Callous
Member
Not knowing where to put this i decided on here. It is of my own mind and hand. I hope you enjoy it.
I am not a writer nor a poet but at times I find that the pen has put down the wanderings of my mind. In some cases I have been told they are some what illuminating or dear to heart. But all has not been seen, for some of my prose are as dark as the abyss holding Leviathan and for fear of being called mad I have never revealed them until now.
The accomplishment of the following were brought forth by a dark evil entity that I gave birth to at the end of the fourth lustrum of my life. I had heard the beckoning call first while intoxicated with peyote and wine. It's voice was neither male nor female, and held a tone that invoked carnal feelings that were surreal. For the first time in my life I felt the words and was convinced it was a blessing showering me in it's light. I indulged many times to feel the words of what was surely an angel.
About this time, I was sent to an Eastern shore to fight in a war where I saw men torn between good and evil. My eyes had been opened, I saw creatures of all manners that created all kinds of destruction and decay of body and soul. As countless soldiers before me had found, there is detachment of the mind when in chaos. It is as if one is taken form the world and placed at the very edge of the endless lake of fire where imps and sprites of every conceivable kind lured the purest of hearts. My convictions were less than pure, some would say I was slated for hell by having been given the word and turning away, so my fall to the allure of the wicked sprites was more of an embrace than with others.
My lungs frequently full and my mind bruised with the dark tar like nectar of poppies, it was during this time late one night my apparition appeared in a smoke filled room. The voice was the familiar I knew it already. Although some how it was different the song not as true but it mattered not for I only craved the comfort of its embrace. My arms fell through the elusive phantom and was not allowed a touch and every attempt left me weaker leaving a cold spot on my heart. The dawn of morning revealed the first construction of my pen, not in sonnet but sketch, a ghostly outline was before me on the wall. For several nights did I reach out to the ghostly vision in hopes of feeling a gentle embrace or kindness only to find more detail in my mural. On the morning after the seventh night I was entranced by the now completed fresco.
My eyes fixed on the portrait not believing it was by my hand, it covered over half the wall. It neither sat, kneeled nor stood but floated draped in a cloak that was as fine as lace. It had the handsome appearance of a Greek God and the alluring beauty of a Goddess surrounded by flights of birds in the clouds carrying sprays of flowers, with in that moment I felt it to be my Sistine Chapel. Entrance by the work I had done I stepped closer and upon that closeness I could see a transformation take place, the face became hallow with eyes deeply recessed that they were actually many in each socket, the nose devoid of shape resembled the cavity in a skull, the lips were drawn tight and exposed a skeletal smile. The lace that cloaked it was spun in part by webs of hideous eight legged creatures and other parts were like wings on a fly. At every angle I gazed I saw yet another grotesque image until counting seven in all. The clouded area was dotted with vile tiny winged creatures with mouths full of decaying flesh.
I gasped stepping back rubbing my eyes as the portrait came to life, the winged demons flew about my head screeching an ear shattering squeal as they fled into the night as like bats leaving the cave for a nights hunt. The object of my endeavor revolved and undulated through the myriad of faces and I turned away only to find in any direction it was there in my face taunting me. I felt faint but feared to fall for never reaching bottom. I wanted to run but my feet were heavy and would not move. The shrieking little creatures nipped at my cloths as the flew by stripping me naked. I screamed in madness and everything went black, not a sound could be heard nor spark of any light existed. Had I died, I could only hope it was so.
I don't know how long it had been before I was found, but I came to realize a sound about me, still dazed I could not tell if were from people or demons. Being somewhat satisfied after a while that the voices were human I cautiously opened my eyes and was pleasantly relieved that that they were indeed human. I was well taken care of and was told that I had suffered from exhaustion. They had found me outside naked laying in the rain, no mention was ever made of my den of iniquity, of which I never spoke of for fear of corporal punishment.
When I was returned to my company, my room showed no signs of the agony I had, had nor of the mural, it was as if it had never happened. But as I turned to leave I spied a winged devil sitting on the bed and another sitting on the windowpane. They were everywhere but made no movement save a soft chirp as I pass.
I have seen the demons everyday sense clawing and gnawing at bodies, as if they were vultures eating carnage, on people who are unaware of what is troubling them. Some of these people look as if they are the walking dead, being completely consumed by the creatures they carry. Others I shed a tear for, for they are young and already carry one of the evil demons.
To most who will read this will say, it is just the delusional ramblings of drug induced nightmare or of a man gone mad. I will not argue this point for I feel quit mad and it was my illicit immoral acts that created a womb for them to grow. Now that I have given them birth, they are more than words of warning, I see the sins for the evil hideous creatures they are, facing them daily, hearing their chirps as I pass. I know that someday when all comes to end I will have to stand at the gates of hell once more only this time with sword in hand. This will be my retribution for setting them free, and hopefully bring warmth back to my heart..
I must stop here, for I fear that my story will be as my mural, freeing yet more.
