria of black
She is the ebony muse whispering words of war to the unseen tyrant
She is the luminous angel seeding purity into nature’s rebirth
She is entropy and all that shall know not the power of peace
She is balance and all that which shall never know the hands of chaos
She is everything
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C. Allen Thompson – 2003
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I’ve flung through stars on a raven’s kiss
Where once stood such a monolith
A madonna bore soiled limbs
At the root of capacious hymns
I’ve seen the moon shed a crimson light
Where once adorned ‘neath a silvered plight
A madonna of mourning night
Casts dispersions with ivory bite
On his knees rests the seraphim
His servant eyes worshiping her limbs
A tapestry growing ever dim
Chastity turned to ebon nymph.
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C. Allen Thompson – 1998
A Carnival of Fables 