Spectre's Woeful Castle of Poetry

[Fruerte]

Okay, how do I start this thing?
*confused facedesk*

So. While everyone was busy making Art Threads, I was content with sitting in a darkest corner and popping out time from time to leave a comment, paint words in red, and maybe insert horror in the places it never was in. After all, I can't draw that well, and writing takes time. But, as you might know... Sometimes, when I open my mouth, the poems come out. And nothing can silence the cries of voices that recount ideas and whisper sweet lies, telling me that this madness is more than the shards of feverish dreams and actually means... something?
Can you imagine this?

And when @Arlesienne told me to make a thread
Always saying that my work is worthy of read
I've stilled my anxious woes
For how could I dare... to say no?

I've built up the buffer
And prayed to the Night
Fully prepared to suffer
As I step into the bright
Spotlight of Art...

Oh, what am I doing, I'm not good enough, a weakling amateur, not worthy... frankly, I should keep it away from all of you....
[has a panic attack]

I'll get something up for you in a minute... just after my emergency therapy tea...

[Fruerte]

So, yesterday in the @MissCharlie's thread, Maxwell was behaving like the sensible, wise man that he is... ha-ha, no.

Spoiler

And so I've thought: "Well, that's because you were a really bad King...", and then, after too many Voltaire songs...

Welcome the King of Shadows. 

Spoiler

 

The shadows share the news
"The one we need have died today again, you know?
Claimed by wintry winds
But what could we expect from sleep-deprived scientist?"
Their host does not hear them talking
Too busy watching puppets
Writhe and scream and die
All due to his lies.
A cold and heartless beast
He sits and smiles with ease
Every night
With their cries
Ringing through his ears...

King of Shadows sits in darkness
Rejoicing at their pain
While he is the one ruling
Hapless masses
He's never gonna let 
He's never gonna let
These poor accursed souls go free!

Reigning over the wilds
The mighty army_of the Shadow King
The frogs, and merms and werepigs
And spiders, batlisks, hounds 
Chess pieces, shadows of all size.
Giants prowl the landscape, 
The deerclops stomps, the bearger roars,
The Goose-Goose honks,
The dragonfly spews flames.

The puppets cry their tears.
Their hearts are full of fear.

For whom this's a twisted game,
Who causes so much pain?

King of Shadows in his throne room
Basking in his hate.
Pleading's useless 
His eyes are blind to their doom.
He's never gonna let 
He's never gonna let 
These poor accursed souls go free!

King of Shadows sits in darkness
Rejoicing at their pain
While he is the one ruling
Hapless masses
He's never gonna let 
He's never gonna let
Reign of the King
(soon will be over)
They have already
(made their choice)
The change will soon begin...
 

Edited November 29, 2016 by Net Spectre

[Fruerte]

Still at it.
Here's another Voltaire parody, because I have a bunch of these and need to get them out. Please bear with me.

Charlie lives through yet another sad, death-filled night. Well, a bunch of them. 
This one is untitled because I just couldn't think of anything fitting. "Grue's Lament", maybe? 

Spoiler

 

You, one near the pigs
The full moon's close, you should run
And you, one near the swamp
Don't go there, or the tentacles'll get you
And you, among the trees 
Are you lost? I can lead you out.
Hey, put down the axe.
The darkness's falling, 
And I just want to

Tear your flesh
To cause you pain
To smell your fear
To hear your screaming, oh

A long, long time ago
I fell to this place
From another dimension
And morphed into a beast
Locked inside a cage of dementia
Now through all these years
I left my past behind
I have lost my mind
I want to get out of here
I want to go home
And yet all I can do is

Tear your flesh
And cause you pain
And smell your fear
And hear your screaming, oh

As you are standing on the edge of your life
I wonder if you'll remember
Your own demise

I'm trying to get my memories back
I don't know why, but I'm feeling sad
You cry, and I try to cut faster
Just fall over the edge of your life
Your pain soon will be over, and
Mine will get stronger

I'm trying to earn my memories back
To break my curse 
As you die to wake anew

Oh, if only I could be myself
I'd be a guide for the lost
If only I could be myself
I'd be a light in the darkness
You can't see pain etched in my face
Oh, I want to stop to

Tear your flesh
To cause you pain
To smell your fear
To hear your screaming, oh

As you are standing on the edge of your life
I wonder if you'll remember
Me crying for you

I'm trying to get my memories back
I wish I could protect you from him
Oh, please don't cry, now, smile
Just fall over the edge of your life
Your pain soon will be over, and
Mine will get stronger

I'm trying to earn my memories back
To break my curse 
As you die again-

You're gone from here
You've left from here
You've left me here
But I'll see you here
I'll meet you here
We'll break out of here
And I will see your smile...