Seven Night
BY Doug Sims
9/20/2004
I am not a writer nor a poet but at times I find that the pen has put down the wanderings of my mind. In some cases I have been told they are some what illuminating or dear to heart. But all has not been seen, for some of my prose are as dark as the abyss holding Leviathan and for fear of being called mad I have never revealed them until now.
The accomplishment of the following were brought forth by a dark evil entity that I gave birth to at the end of the fourth lustrum of my life. I had heard the beckoning call first while intoxicated with peyote and wine. It's voice was neither male nor female, and held a tone that invoked carnal feelings that were surreal. For the first time in my life I felt the words and was convinced it was a blessing showering me in it's light. I indulged many times to feel the words of what was surely an angel.
About this time, I was sent to an Eastern shore to fight in a war where I saw men torn between good and evil. My eyes had been opened, I saw creatures of all manners that created all kinds of destruction and decay of body and soul. As countless soldiers before me had found, there is detachment of the mind when in chaos. It is as if one is taken form the world and placed at the very edge of the endless lake of fire where imps and sprites of every conceivable kind lured the purest of hearts. My convictions were less than pure, some would say I was slated for hell by having been given the word and turning away, so my fall to the allure of the wicked sprites was more of an embrace than with others.
My lungs frequently full and my mind bruised with the dark tar like nectar of poppies, it was during this time late one night my apparition appeared in a smoke filled room. The voice was the familiar I knew it already. Although some how it was different the song not as true but it mattered not for I only craved the comfort of its embrace. My arms fell through the elusive phantom and was not allowed a touch and every attempt left me weaker leaving a cold spot on my heart. The dawn of morning revealed the first construction of my pen, not in sonnet but sketch, a ghostly outline was before me on the wall. For several nights did I reach out to the ghostly vision in hopes of feeling a gentle embrace or kindness only to find more detail in my mural. On the morning after the seventh night I was entranced by the now completed fresco.
My eyes fixed on the portrait not believing it was by my hand, it covered over half the wall. It neither sat, kneeled nor stood but floated draped in a cloak that was as fine as lace. It had the handsome appearance of a Greek God and the alluring beauty of a Goddess surrounded by flights of birds in the clouds carrying sprays of flowers, with in that moment I felt it to be my Sistine Chapel. Entrance by the work I had done I stepped closer and upon that closeness I could see a transformation take place, the face became hallow with eyes deeply recessed that they were actually many in each socket, the nose devoid of shape resembled the cavity in a skull, the lips were drawn tight and exposed a skeletal smile. The lace that cloaked it was spun in part by webs of hideous eight legged creatures and other parts were like wings on a fly. At every angle I gazed I saw yet another grotesque image until counting seven in all. The clouded area was dotted with vile tiny winged creatures with mouths full of decaying flesh.
I gasped stepping back rubbing my eyes as the portrait came to life, the winged demons flew about my head screeching an ear shattering squeal as they fled into the night as like bats leaving the cave for a nights hunt. The object of my endeavor revolved and undulated through the myriad of faces and I turned away only to find in any direction it was there in my face taunting me. I felt faint but feared to fall for never reaching bottom. I wanted to run but my feet were heavy and would not move. The shrieking little creatures nipped at my cloths as the flew by stripping me naked. I screamed in madness and everything went black, not a sound could be heard nor spark of any light existed. Had I died, I could only hope it was so.
I don't know how long it had been before I was found, but I came to realize a sound about me, still dazed I could not tell if were from people or demons. Being somewhat satisfied after a while that the voices were human I cautiously opened my eyes and was pleasantly relieved that that they were indeed human. I was well taken care of and was told that I had suffered from exhaustion. They had found me outside naked laying in the rain, no mention was ever made of my den of iniquity, of which I never spoke of for fear of corporal punishment.
When I was returned to my company, my room showed no signs of the agony I had, had nor of the mural, it was as if it had never happened. But as I turned to leave I spied a winged devil sitting on the bed and another sitting on the windowpane. They were everywhere but made no movement save a soft chirp as I pass.
I have seen the demons everyday sense clawing and gnawing at bodies, as if they were vultures eating carnage, on people who are unaware of what is troubling them. Some of these people look as if they are the walking dead, being completely consumed by the creatures they carry. Others I shed a tear for, for they are young and already carry one of the evil demons.
To most who will read this will say, it is just the delusional ramblings of drug induced nightmare or of a man gone mad. I will not argue this point for I feel quit mad and it was my illicit immoral acts that created a womb for them to grow. Now that I have given them birth, they are more than words of warning, I see the sins for the evil hideous creatures they are, facing them daily, hearing their chirps as I pass. I know that someday when all comes to end I will have to stand at the gates of hell once more only this time with sword in hand. This will be my retribution for setting them free, and hopefully bring warmth back to my heart..
I must stop here, for I fear that my story will be as my mural, freeing yet more.