Catatonic Hallucinations

[MasterKeyX]

your poems= very powerful
You really have a talent.

[darkphantomime]

Here's another poem, I'll post the rest of the other one later. This one is more autumnal, you'll see what I mean.


Autumn mourning      8-26-05

Lo upon the summer's eve
what we call by name
Of whom we see, so little forth
The thing of la macabre.
At what haunted yearning upon this soul's
Fury, the ides of Friday what we take with them
To be impaled, to be crucified
All the end, the same.

The night of eve's
The lady of the form
The obscene, the blood of my puppet's son
And the strings, gathering like a wandering noose

upon the flesh of my love,
To be lonely, to be damned, to be feared
Out of the thing I call life
And the knives I put through me,
To reach the scars,
And sever this ever maddening pain.

To feel,
What cold prickling flesh
To feel
Labyrinth of the soul
What shadow that we take
And the life of the calm, fading restless night.
"if this is a gift,
Then why does it feel so much like a curse?"

The halls move, stones shook
In an erratic tempo,
To shake and twitch in one's sleep
Yet passing from here and the elder worlds
Like a fading dream, the fog
Of the hour of decay,
And they, my family waking from this
Shadowy, deeper sleep.

+to be still, to be calm
To hear and feel the things alone
The shadows dancing, the leaves, fading
At the inner fires of the world.
To be holy,
To be baptized with fire, like what heat
Could purify the scars upon my flesh?
The winds and my wings of ebony,
The love I tried to feel, looking across the black sea
Because of the feeling of someone out there,
Someone that I could take, and to love
From soul to paler soul,
And body to colder, fading flesh.

I tried to drown myself in the cold,
The reflection of this somber tomb of water,
Just so I could look at the night I loved,
Sinking and fading from my sight.
The falling came, like a restless dream
But from the heavens, I called them
Looking down below
Deeper, closer the soul comes
To look to the cold endlessness below
Like a spectre looking at one's home,
Larger, deeper, silent
And the many graves I call home
Faintly resting from another world
As if the seas were unfilled,
And the old buried
Could again see the light of day,
And turn from ancient halls
Into the hope that once was across the tower
When the wastelands thrived,
And the spectre of time,
Still far away
From this sunken cathedral,
The bells hollowly tolling to a mass
Raising, and living on below
Like a silent scream.

I melted into the deeper parts,
My body becoming rooted in a place of thorn
Like a stake driven through my back
Yet to peel from this flesh,
The dead leaves across my form,
Twisted, fetus-like
And so I could speak,
To pull off these ancient branches
So the blood, sticky sap
Could melt, and I, could rise
From this deep screaming
Near the church of my birth
And the graves, strewn across the water
Of my fallen, lonely kin,
And the older demons
Haunting me from their constant tolls
At every echo, another scream.

The puppets were tangled
Like a sorrow of the strings,
Hanged, and in motion at my wooden friends.
Like eyes that look out at me, not deadened
But still looking, watching in careful cold love.
The lich of the earth,
Returning like dust into the winds
Earthic tones interspread with the hallowness
Of my blood, bones turned to
Restless winds.

Hear and feel the cold and brighter flame
Like a screaming of the endless fiends
the strings' faster masquerade
dancing across the mountains of upturned earth
and the places,
spreading their black, velvet wings
to shade and cover the moon
so the restless could have their play,
and the dancers of old flames
could jump and waltz macabre
of the solemn fires
leaping higher upon the consuming tune
singing the old songs,
where time was young
and earth,
we could truly love,
as light would be to an ancient,
undying holy wood.


This is the entire poem, and those numbers at the top represent the date on which I wrote it.

[MasterKeyX]

i like it more than the other one, but they both rock

[Pale Dim]

It's so long............................my eyes are literally spinning!

[Zelda Veteran]

Holy Crap!! Great work man!! Hey, I have a question. At Some point in my dungeon (Temple of the Damned) In Hyrule Adventures 2, could I use this poem? Its almost insane how much it fits into the temple's mood, and setting. And once again! INCREDIBLE! I cant wait for more, keep it up! Your poems make sense to me. You have to have a deep understanding of Life and lore to really get the gyst of them, am i correct? All of my poems make sense to anyone who has played a reasonable amount of Zelda.

[darkphantomime]

To ZV: Of course you can, but of course, you gotta give me credit as it IS my poem. In that form anyway. It should defintely be of source of the undead. If you look at the date, I posted it almost a year after it was written, really weird coincedence that I didn't notice until after the fact.

You can use it, but be sure to note that it was originally by me, and to preserve it in the original form, eh?

