We rape and pillage this once proud Earth
into damnation overload, until the cure to suffering
is contested by limitless excruciation.
The execution of our planet has already been handed down,
a rope, thick like the trunk of a behemoth tree,
strung around the neck of our once wholesome world.
When the execution of the cadaver is later orchestrated,
the exhumed beauty, which had once considered suicide,
will reveal how an attack, over seven billion strong,
struck several violent blows, bringing an end
to substantial happiness. The love which we each shared
for this globe of green and blue, has not beat like a drum
in a time consumed by a longevity greater than any figure
which has come before. But now the alphabet of love
has dried like blood beneath the sun, and as the ground shakes
with the rumbling of rubber and steel,
soldiers flood through our streets, trampling the toys
of children into oblivion towards a fate chosen for them
by men in suits, who shall never do the dying
forced upon the slaves of countries.
Before we are even invited in, we become part
of a war conceived by the hands of others,
and our battle songs are then replaced by stolen symphonies,
sung by broken parliaments corrupted by governmental greed.
On this night, when death walks the Earth,
picking the happiness out from between the teeth
of hapless victims to and fro, I myself
do not wish to see you cry, because you have been waiting
for superman far too long, and he has not returned
after leaving to do the laundry late last night,
and much like all of the other pretenders,
the chance of his coming back rests between negative figures.
If I could hold you to my cheek perhaps we could stop being victims,
to a world that has long forgotten the spirited vengenace
of true love, that guided our hands together once, but sadly no longer.
As the green foliage is swept clean by the ever changing winds,
I will have you know that a future exists beyond our horizon,
leading to a changed existence, and if we may traverse the foothills
which separate us from here and there, a new beginning
may well awake from where there was never one.
If love is a battlefield,
then I have been caught
in a war torn country,
with regret as my companion.
I had a chance to find
happiness, and I had another
not too long ago,
and yet I still have hopes
that the one I truly love
will see for who I am
and say ‘I want you,
I love you, I have been
waiting tirelessly for you
my whole life; marry me,
would you, you are all
I have been searching for,
and together we shall
never be apart no more.
Let loneliness be abandoned
in these arms of mine
as you hold me to your heart
so I may hear the beat
that I inspired,
for without me you are flotsam,
and without you I am
not myself, but combined
we are everything we need
to see this journey through,
and never shall we be without
the other.’ But this is but
a dream, and dreams, they
do not come true except
in fairy tales, which this
is not, because the gloom
of this here world
lingers upon my shoulders.
Many live for love, so
I doubt it could be
surprising if one were to die
for such an emotion too.
When an unknown man
walks in with a shotgun,
I gladly throw my arms out,
outstretched at my side
as though I am to be crucified,
and I cry for him to slay me,
but no, he shoots himself
instead. It seems that love
has claimed yet another victim,
and it be ironic that an emotion
of such happiness is responsible
for so much death.
There is barely enough left
to describe the stranger
that lies upon the ground;
one second he was alive,
the next he was no longer,
and has become yet
another faceless man in a crowd
of aching hearts, and no matter
how hard I screamed, never
would he have pulled
the trigger with the barrells
aimed down at me.
I want death so badly,
but I do not want to commit
the act myself no more,
for I am terrified my heart
will cramp up and my body
will stutter, and that will
be the start of yet another
colossal failure. The only
way to guarantee success
is at the hand of another;
but what hand would happily
do what I feel must be done?
But maybe I am scared
of death, and have mistaken
cowardice for absolution,
and if this be the case
I needn’t live with such ignorance,
so please, someone smarter
than I notify me,
so I may die with my intellect
intact before I reach my end.
Is conceding to defeat
preferable to basking
in its inevitability?
another war today.
Where one concludes
there is no end to
Oppression is what
keeps the heart at bay
and prevents our love
from living. Where
once love reigned
supreme, now she
knows only defeat, for
we have failed to
nurture that which we
once hailed as our
most paramount emotion.
