The sands of time run endlessly through my cracked and dry fingers,
endlessly,
as I await our time, our calling,
but the sands are running slow
and time is running short,
for soon it shall not be.
The countless millions grains of sand
that slips through my hands
and fall forever,
into destruction.
Soon,
it shall be the souls of the mighty and the pious,
they have striven long and hard
and their reward waits,
then they shall know their foolishness;
their folly.
Pleas! Oh, the cries! The pleas
will fall on deaf ears
and be answered by the harsh laughter of judgment,
as the mighty fall,
the mightier shall arise;
as the shackles of our long, lonely prison
fall away and fade to but a memory;
reap what you sow they say,
we shall be the reapers
and it will be a harvest unlike any other.
Seven crowns,
seven Lords,
seven Kings,
encircling the world with the gifts of God,
but beware,
for God's gifts are a double edged sword
and the seven Lords shall take such great pleasure
in giving you the reward of your labors;
ignorance is bliss they say,
but in the end,
bliss will turn to horror,
sweet hope will die
and will leave no memory.
Author notes
This is going to take some explaining, so please excuse the length of this note. This is the first of what I call my "Glasyalabolas" writings, which differ from my normal pieces. I shall explain.
A good few years ago now, a good friend of mine (Ocean Soul Raven) was having problems with other (very jealous) people being over-judgmental. As they were not the most overly informed (nor the most clever) of people, at the instigation of my friend, we took on Goetic demon names, choosing the demons that fitted our personalities best. It was a way to mess with their heads, plus it was using the names as an analogy of our inner character.
At least, that is how it started.
What I didn't count on was, that using the Glasyalabolas name changed things. I found sometimes when I was writing, it was like I wasn't writing as myself, it was like I was being taken, if that makes any sense, was like auto-writing. Now these "Glasyalabolas" writing episodes have only happened a handful of times over the course of the years, but I have found that it has started to creep into my other writings too, where I feel that I am being prompted to write something in particular.
It would seem that the demon Glasyalabolas has indeed become my muse.
I doubt that any of that will make any kind of sense to anyone, but I felt I had to explain it out, so that when I say it's a "Glasyalabolas" writing, people know.
Plus, as he is my muse (and sometimes takes over), I only felt it fair that he took credit for these.
To the demon on my shoulder, forever whispering in my ear!
To Glasyalabolas!
May your truths always hold true!
In a list
A contest entry
- Release Inner Anguish (Dark poetry from Dark poets) by Girl With Guitar.
1300 points, ended August 9, 2007, 60 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Ok, time to be picky! by Wrozes Thorne.
300 points, ended August 19, 2007, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - All Your Poems Are Belong To Me by Samantha Amergirdol.
1000 points, ended September 6, 2007, 106 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - This is your contest not mine, no restriction what so ever. by nerd42189.
550 points, ended October 23, 2007, 61 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Wonderful write! And thanks for entering this contest. Good luck!
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Thank you. I have a bit of a soft spot for this one, not just due to liking it, but the circumstances and way it came about were interesting.
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The phrase of "harsh laughter" stuck out in my mind so strongly, for more reasons than one. Amazing work here.
Strong impacts throughout the piece,
Good job.
Bandaid. -
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Thank you. I find that sometimes, pieces written in anger often turn out the best.
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*Clap, Clap*
An absolutly brilliant piece. Rich in detail and amazing. It catches you up and intices you in so you won't stop reading it. I understand perfectly. Your muse is a good one. You should keep him around. -
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He can be a great help, but he often comes with a price. When I write like that, as "him" as it were, I end up with a blinding headache. :S
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I was there when this poem took life. Watching you and J freestyle your poems in the middle of a typical chatroom was pure magic. I have this poem and a few select others of yours in a special folder.
This poem truly expresses the anger and disgust we felt at the time. Seems so long ago, yet everytime I read it, I'm back there... feeling that frustration and rage. This is a special one.
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I still remember it very well. It was another one of those situations where the whole room just ground to a halt because of us. J's was brilliant too, I still have it in my email folder.
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