[Pale Dim]

Maybe.

[Zelda Veteran]

Totally! I would just say it was mine! You know im not that kind of dude! Do you want me to provide an email adress so people can send you compliments, or questions?

[darkphantomime]

By All means, please do, Put it right at the beginning of your story thing, in order for the acknowledgements. Here's mine: darkphantomime@yahoo.com

[Gamefreak]

I would also like to congratulate Darkphantomime on having one of his poems published here on TDC.

[Hi no Seijin]

Whatever you do, don't stop writing these poems.  They're good.

[darkphantomime]

And now, for Catatonic Hallucinations in full:

Catatonic Hallucinations

In another life...
I was not real
And all the things that I call my own,
Separated, rearranged...

Against a certain constant flow
I wonder...
If by name, I hld this identity,
This life, this form, this body
But it passes away,

Who are you?
Whose hands are these,
That touch and grasp
Like formless matter
As if saying my body
From certain obliquoous forms
To lose oneself,
Is this the wall, where one law ends
And the freedom of inversion
Take place?

In a name, in a word, in a thing
Around the clawing of one's hands
Roots of a mandrake flower
As if waking
As if turning,
Erotic consciousness
The dimming wells, like voids against
The blanker's stare
And appearing, without voice or movement from the flesh
Against the boards from whih speaking,
Not seeing, or feeling just who, or what
It can't be, but in waiting
What fear rises upon certain blankets
Infants that laugh
Not knowing, not knowing
Frm the trodding of this form
In them, out there
As if in one's eyes,
Cold, unfeeling, sensous
That clouds do
Where falls the inhaling of a vaporconsuming
In their hands, in this stroke
Modes, rhythms, shapes
Unavoidable

"do you recognize..."
I want out, I want out
"who?"
Iwantiout iwantout

Braces of meth,
Smelling identities
Bells, ringing clearly
In release
That turns without a sound
"his mind..."

When one's face turns
Into a mask,
Eyes unblinking, sight, unstaring
When they talk to you,
Do they understand, it's like talking
To an empty space
Of a wall...

"he won't be able to remember..."
Green, from the lights
The floor turns into a clang
Faster, slower
Swirling without a breeze,
Without a cloud, without a name
As if spae
Were just another illusion forbearing
The incidence
Unnamed, unremembered
But somehow, not forgotten.

"Can you hear me, do you see me, do you feel...?"
Look at my eyes, from my mouth, dripping
Erraticly, as if layers were little squares
That you leap from the, then it rushes
Turning, from perspection
Turned away, turned so closer
So so small would seem large
Against a kaleidoscope
The end revolves, larger, smaller
Farther, closer
"He can't feel anything"
Like eroding cracks, meltg in the freeze
Can you see, can you feel
When your hands are ju as cold as a shock,
And your ryes see nothing but boundless fog,
Unstaring, moving
Where the senseless of certain forms
And images remain disjoined
Like hot lava, when it begins to escalate
Fronm the trees
Conflagrating the icyness of a window
Where the cold morning
Fades into holocausts,
where blood turns to a fading ice
And one's sight stares at nothing
At the wastelands it chose towrought
Where the bells seem alarming
At the tinkling, softly at a certain
Consuming hole
When what they see is far away,
But the shrieking imagery seems before our eyes
Where the stony blankness becomes blind
When identity and feelings become numb
And the world has to stop
At a wheel's gain,
But to cold for one's hand, or ones sight or sound
To ever scream,
Or call by name
Whirling, wordlessly mouthing
In one's sleep
When the rushing skies inverted,
Become filled with a louder, numbing green.


A  note I'd like to make about this, it was originally written on 10-25-05, nearly a year ago. 2005 was a very overproductive year for me. Heh, I'd just thought I'd post them little by little until you get the full thing, just to make sure people wouldn't lookat it once, and say 'that's great'. I want people to actually wait for good things, rather than see it all at once, and then make your judgement. Well, what do you guys think?

I'll probably post another poem as well, this other one has a more faster rhythm to it. It's actually pretty freaky how it  goes, but that'll come later.

[MasterKeyX]

wow....they're unbelievable..

[darkphantomime]

Alright, who wants me to post a new poem? The choices are as follows:

Dreams of a Puppet-mime
Laughter is my Suicide Pill
Red is a hollow Scream and
Transclucid holocaust

For the love of god, please post, otherwise I won't know what to put up next. I'll make a decision based on responses, so how about it?

[Hi no Seijin]

Show them "Laughter is my Suicide Pill."  I believe you showed me that over AIM.