When death became her,
she was taken at the
reaper’s blessing. His
minions, our militaries,
were only too eager to
prove themselves reliable
by eliminating the only
force strong enough to
halter humanity’s violent
In the name of hate we
killed her; love is now all
but gone. Her demise will
not be remembered; just
another death on the
casualty list; just another
nameless number in the
statistics; just another
victim to the grinder that
is war. If love was as
popular as hatred,
perhaps she could have
outlasted till the bitter
If this be true; if these
written words are proven
reliable and all that this
piece dare reveals is the
inconvenient existence we
are all bound to, then what
is the purpose to our
continuation? Why bother
submitting to a life that is
destined to be unfinished,
for what is life with the
absence of romantic passion?
The lie we would be forced
to tell ourselves in order
to get out of bed each
morning would be a betrayal
upon our very souls and
lead only to our damnation.
This writer can already
taste the suffocating hatred
that has drenched the
surface of our planet; can
you not taste cherub’s
If love was so easily taken,
then what unfortanate
future is in store for our
soul mates? Why bother
living, breathing, eating,
if your lover’s flame has
already been extinguished?
With the amount of death
that has covered this
world, what chance is
there that your future
lover has already been
What chance is there for us
if our futures do not include
such passion? What hope is
there for anyone if
tomorrow brings us no
closer to that which we are
lacking? If love is truly
dead, then we have
already joined her in the
afterlife. I only hope that
hatred does not exhist
SYNOPSIS: A poem about the hope for peace and Zen in a world that has been fractured overtime due to excessive hate and violence. Some of the themes raised in this piece may be controversial to some readers.
Take me to the place where the great golden sun never sets,
where the evil men do to each other we can forget.
Take me to the place where glitter always hangs in the air,
where those who are capable of emotion always care.
Take me to the place where roses are always red; where flower’s always bloom;
where same sex has been legalised, and a man can marry his fellow groom.
Take me to the place where religion is not mandatory,
where people, rather than their Gods, receive all of the glory.
From the evils of the world, I wish to have immunity
and to see the world for what it is; a place of rare beauty,
for I wish to live in a world of love, rather than a world filled with hate;
it is the other side of the coin I know, but why must it be our fate?
I petition that we bring an end to all of the world’s evil,
and that we open our hearts to God, rather than to the Devil,
and that finally each of us can experience Heaven on Earth,
which is what all of us have been seeking from the moment of our birth.
Take me to the place where God does not forgive the sins of evil men,
where people may love whomever they choose and ladies can love women.
Take me to the place where angels do not sit back and watch countries burn,
where teachers truly teach and captivate, and young students truly learn.
Take me to the place where the injured do not feel pain,
where those who are dead or dying never die in vain.
Take me to the place where the grass is never greener, it’s the same on either side,
where respect is mutually accepted and people are not overcome by pride.
Please, do not frown upon my ambitious peace loving dreams,
I beg of you, do not frown upon these words that I scream;
at the top of my lungs I cry out through all the years
and those who support me, do so with relentless cheers,
for those who follow my path to peace believe me to be in the right,
I have fortunately stumbled blindly into the adoring light
and now the dark can no longer have a hold over me
for I have discovered the road to true peace, finally.
Take me to the place where those suffering from hunger never starve,
where all the goods and necessities are divided into halves.
Take me to the place where people are fuelled not by rage but honor,
where everyone has a friend beside them and is not a loner.
Take me to the place where everyone is free to voice their opinion,
where there is always an answer given to every single question.
Take me to the place where marriage is built up on sacred vowels,
where people are but people rather than animals run fowl.
‘You are either with me, or you are against me,
you’re either on my side, or you’re my enemy’;
I was once taught this. I don’t know if I believed it, I don’t know if I still do;
I don’t know who taught it to me, or if I ever felt such a thing to be true,
but why does everything have to be so black and white?
It feels so wrong, when it is supposed to feel so right
but that is just the price, of not seeing things in shades of grey;
inevitably you live in the darkest of all the days.
Take me to the place which is a better, more beautiful world,
where there are equal rights for everyone, not just guys, but girls.
Take me to the place where governments act out of love for their followers,
where there is no need for war; no need for violence; no need for warriors.
Take me to the place where everyone can finally feel accepted,
where everyone can lay their heads back and feel so calm and contented.
Take me to the place where the true lover never leaves;
where everyone can find love – this I wish to believe.