[An Artifact]

Heheh, glad to see the vigilant artists of the forums are finally breaking out of the DRAWS ONLY mold =) Voltaire, that name rings a bell... didn't he that "When you're evil" song too? I enjoy the morbid themes, both in the original song and your starvified renditions 

[Fruerte]

52 minutes ago, MeingroessterFan said:

Heheh, glad to see the vigilant artists of the forums are finally breaking out of the DRAWS ONLY mold =) Voltaire, that name rings a bell... didn't he that "When you're evil" song too? I enjoy the morbid themes, both in the original song and your starvified renditions 

Yeah, I was getting kinda fidgety due to not being able to draw well but still wishing for my own morbid corner in the Arts section... and always backpedaling on creating it because my mind was starting to drone "no one is going to be interested in this" the moment my cursor even dared to twitch in the direction of the New Topic button.

Voltaire is indeed the mind behind the "When You're Evil". His works are suprisingly perfect for starvification. I've initially wanted to do only Robber Baron, but then the usual writing blackout happened and bam, I've ended up with a bunch of these.

Will post another one a bit later, when my internet stops seizuring. 

Edited November 29, 2016 by Net Spectre

[Fruerte]

Our favorite Dork Carter wastes his precious free-time on moping around and pleading for help.
Extremely sappy. May give you Whine Poisoning. Take caution.

Here's a rare sight
An occurance as fleeting
As a flicker of light
In the dark of the throne room unfeeling

The King sits in his chair
Firmly held in the place by Their hands
There's no sight of his dapperly flair
There's a different look in his eyes

Once prideful visage stained with tears
The ruler of shadowy masses
Raises his hand, shaking in fear
Tapping his face in the search of the glasses

Maxwell is resting, and William breaks out
Gasping for freedom as he would for air
But there is a black hole down in his gut
Of feelings for one that he... no, they care...

Charlotte.

Spoiler

 

There's a patch of roses near my throne, they smell like you
I wish I could walk up to them, when I start to miss you too much
You know I'd love to pick one for my dapper suit, but
There are too many shadows watching
I'm afraid they'd tell on me

Here's only dark, neither day nor night
In this place where I close my eyes
And their hands are trying so hard to hold me back
While I relive our final act, 
See you smile, you smile at me

Oh, my dear Charlotte
Your loss of self stabs like a blade right through my heart
Oh, my dear Charlotte
You know your madness stabs right through my bleeding heart

I think about you every night and every day
Every moment since they took you
Your corruption was my pay, so they say
And I weep for you, Charlotte

Oh, my dear Charlotte
(I know you're out there, ah)
Your loss of self stabs like a blade right through my heart
Oh, my dear Charlotte
(I know you're out there, ah)
You know your madness stabs right through my bleeding heart

Sometimes I wonder if you hate me
For it's my fault you're stuck like this
I pray the fates are kind and you will break your curse someday
I pray that you'll reclaim your freedom, my dear beloved Charlotte

Oh, my dear Charlotte
(I know you're out there, ah)
Your loss of self stabs like a blade right through my heart
Oh, my dear beloved Charlotte
(I know you're out there, ah)
You know your madness stabs right through my bleeding heart

Oh, my dear Charlotte
(I know you're out there, ah)
Your loss of self stabs like a blade right through my heart
Oh, my dear beloved Charlotte
(I know you're out there, ah)
And only you can pull the blade out of my heart
 

Edited November 29, 2016 by Net Spectre

[Fruerte]

A pretty late update, because the internet stabbed me in the back today.
Here's the last Voltaire rewrite (for the time being).
And oh thanks Night, an easily singable one. I'm pretty pleased with how it has turned out as well (Yes, really. I'm suprised myself.).

