Post by Elly on Apr 6, 2006 16:14:04 GMT -5
Ok - so lets get some decent stuff in here. You post up a piece, or couple of pieces of work that you're dead proud of and get some nice comments back if people are feeling kind.
I think mine would be one from my collection of kinda morbid poems....
I'm not emo...I just have very strong - morbidly emotional opinions 
The first line of the first poem was written by Shiny New's very own bassmaster general Mr.Munky - his lyric inspired the whole poem so here's his credit for it.
The Murder Of Personality
Disconnection from myself to fit into a category,
Words cannot explain the thoughts I feel.
Seeing sounds and tasting colours,
My confusion shrouds my blurry existence,
Like mist with razor sharp edges.
Cutting my black, broken heart,
I do my best to picture your shallow eyes,
But words fail me when trying to explain the Hatred.
The Hatred that fuels the blood feud,
The Hatred that when bound down with ropes and chains,
Bursts from its cage with renewed vigour,
At just the tiniest switch.
I'll dance around the gallows tree,
Whispering,
Howling,
Screaming.
Tormented voices travelling on the wind like a broken plane,
A plane doomed to die.
But a plane that will never be forgotten,
Like the death of a loved one,
The thoughts will haunt you.
Never ceasing,
Never forgetting.
Don't try to tell me who to be,
Or you'll dance around the gallows tree.
But you'll be remembered on the terms of murder.
Not murder of a human,
But murder of a soul.
The blank blackboard of personality lingering in your wake.
For this is me and I'll never be you.
The Futility Of War
Eternal darkness shrouds the rotting corpses of the million dead
As the cries of souls in torment echo across a desolate field of mindless slaughter.
Why is it that we stand here?
Waiting for an inevitable death?
Why is it that we lie here?
We being the cause of someone else’s inevitable demise.
Gas creeps into the lungs of a tired soldier,
He screams but none hear,
Another helpless soul to fall through the black curtains,
Another to simply fade into a mere memory of the past.
Day by day, innocent’s halos slip down around necks,
And choke them with guilt, and the conscience that will last a lifetime –
However short or long their lifetimes may turn to be.
Blood oozes from gashes in corpses as the heart makes a last feeble attempt to pump the crimson life around to its counterparts,
But this attempt is frail and with a last rattling breath, the eyes glaze,
And there lies another soldier who never existed.
Winter comes around again, and again, and again,
Each time causing more destruction than the last time,
More destruction than the guns or the tanks or the gas could ever dream of in their metallic minds of cold iron and steel.
Skin shrinks around hollow bones before it snaps under the icy coat,
And peels away, another victim of the winter flaying.
Images of the dead rip through the mind like white lightening,
Tearing the boundaries of sanity as though made of paper.
Millions of dead corpses lie broken all over the world,
But is this what’s really dying?
Or is it something else in the human mind that is dying?
This question I leave to the conscience of mankind.
I think mine would be one from my collection of kinda morbid poems....
I'm not emo...I just have very strong - morbidly emotional opinions 
The first line of the first poem was written by Shiny New's very own bassmaster general Mr.Munky - his lyric inspired the whole poem so here's his credit for it.
The Murder Of Personality
Disconnection from myself to fit into a category,
Words cannot explain the thoughts I feel.
Seeing sounds and tasting colours,
My confusion shrouds my blurry existence,
Like mist with razor sharp edges.
Cutting my black, broken heart,
I do my best to picture your shallow eyes,
But words fail me when trying to explain the Hatred.
The Hatred that fuels the blood feud,
The Hatred that when bound down with ropes and chains,
Bursts from its cage with renewed vigour,
At just the tiniest switch.
I'll dance around the gallows tree,
Whispering,
Howling,
Screaming.
Tormented voices travelling on the wind like a broken plane,
A plane doomed to die.
But a plane that will never be forgotten,
Like the death of a loved one,
The thoughts will haunt you.
Never ceasing,
Never forgetting.
Don't try to tell me who to be,
Or you'll dance around the gallows tree.
But you'll be remembered on the terms of murder.
Not murder of a human,
But murder of a soul.
The blank blackboard of personality lingering in your wake.
For this is me and I'll never be you.
The Futility Of War
Eternal darkness shrouds the rotting corpses of the million dead
As the cries of souls in torment echo across a desolate field of mindless slaughter.
Why is it that we stand here?
Waiting for an inevitable death?
Why is it that we lie here?
We being the cause of someone else’s inevitable demise.
Gas creeps into the lungs of a tired soldier,
He screams but none hear,
Another helpless soul to fall through the black curtains,
Another to simply fade into a mere memory of the past.
Day by day, innocent’s halos slip down around necks,
And choke them with guilt, and the conscience that will last a lifetime –
However short or long their lifetimes may turn to be.
Blood oozes from gashes in corpses as the heart makes a last feeble attempt to pump the crimson life around to its counterparts,
But this attempt is frail and with a last rattling breath, the eyes glaze,
And there lies another soldier who never existed.
Winter comes around again, and again, and again,
Each time causing more destruction than the last time,
More destruction than the guns or the tanks or the gas could ever dream of in their metallic minds of cold iron and steel.
Skin shrinks around hollow bones before it snaps under the icy coat,
And peels away, another victim of the winter flaying.
Images of the dead rip through the mind like white lightening,
Tearing the boundaries of sanity as though made of paper.
Millions of dead corpses lie broken all over the world,
But is this what’s really dying?
Or is it something else in the human mind that is dying?
This question I leave to the conscience of mankind.
I look forward to hearing it being played live again like it's supposed to be played.