For anyone who has read my former poem ‘Untitled Beauty’, one would know that I based the piece upon a beautiful young woman who dressed up as Jedi Master Aayla Secura from the Star Wars universe for a ComicCon. I do not know her true identity, and I would really appreciate it if someone in the world could actually tell me such information…the link to the image and additional info on this topic can be found in the ‘end notes’ section of the original Untitled Beauty post which can be found at this link: http://wp.me/p24LWs-2H
This here is not a love poem – no, it is a poem of longing,
about hope, prayer, fantasy, discovering oneself and belonging,
which begins as every morning inevitably does. The light breaks through a moderate sized hole in the wall; the ominous ‘they’ call it a window,
but I call it a distraction, for it wakes me from my slumber where I dream I strike up a conversation with a rare beauty by saying ‘hello’,
rare beauty who is you. All the money in the world cannot buy me another minute in this fabulous fantasy,
where I kissed your sumptuously luscious and tender lips and you held onto my big, broad shoulders oh so delicately,
and I fear, the only way to experience this moment once again, is to physically find you and express
‘you are the only lover Untitled Beauty I have been frequently and hopelessly attempting to impress,
for you are the only young woman in all the world, if not the known universe I am constantly thinking of,
my sumptuously delightful lady of whom I hope to forever and always unconditionally love.
It is true, and it is a fact that I do not dare deny, that never have either of us yet met,
but even with that said, you are a young beauty I can never easily in all my years forget,
and if I am supposed to move on from this fantasy, where am I supposed to move on to?
for no one else in this great round world could ever tame this heart of mine for no one else is you.
Additionally, if I am supposed to move on, where am I supposed to go?
for you are the single greatest adventure of all time that I will ever know.
It is also true that I do not know your name, but, my darling, it is a two way street. You could ask ‘what name do you go by?’ and I’d reply ‘you may call me Naughty Nefarious’
and a giggle may suddenly spring forth from the corner of your mouth. I swear it is no joke, for a name is a name, and mine is mine, for my world becomes so much more delicious
the second I lay my eyes upon your pretty face. I feel so invulnerable, but the truth of it all is, I really ain’t all that tough,
and I fear that those three words that mean so much, but also so little, for they are said too often, in regards to you, I have not said enough.
Ma’am, I am certain you grew up in America, where as I’m from down under, from a state far adjacent to that of Perth,
and it would most definitely seem from our noble beginnings when we were born, God wanted to give us both quite the wide berth.
I dedicated my life to writing and gaining a doctorate, whilst you dedicated yours to staying at home,
loyally watching over your loving family with respect, like an unflinching, always trustworthy garden gnome.
In your spare time you use your remarkably athletic form and go dancing in the grim shadows,
whilst back in Australia, not everything is the stereotypical gullies and meadows.
However, what the two of us have in common are the numerous stars that we watch at night, and the clouds all black and blue;
that unusually warm touch you feel right now upon your shoulders young lady – that’s me, romantically thinking about you,
for I frequently hunger for your passionate affection, and I swear I’ll starve without you near,
and I wish we weren’t separated by oceans and continents, I wish you were with me right here.
I often wonder what is happening with the world, and where the old one I once knew and loved inevitably went,
and why all of the once potent emotion is being poured into pain and horror, and if it is emotion well spent.
What happened to the age old conception ‘treat others the way you want to be treated’?
for in this world, truth justice and mercy are sacrificed, and true love is defeated.
I hope this inevitability ain’t my fate, and if so, I ask you, give me another toss at the game of luck, give me a second chance,
for although I ain’t no proud patriot who can fight through thick and thicker, I am a strong believer in emotion, reminiscence and romance,
and I can assure you, I would bleed on the Union Jack to make sure the faithful stripes stay bright red.
No matter whether I’m alive or in my time of dying, I feel there’s nothing more to be said,
but I would ask that you do not become overburdened with sad and depressing emotions and burst into tears for me, and that you happily smile in remembrance instead,
and if the world was plunged into war tomorrow, I would participate if it meant I could keep dreaming about you inside my head.
When imagining a fantasy world in which we know one another I can picture a location of common place where you’re listening to Metallica
over the radio, their awesome rock n’ roll classics ripping through the speakers as you loyally jam to their tunes, before introducing yourself as ‘Aayla.’
