Shadow's Golden Poems

1: The Noose of The Damned


Like a cursed sight
Waiting for the night
The Noose of The Damned Souls
Will claim the young and the old
The hung are buried by a tree
Out in the open for all to see
All shall fear the cursed gallows
Even those with hearts so shallow
No-one is safe from the curse
Not even those found in a hearse




2: Project: Nightmare

Warning: This poem was designed to induce an intense and rather morbid image that will plague your dreams.


In a room, darkened by shadows, There stands a man.
A man with the face of a corpse, He bleeds from his hands.
His eyes, sown shut by wires of steel, always cry.
And as his body shook with jerks and twitches alike,
He approaches with a knife, rusted with blood and skin.
He gasps and He weezes as he performs his favorite sin.
The art of scalping and impaling, wounding his prey.
And while the victim bleeds away to a broken decay,
He devours the blood and the skin, then cuts out the eyes.
He'll feast upon all of his prey, leaving it dead and dry.
Only the soul will remain of the prey, martyred in shame.
It's tears will never dry, It's suffering will remain.
Shackled to The Room of Sorrow & Pain, Never to be freed.
The soul is forever lost, Left to be forgotten in greed.
It'll bleed non-stop, Existing only in torment and sorrow.
As for the walking corpse that made the soul turn hollow,
He'll exist only in the shadows, Waiting for his next prey.
And as he feeds on the souls of the broken and the raped,
His body will rattle and creek, as he shakes and walks.
Moaning and weezing as he cuts open a new found flock.
A flock of the martyred and the strangled, Forever in pain.
Calling forth a new victim of the corpse's brutal reign.