Posted on by Undead Diaries

Loss

I suppose there was truth when Calpurnia said:
"The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes."

For as I stare out my window,
Glancing at heaven above and ground below,
I see white lilies mourn the loss of a kind soul from this world,
And the mighty heavens themselves stand in shame at their helplessness.

On this day
A great and kindly spirit was robbed from this Earth,
Far too early, sooner than one would anticipate,

And simply...
That.

That spirit has left this Earth, and left us mortals in its wake
As fleeting as the picture captured
With these gifts called memories.

-Desdemona

Posted on by Undead Diaries

Nocturne


Sweet Nocturne,
She needs not the light of day,
Nor the labours that do not pay,
For with her she has numerous nebulae,
That keep her at bay.

She is oft mistaken with coldness and death,
But in her darkness one finds a hearth,
A truly limitless rebirth,
Yet one that blazes with solace.

It needs no light
And does not burn too bright,
So as to hurt your eyes
And feed you with all-encompassing lies.

For sweet Nocturne is Wicked
Man’s veil,
Though the many layers of her beauty
Enclose many in pain,
Those lost souls always searching for their way
Will always find themselves in that dark haze.

– Maya Desdemona, Arsh.

Posted on by Arsh

Thunderstorm’s fury

Calling to the ever-changing cloud,
Clouding over all life's problems.

Calling to the rapid lightning,
Shocking through the worst dilemmas.

Calling to the crackling storm,
Charging through any controversies.

Calling to the flighty mist,
Hazing over occurring uncertainties.

Calling to the torrent of rain,
Barraging through the enemy's meagre defenses.

I call upon the fury of the thunderstorm,
In the hopes that my enemy may be vanquished.

– Arsh

Posted on by Undead Diaries

Day Eleven: A Sailor’s Tale

The sailor is one with stories plentiful,
Ranging from Daring escapes to Romantic escapades.
Their only constant,
I suppose, would be the free wandering
Of the jolly old sailor himself.

“For I was thrown from Untruthful shores,
Left in the mercy of
The Collector of Souls,
Its cruel torrents continue to rage,
Leaving my sailin’ self
With a gruelling task at the Doors of Fate.”

He vividly paints the scene,
Detailed to an extent
You would think it was just yesterday
His triumph or tragedy was finished.

“Following the Marine path,
My crumbling heart hath
Stymied the Crimson wrath.”

His Colloquial accent is distinct,
Somehow adding to his narrating style,
With nuanced details one would never notice
Lest one is actually there.

“For I must walk this path alone,
Torment for the crimes for which I atone.”

As authentic as it feels,
None of it is real,
As I so begrudgingly got him to spill
One day, when he was drunk.

He told me,
“These sins are not my own,
A wild imagining, if anything,
Of a life lost to the sands of Time.”

Whose is this life story?
Even the old sailor does not know.
But the unknown soul was immortalised,
Never to be forgotten for their deeds.

– Maya Desdemona