It must be an expensive persona you are living as we attempt to guess your origins. ‘No’ you say, ‘I ain’t from Launceston, and I ain’t from Maribyrnong.
No, I am from nowhere near here. Instead, I come from a different place entirely with traditional working man roots, where Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Wrecking Ball’ is the theme song;
where the widely renown Star Wars theme is sung every night before dinner;
where the biggest loser can almost always become the biggest winner.
That’s right ladies and gents, I come from the mighty United States, and I will certainly return there soon,
so if you’ve something to tell me I suggest you confess it real quick, and by that, I mean this afternoon,
cuz come tomorrow I’ll be long gone, and young man, you especially, will be left on your own,
and being a pure blooded California gal and a pseudo Australian I can tell you twice, it’s awful cold when you are all alone.’
I have this uncanny feeling inside my heart and soul, one where I believe legitimately to have already lost you once, but I promise I won’t lose you again twice,
and to this I can assure you to ensure my promise fulfilled, I will commit to anything you ask of me and do whatever you say and I would take any advice,
no matter how fruitless it may seem, for I am officially sick of being alone, and all of this empty space;
I am sick to my stomach at being away from you and wherever you want I will meet you, any time or place.
For if feeling good is a crime (and I’ve never felt this good until I laid my eyes upon you), someone had better lock me up right now cuz I feel fantastic,
and in regards to all of your truth and beauty, and all the love in your gorgeous heart, I have officially become an addict
for you. But when it comes to love, perhaps I am simply and without a doubt incompetent
cuz I fall madly in love way too easily. Then again, perhaps I am a delinquent
for failing to expertly spot the difference between human life, unconditional never ending love and horrifying misery,
but even with this said, if I were to die tomorrow, I would never want to go to Heaven, unless you were up there waiting for me.
To have you rare angel, I will delve deep into formidable places where no hero dare goes,
and upon hearing this you might reply ‘really? Well, tell me Pinocchio, how long is your nose?’
I am no liar, you have to believe me when I say I think I love you, and to ensure your survival, I’d push you out of the way of a nuke.
You won’t ever need to be a fabulously rich duchess for me to love you, but if you were, and you were to ask of me, I’d gladly be your duke.
After hearing these words Untitled Beauty, it might be best that you throw away your key after locking all your windows, and barring all the doors,
and make a pact with Satan, or pray to whomever God you solely believe in, for no existing mortal entity can save you anymore
from my love, which is invulnerable to harm. However, in reality, I have to ask you, in regards to romance, how can it be a good thing if those we love are doomed to die,
after pledging all of our allegiances and our love into their lives, and rare angels such as yourself succumb to destiny and perish, before plummeting out from the falling sky?
But if this unfortunate fate were to become yours, to get you back, I can assure you, I would traverse through the village of the damned,
if it meant eternal happiness could return to me again, and I could one day have my loving heart safely under your command.
When the world is at its darkest, and I’m drowning in the depression of the rain
I simply sit back and gladly admire your beautiful picture once again,
and imagine what you might ask me if we were to meet. You’d enquire ‘Derek, Naughty, whatever title you choose to go by’, before asking what I am going to do for you,
and I’d truthfully reply ‘I would take the stars right out of the night sky if such an act could prove my love alive and whole, and I would paint ‘em pink and purple and even pure gold too!’
It may sound completely out of this world insane, but what I say is not a total fabrication, and it certainly ain’t a ruse;
if given but one opportunity to spend my life with anyone, you are the only person I’d always faithfully choose,
because sweet Aayla impersonator, you are without a doubt one in 7.4 billion.
Dressing up in all those outfits moreover, you look exactly like a saucy chameleon;
you look incredible; you look beyond inhuman; you look flawless; you are perfect undoubtedly,
and with those luscious red lips and that sugar sweet smile I just know you are destined to belong with me.
Sometimes the darkness wakes me up and sometimes the silence speaks so loudly it is deafening to behold,
for whenever I am without you Untitled Beauty, I suddenly feel so indescribably cold,
because it is only in your eyes that I believe I have found where I eternally belong
and never until this moment which stands before me now have I felt so immeasurably strong.