Spoiler

 

 

If you find surviving a bore
There's a place you can go
Grab your trusty spear, and do come near
The abode of the dead of yore
Don't mind the trees, their guardian sleeps
There's no cries of bereaved
By no hound you will be here found, 
So go and kneel next to their graves

Here's a fiery lass, encased in ice,
Her life snuffed out by frost
Here's, shoudlers once wide, a strongman, whose might
By hunger was dwindled and lost
Here's a sweet girl child, now claimed by the wild
By fangs and claws of the beasts
And here's lady old, bookish and bold
Taken by swamp's foul mists

Sit here on the ground
Ghosts are dancing all around you
Touch cold stones with your hand
Mourn for ones who'd died in this land

If you find surviving a bore
There's a place you can go
Grab your trusty spear, and do come near
The abode of the dead of yore
Fall on your knees, as your search reveals
An old beaten grave with your name
Still your hate, accept your sad fate
For Them your pain is but a game

Sit here on the ground
Ghosts are dancing all around you
Touch cold stones with your hand
Mourn for ones who'd died in this land

[An Artifact]

6 minutes ago, Net Spectre said:

A pretty late update, because the internet stabbed me in the back today.
Here's the last Voltaire rewrite (for the time being).
And oh thanks Night, an easily singable one. I'm pretty pleased with how it has turned out as well (Yes, really. I'm suprised myself.).

I actuall tried singing along this time (thankfully there was no-one around to hear that abyssmal wailing). It works very well, and I think I should check for more of that Voltaire guy's music, I quite enjoyed the songs of his you did so far.  

[Fruerte]

Just now, MeingroessterFan said:

I actuall tried singing along this time (thankfully there was no-one around to hear that abyssmal wailing). It works very well, and I think I should check for more of that Voltaire guy's music, I quite enjoyed the songs of his you did so far.  

I have a few more ideas, but haven't started writing them yet. Want to make something original to break the string of rewrites first.
There is something on my mind, but I feel that it may turn out a bit long and will take some time to complete.

[Fruerte]

Last daily update, because as of now I'm all out of poems.
A little rewritten tune of macabre nature in Their honor.

Spoiler

Who else is excited for the Netflix series?

They seek out unfortunate people
And whisk them to horrible place
Which's to its very reaches
Filled with horrible creatures
Who really want to eat your face

Heed my words, camping there isn't nice or cool
Just wait till the night, and with it the Grue

When you'll see shadows crawling
Hear beasts' hungry growling
You'll tremble and cry in dismay
For Them you're but a toy
Pathetic and weak, so
As Their hands snuff out the fire you grab a torch
Then scream and run away

Scream, scream, scream and run away
Run, run run run run run run run
And die, die die die die die die die
Run, run run run run run run run
And die, die die die die die die die die die die

Two walruses with darts and hounds
Chess pieces of marble and gears
Things worsen and worsen, a tall, dapper person
Lights his cigar and sneers.

United in the goals same
They're acting in interests of Them

Oh, why They do such things evil and cruel?
Can these eldritch creatures just bored be may?
But no matter! Your worst fears are coming to get you
As They whisper in your ears you grab a spear
Then scream and run away

Scream, scream, scream and run away
Run, run run run run run run run
And die, die die die die die die die
Run, run run run run run run run
And die, die die die die die die die die die die

[minespatch]

On 12/1/2016 at 11:32 AM, Net Spectre said:

Last daily update, because as of now I'm all out of poems.
A little rewritten tune of macabre nature in Their honor.
They seek out unfortunate people
And whisk them to horrible place
Which's to its very reaches
Filled with horrible creatures
Who really want to eat your face

Scream, scream, scream and run away
Run, run run run run run run run
And die, die die die die die die die
Run, run run run run run run run
And die, die die die die die die die die die die

 

As someone who loves the Gothic Archies, glad to see their work transfered to the fandom. I wouldn't be surprised if you did a Shipwrecked inspired tune.

[Fruerte]

I've finally wrote a thing... and it isn't a rewrite even! 
*flails arms*

A little look at Max's backstory, born out of boredom and pretty sour mood. Most likely rough around the edges.
I have no idea how to call it. Anyway, enjoy.

There was a Naive Man, who’d wished to know ways of Magic.
His thirst for arcane led him down a path most tragic.
He’d left British Isles without a hint of fear,
Eager to start his performance career.
The Fates, though, were quick to laugh and scoff:
His amateur show didn’t take off.
Rabbits and card tricks don’t a magician make,
So his act fell apart, countless debts in its wake.

