Most Commented Dark Poetry Poems (2,485)

A homeless writing set adrift essentially in the middle of the city (the internet) looking like a grizzled old man with an insect ridden beard, dirty clothes and smells like cabbage. This is practice, a light shadow boxing in a dirty alleyway just around the corner from the shabby homeless guy, who is adrift on a spectacular cruise with Captain Rotgut Wine. I practice in this filthy alleyway to get the feel for the craft, to bob and weave my way through a series of drills everyday. Not unlike the working here in a war zone, watching the skies for the tell tale sign of a rocket getting shot on base, or the flinching feeling one gets when there is a big Boom close by. The way I still flinch when I hear a truck backfire back here in the states; hitting the floor of the restaurant to the stares of the other patrons, opposite an empty seat which used to be occupied by my spouse, only now is dead air. So I leave the restaurant, walking back to my little apartment in the city, past the bum in the alleyway, the shadow boxer and finally past the disinterested, tattooed hooker, who always seems to be here and not working, as if she is always waiting on me to walk by, "you want a date, lover?" Wiggling her rear suggestively in her shorts, her long raven hair is teased up in a fancy do on top of her head as if she was recently at an embassy dinner, surrounded by dignitaries, only now just the hair remains, as she is within the orbit of junkies, drunks and dressed in shorts, high heels and a white rabbit fur jacket that compliments her sapphire green eyes and generous mouth.
I incline my head towards my shabby little apartment; she is my muse, a whore with a heart of a lion, within a hot body, soon to be full of sweat, moans and finally as she stands there naked in my room, lit by the neon signs from the streets outside, which casts a reddish glow on her skin, giving her a slightly demonic look. I watch her from the bed within that hateful neon moonlight as she counts the money from the vodka-scented dresser. She turns to me and smiles, flashing rows of white pearly teeth and she is holding a straight razor. I nod slightly as she eases over with that lovely skin suit and her blade. she pauses deliciously above me and then cuts as the red water flows out of me and down to the floor in rivulets of letters and sentences.
She is why I practice, that scurvy, perfume scented whore; she is the surgeon now. I am just a lousy pen on a liquor stained dresser, lying beside a bloody scalpel within a smell of cheap perfume, and an empty apartment.

Rising slowly above the resting woods
A shining beacon cresting o'er the hill
Less faithful is the night and worldly goods
Predations friend coming in for her kill

So great your sorcerous spirit at night
Can safely only hide in your shadow
Legends of sorrow be blamed in your sight
Places where the quail cry in the meadow

Where all speech is soft, all manners gentle
Mumbled creatures cover with hooded heads
Murmers and chanting all transcendental
Cloaked in their long robes with darker threads

To safely watch in her shadow is odd
Precession of a perihelion god

The tourniquet

strangling my giving life

of a hurt
does one
flee

to save
ones life

reckless movement
cowering
within
the mounds

a silence creeps
as babies sleep

thunder storms like opera

singing to
the depth

to gulp the winning notes

lick the blood
streaming from my life

but to sit
so serene
untying the ropes

knotted tightly
a volume of
bewilded strife

no secrete forest lays beyond

yet creeping roots
they lay
so hidden under the skin


to push the way

screams
of despair

rack wretched my bones

the quiet times
of crazy silent

homes

then let

a Sophia, to begin

to ner say

she never meant
to swim

Shes off!

xx

we know these terrors all too well
as we lie asleep tossing, turning
trying to break free, to wake up
dark vile horrors reaching out
grabbing, tugging, pulling us back
yet can we recall what they were?
starting we awake shivering, shaking
peering into dark shadowy corners
is there something hiding, lurking
relieved sigh just a trick of light
our mind seeing what's not there
is it our inner eye trying to warn
seeing peril for us in the future?
or are they just random fears
that prey on us while we sleep
tormenting when we are most vulnerable
whatever they are, where ever from
they have me checking under the bed
all clear, only some dust bunnies
uncertain back to bed to lie listening
will they be back if so when?
this question I can not answer

Warlords weird words,
Weaving wide webs,
Sticks,sick stones,six seashells,
Strong spell,
Hanging holographic horrors,
Here's hell....

There's a sadness,
Deep and vast,
When I open up the past,
Dark stormy memories flash,
Briefly driving shadows back,
Illuminating forgotten facts,
Till I slowly close the hatch,
And leave them in the inky black...

A fog rolled into the leafless hollow
Fallen and faded of glorious color
A withering rug of molding mass
Growing dark is dank November
In the midst of a life in crises
So lies swollen shut
My eyes are cried with cold
Blurry is first glimpse of snow

Now water running clean and sober
Down streambed past a boulder
Scored with ancient glacial scars
Across its smooth face bored
As stories born shiny and wet
So waits freezing still
My breath clouds into my face
Mixing with the fog that brews

And now, across a squeaking bridge
Floor of sagging wood grows moss
Hiding rot from within its mass
Cracked and rusted its paint peels
And loosens old skinny nails
So goes aging time
My heart grows weaker while
I pass the old millstone by

you entered my garden
hiding the truth
you entered eden
laying waste her beauty
as your ugly head of truth
appeared in your lies
you ate the apple
destroying a beautiful love
creating a vile nightmare
as you show me hell
hurt so heartfelt
leaving your awful scar
a reminder of you
possesed or not possesed
your a nightmare
destroying the house of eden
as this feeling decays
the rot fills my garden
with the pain
a volcano
my heart burns
you created my hell
as you slithered around
my twilight of darkness
lie the decoy
to the truth

Late night
wide awake
3:30AM
knows all
my secrets...

Perhaps insomnia
is a refuge
my oasis
suffer darkly
as a refugee...

Daybreak hours
onward creep
shred of sleep
all but wavers
in spirit wind...

Tonight beautiful
beckoning bed
did not promise
beautiful dreams
only pillow thoughts...

Her radiance hidden from sight
the Dark Angel stalks the night
secret dark paths she follows
her quiver full of poison arrows

Searching for the evil hearts
to tear apart sweethearts
carry off the essence of soul
leaving the other without console

Flaming arrows of dark vengeance
seek souls without giving temperance
to a fiery dark hell she leads them
there she chooses eternally to condemn

Thus beware of the Dark Angel
watch out with care for her Virgil
least you be next on the list
much better for you to be missed