However, in this inhospitable place, I fear I might be labeled the interloper, or the pariah
because of you my darling, for being all that I’ll ever want, all that I’ll ever need; for being my eternal desire,
and, to put a stop to this, people may light up their torches and sharpen their pitchforks too, before coming to claim me,
and will point to those who can corroborate that it was I, the antagonist, who acted with such vile villainy,
for all the boys who look upon you are filled with lustful gluttony, and the women become so jealous
at your unfathomable angelic beauty, and as for I, you make me so romantically ravenous.
Remember when I said this was not a love poem my dear? Well, I have to admit that perhaps I lied,
and if such be the case you could always blame it on the demon I have within this heart of mine inside.
I can assure you, I do not write these words in order to gain power, and I will certainly never need the likes of money or fame,
especially after I win over your beautiful beating heart, for then I will have everything I’ll ever need once it’s you I claim,
and although I still don’t quite know you, from your personality to your values, from your general likes and the neighborhood
you grew up in, judging by your looks alone, you deserve to be erected centre stage in the middle of Hollywood,
and then, once I’ve identified who you are and more, as promised, I’ll spend my life staring lovingly into your eyes forever.
The chance, if even there was one which I doubt, of me falling out of love with you my darling rests somewhere between naught and never,
so if you have ever had grave concerns, I ask that you ‘don’t fret, don’t cry and don’t ever believe
that feelings from your heart unto mine is not the one thing that I have always wanted to achieve.’
THANK YOU FOR READING!
SYNOPSIS: Jimmy, a student attempting to do a research project on the mysterious town of Gransnapia discovers a story about a statue of a man that is placed on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and why he will never leave.
Jimmy rode timidly upon his bike, the immaculate town of Gransnapia located around the bend, the entire town looking considerably bleak and dark, a shadow of its former self. He had never been present during its glory days, but had heard stories of its brilliance, which is why he had decided to do his assignment on the town. The teacher requested they write on something fantastical, and this was it. Jimmy however never imagined the town would be so frightening to behold, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he rode into town. A dense cover of fog emerged from the confines of small broken town houses and spiraled around him like ghosts, eager to accept him as one of their own.
Jimmy began to feel his decision to come was a mistake, slowly turning his bike around before slipping to the ground, gravel digging into his skin, the fog appearing to laugh at his own inconvenience. Making his way to his feet, Jimmy noticed an old man standing a few metres away, his clothes ragged and dirty. The man turned his head to look directly at him, causing a shudder to crawl along Jimmy’s spine. Taking a deep breath, Jimmy summoned all the courage he could muster before asking ‘do you know any interesting stories about this town mister?’
‘Depends’ stated the man, taking a step forward. ‘Do you want to hear a story’ he asked, ‘or do you want to hear a story?’
‘Which one is which?’ asked Jimmy.
‘The latter is far more fanciful’ stated the old man. He pointed up at a statue of a man placed atop of a cliff edge overlooking the entire town. The statue appeared sad and alone, the body posture signaling the man had lost something significantly dear to him, his head bowed in a silence that could never be broken. ‘I can tell you a story about the man that can’t be moved and the story of his Juliette for all eternity’ he said, before beginning to tell the tale.
The town of Gransnapia was traditionally inviting. Bright and beautiful, lights flourished across the city at night making the small civilisation stand out like a beacon. However, what Gransnapia was most famous for, were its apples. Gransnapian apples were sold for twelve dollars per kilogram, visualised as one of the most succulent and addictive forms of fruit ever conceived. This world renowned delight was what made the town so famous, comprised of many wealthy industrialists who had made a living of extravagance and luxury for themselves.
However, nobody ever distinguished the true nature of the townsfolk. They were, each of them pretentious, egotistical and presumptuous, having a great amount of prejudice towards outsiders. If they were not a part of their society then they were simply seen as misfits, the scum of the Earth whom they believed needed to be swept clean.
The townsfolk wore luxurious and exquisite outfits, dining at the only restaurants they had ever known, incredible arenas which were crafted specifically for the kings and queens of industry.
