Posted in drama, My Poetry, Writing

Desperate Times

My dreams are incomplete
In this acute depression,
The burning blows of hate
Strike me in quick succession.

My joys are hidden far;
I do not see salvation.
My spirit and my mind
Are lacking inspiration.

My life is circumscribed
By chains of ostentation.
The image of my soul
Is blinded by elation,
Which in itself is false —
A demon’s smart disguise.
The shadows fly around,
Obscuring paradise
And urging me to leave
All that I love and cherish.
I hope the sunrise makes
These ghastly shadows perish.

I hope a rain of stars
Burns down their hellish lair.
I hope the moon returns,
And with its healing flare,
I’ll find another path
That leads out of depression
To those who’ll listen to
My desperate confession…

But when will that day come,
When will my dreams recover?
Or is there nothing more
For my soul to discover?

Posted in Blogging, drama, My Poetry, Writing

Life Requires Pain

Abandoned by existence,
I drown in limbo’s rain.
No happiness—no pain.

Sweet life, on your insistence,
I fight against the spell
That’s dragging me to hell.

But hate destroys resistance.
The stars desert the skies,
Predicting love’s demise.

Gods offer no assistance;
Observing from their height,
They mock the death of light.

There, in the cosmic distance,
I glimpse forsaken dreams,
I hear tormented screams…

Reclaiming my existence,
I burn under the rain—
Sweet life requires pain.


Photo Credit: Raindrops via photopin (license)

A free Monday=D Wow!

I’m glad I managed to write this in time for Jane Dougherty’s poetry challenge this week. Turned out… strange. Not sure if it’s a happy ending or a sad one.

What do you think? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments!

Posted in drama, fantasy, My Poetry, Writing

The King’s Salvation- A Ballad

His castle never welcomes light,
His crown is marred with grief,
And nothing in the universe
Can bring the King relief.

He wanders endless corridors
And thinks of times long past.
He wonders why his happiness
Was never meant to last.

When sunlit days were all he knew,
When magic served him well,
The world was at his feet, his eyes
Could blind the flames of hell.

His castle now repulses light,
His crown is marred with grief,
And nothing in the universe
Can bring the King relief.

One night a darkness poisoned him,
His magic turned awry.
The world grew terrified of him,
As did the heartless sky.

His loved ones left him, one by one,
He plunged into despair.
“Is there a cure?” he’d ask the stars.
They’d answer, “We don’t care”.

His castle never welcomes light,
His crown is marred with grief,
And nothing in the universe
Can bring the King relief.

All hope is lost. He leaves his home
And travels to the sea,
Intent on letting go of life—
He longs to cease to be.

But on the shore he meets a girl,
Whose magic, just like his,
Appeals to demons and the void
And always strikes amiss.

The King finds happiness at last,
His smile is death to grief.
His newfound daughter brings him hope,
Salvation—and relief.

This was written in response to Jane Dougherty’s Poetry Challenge, which asks us to experiment with meter. Since I mostly write metric poetry and my original poem had the so-called ballad meter already, I thought I’d add this form to the challenge, the rules of which you can find here. It’s my first try so it’s far from perfect, but I really liked the form, so I think I’ll use it again=)

Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments!

Posted in Blogging, drama, fantasy, My Poetry, rondelet

Wicked Storm

The wicked storm
Disrupts the kingdom of the dead.
This wicked storm
Destroys all space, and shape, and form.
It veils the sun in cloudy dread;
Its lightning black, its raindrops red–
This wicked storm…

photo ©Fir0002

Ah, finally. Internet fixed. Back to WordPress and my favorite challenges=D

This rondelet was written for Jane Dougherty’s poetry challenge, and it turned out sort of weird and not at all theme-compliant but I’m all into death and destruction and rage in my poetry after the terrible ordeals I had with the lack of Internet and general annoyance with the universe being tricky.


Feel free to ignore my mini-rant and share your thoughts on the poem in the comments!

Posted in Challenges, drama, fantasy, My Poetry, tragedy, Writing

Crimson Dawn

They said I’d never see the crimson dawn,
Yet in my heart is she, the crimson dawn.

They said I’d lose a duel with a god,
Yet fate has gifted me the crimson dawn.

I look upon the foe I used to love…
His drying blood could be the crimson dawn.

The loss is mine and there’s no turning back,
Alas, I cannot flee the crimson dawn.

I fall into the storm of the unknown,
At last, my hatred frees the crimson dawn.


A ghazal written for Jane Dougherty’s Poetry Challenge.

This form was hard. Excruciatingly hard. But yeah, this is what I managed to write. Excuse the weird rhythm.

Oh, and I tried, but I couldn’t find a way to insert my name into the last stanza. Just didn’t work. Anyway…

Feel free to comment!

Posted in Challenges, drama, fantasy, My Poetry, Writing

Mark of Moonlight

Three Moons shine, unbothered by the dark,
Dancing with the shadows in the sky;
They surround your godforsaken Earth.

As you face the Universe’s wrath,
Let the moonlight leave its fateful mark
On your soul—do not expect rebirth.

Try to flee—your precious world will die.
Still, you’ve chosen the forbidden path
Of the Sun, your eyes ablaze with mirth…

Photo by MKcray

Sort of a myth featuring divine thingies, as (almost) always.

The trilune is an intriguing form created by Jane Dougherty. The rules: three stanzas with three lines of 9 syllables each, with the rhyme on the third line of each stanza (so, abc dec fgc). I hope it’s OK I tweaked the rules (just a liiitle bit) and made the rhyme scheme like this: abc dac bdc.

Feel free to comment!

Posted in Challenges, drama, fantasy, flash fiction, Prose, tragedy, Writing

The Assassin’s Task

It wasn’t easy to make himself look like an ancient wandering priest. It was even harder to talk his way into the mansion, but the young assassin had managed it. The powder he’d slipped into Lord Rowan’s drink would kill him by twilight, and no physician would be able to detect the elusive poison.

The boy felt proud of himself, but also scared. He wasn’t sure whether the leaders of the Order would praise him for completing a task assigned to a more experienced assassin or flog him for disobedience. He contemplated different scenarios as he left the Lord’s land, but since none of them ended in sudden death, the boy deemed it safe to show up on his mentor’s doorstep.

After hearing his student’s story, the elder assassin said,

“You use magic well.”

“I tried my best.”

“You… enjoyed killing him, didn’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

As the future assassin went to sleep, looking forward to the leaders’ decision, his mind was continuously assaulted by the images of the smiles he’d seen on the faces of Lord Rowan’s children. They didn’t have to kill to be happy, so what was wrong with him?

Written for both the Daily Post prompt and Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge.

Assassins, magic, and Van Gogh. Never thought that combination would inspire a story.

All comments are welcome!