He’d fled  for his life, taking the train,
And the Fates laughed at the poor Man again.
A circus wagon on the train tracks got stuck,
By full force of the train poor performers were struck.
Many got wounded, but don’t be alarmed.
The elephant ended up being unharmed.
From the crash Naive Man had stumbled away,
In the hot desert sands losing his way.

The search didn’t bear fruit, so poor sod was declared
Completely, utterly, totally dead.

He’d returned much later to inhabited lands,
Cursed book of Dark Arts clutched tight in his hands.
With soft look replaced by vicious gaze,
Eyes steely and sparkling with concealed craze,
No longer nervous, holding his head up proud.
Proclaiming his name surely and loud.
He set out to New York, to start all from scratch,
To set up new act, his dark powers to match.
Though it wasn’t apparent, not yet it was known,
He was already corrupted and gone.
The reports were right, William Carter was dead...
And Maxwell the Great was born in his stead.

 

There was an Arrogant Man, who’d  known ways of Magic.
His thirst for arcane led him down a path most tragic...

[Fruerte]

Well, well. The last post was more than two months ago. I'm still too preoccupied with... discreet matters of extreme importance to return to my writing exploits, and my mind seems more interested in prose rather than poetry for the time being.

However, I do not wish to see this thread getting closed just because my voices are currently on break for our mutual benefit, I do not wish to wait too long, as I don't know for how long a thread should be inactive for it to be locked, and I don't want to just write a content-less post just for the sake of bumping.

So, I've rummaged through my poems pile, and figured that it's about time I transferred the work that started my DS-related poetry spree to here.

It's not that good, but... *shrug*

It was inspired by one of the @NightWonder7 's works, so I'll leave it here as well for the sake of context.

Spoiler

On 11/9/2016 at 8:56 PM, NightWonder7 said:

 

The blizzard howls, the blizzard sings
Raising the snowflakes up to the skies
The radio hisses, whispers and rings
Until the weak signal finally dies

The shadows sneer at your weak form
The snowstorm drowns their laugh
The guiding static is long gone
And you already had enough

The blood drips and trickles down
Making it hard to see
Last shreds of strength leave you now
And you fall on your knees

The heavy rod – a last support
Creaks and wails, keeping you still
There is no escape, no last resort
Only the merciless chill

You’re out of luck
The calm is all that’s left
And you feel them clawing at your back
The icy hands of Death

The blizzard sings its final song
Lulling you to sleep
And you give up, and follow it along
Sinking into the darkness deep

And as many times before
As your life is snuffed away
You hear the voice of King once more
 “Nice try, Pal. But not today.”

 

(Well, now I can rest easy for another two months, I guess...) 

[Arlesienne]

Just now, Net Spectre said:

Well, well. The last post was more than two months ago. I'm still too preoccupied with... discreet matters of extreme importance to return to my writing exploits, and my mind seems more interested in prose rather than poetry for the time being.

However, I do not wish to see this thread getting closed just because my voices are currently on break for our mutual benefit, I do not wish to wait too long, as I don't know for how long a thread should be inactive for it to be locked, and I don't want to just write a content-less post just for the sake of bumping.

So, I've rummaged through my poems pile, and figured that it's about time I transferred the work that started my DS-related poetry spree to here.

It's not that good, but... *shrug*

It was inspired by one of the @NightWonder7 's works, so I'll leave it here as well for the sake of context.

  Reveal hidden contents

 

The blizzard howls, the blizzard sings
Raising the snowflakes up to the skies
The radio hisses, whispers and rings
Until the weak signal finally dies

The shadows sneer at your weak form
The snowstorm drowns their laugh
The guiding static is long gone
And you already had enough

The blood drips and trickles down
Making it hard to see
Last shreds of strength leave you now
And you fall on your knees

The heavy rod – a last support
Creaks and wails, keeping you still
There is no escape, no last resort
Only the merciless chill

You’re out of luck
The calm is all that’s left
And you feel them clawing at your back
The icy hands of Death

The blizzard sings its final song
Lulling you to sleep
And you give up, and follow it along
Sinking into the darkness deep

And as many times before
As your life is snuffed away
You hear the voice of King once more
 “Nice try, Pal. But not today.”

 

(Well, now I can rest easy for another two months, I guess...) 

You favour quality over quantity, which is good :D. Every post you deliver here is quality. We can wait!

[minespatch]

I can see a troubadour singing that if Pigmen evolve to have advanced thought. Singing the legend of Wilson.

Edited March 25, 2017 by minespatch