This behaviour was clearly represented the day the new shipments of parts for their hydro-electric dam were sent over by ship from the far side of Australia. The vessel was black in colour, looking like a beast on the horizon as it docked in port. The gargantuan containers were removed from the ship, and in addition there was one passenger. Nathaniel Buck was his name. His costume certainly wasn’t extravagant, appearing dirty and ragged from his trip at sea, his face unwashed and covered in hair. The townsfolk looked down at him as though he was a weed, one which needed to be destroyed quickly before any harm could be done to their Garden of Eden.
Nathaniel immediately had trouble attempting to be accommodated into a room at the local hotel, and the next morning found it even more trying when nobody wished to offer him a job, instantly being deported to the docks to ensure the area would be kept immaculate.
Whilst working there however, he couldn’t help but notice the comings and goings of an extraordinarily beautiful young woman. Virginia Copperfield was her name, daughter of Harvey, one of three men who had founded the Gransnapian apple trade. Her blonde hair flew out behind her as she rolled by in a luxurious gold trimmed carriage, her attire being a blossoming gown made from the finest silk imaginable.
Nathaniel was told by fellow workers he was crazy for having any romanticised thoughts over such a person. But the dock master liked the work that Nathaniel had accomplished, providing him with a larger economical cash flow, and as he built up his savings, Nathaniel made himself more presentable.
Even after Nathaniel had dined with the best of the town however they still failed to provide him with any respect, especially Harvey, who had noticed the stranger looking at his daughter on countless occasions. He needn’t have worried however. The stranger was never able to sum up the courage to communicate to such an attractive young woman, believing, like the town did, that he was a creature no woman of such brilliance could ever have feelings for.
One night after watching an adventurous piece of dramatic art about a couple of travelers and their escapades, Nathaniel had actually met Virginia in the booth above the stage whilst he was making his way towards the exit. The both of them had stopped what they had been previously doing and looked at one another for a second. Nathaniel had attempted to form words, but had ultimately failed, instead, tipping his hat in the presence of the beautiful young woman and departing from sight.
Although he was still disliked by the locals, Nathaniel did indeed begin to have additional occupations opened to him. Through these he was able to pull off many endeavours the entrepreneurs wished to have accomplished, from moving something from one place to another, to helping to advertise for bigger business. The most attractive feature of such occupational occurrences was the payment, which added to the luxurious lifestyle Nathaniel wished to concoct for himself. He had come to believe such wealth would make him appear to be quite the gentlemen in the eyes of Virginia, nothing apart from his self esteem been able to stop him from achieving his dream of finally being able to ask her to spend an evening with him.
When Nathaniel realised Virginia was being sent by ship to Europe a couple of weeks later under the machinations of her father he felt his entire body begin to shut down in grief. As the luxuriously gargantuan vessel pulled out from the harbour, Nathaniel stood atop of a cliff edge overlooking the vast ocean, and for a moment, just one, he could have sworn he noticed Virginia look up at him. It was almost as though she too had wanted him to approach all this time, and in one split second all opportunities were vanquished.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months, and months inevitably turned to years as Nathaniel continued to wait on the cliff edge for his beloved to return, to tell her exactly how he felt and pray he was not too late to be with her for all eternity.
But never did the ship return. Nathaniel continued to wait after the ship and all of its crew were reported missing, and after a period of seven long years the constant brutality of the sun caused Nathaniel’s skin to crumble into rock, until he became a part of the cliff itself.
A few months later it was reported the vessel had been attacked by enemy troops invading Europe, no survivors ever being reported after the ship had being razed into the depths of the ocean.
Jimmy took a few steps back, his mouth open in shock, unable to say anything to properly establish the way he currently felt. ‘Wow’ he managed to say in awe.
‘Yes’ nodded the elderly man. ‘Virginia and Nathaniel were the best of all those who ever entered the town, and without them Gransnapia inevitably destroyed itself through wrong doing.’
Jimmy looked at his watch before shouting ‘gee, thanks mister, but I really must go now’, quickly leaping onto his bike and beginning to ride out of the town. He turned around suddenly and looked up at the statue one last time, instantly recognising the resemblance. The old man was the ghost of Nathaniel, trapped for an eternity away from his true love, the two of them cursed to forever be apart.