Deep And Dark Poems Novels & Stories

"It's an immortality spell." She shook her head. "Not likely. Immortality is a myth. You'd have to be a god to do that. Is the darkness a god?" "I don't think so." My eyes shifted through more of the books. They all had one thing in common: the need for a blood relation of the person casting the spell or the person they were summoning. "So, If not immortality, then the darkness must be summoning a Grey. Are they trying to summon my mother?"

"Not an absence. Not the lack of light. Something present, with its own qualities, its own demands, its own gifts." "Read me something," Ernest said. Don turned to a page. He read: "The dark is not the opposite of light. It is the container of light. The light returns to the dark, and the dark receives it, and the receiving is not a defeat but a hospitality. The winter dark is the host of the winter light." Ernest sat with this. "That is good," he said. "It is very good," Don said. He closed the book. "I want to write something good about the dark. Or about something else. The form is what matters. The form that holds the complex thing without simplifying it."

Darkness seeps into an addict's mind, drowning his entire soul in darkness. The truth of Edim Demiray and me was that we were both dark, but on the other hand, this was the sharpest and clearest difference between us, the dimension of our darkness cut into us. While I was drowning myself in darkness, he was putting everything into darkness. So if I were to make a comparison, I could only be a part of his darkness next to him.

He didn't speak with words; he spoke with a frequency of absolute, blinding truth. The shadows have festered too long, the voice resonated in our minds, a heat that felt like it was boiling our thoughts. The Abyss was a womb of rot. The Iron was a shell of pride. Now, the Light returns to burn away the error. Only the pure shall remain. The Shelter in the Deep Mines

Demons corrupt humans by tapping into their minds, finding their deepest desires and translate it into sinful acts. Tears continued to flow on the human’s face. Damien grinned, Chris’ miserable state proves him how worth his five years of wait. Chris watched how the demon’s appearance changed before his eyes. The black fog that always surrounds the demon is as if being absorbed back to its body. Chris is too pre-occupied to be even amazed but he must admit to himself that he is curious with what is happening. It continued until the black fog finally reveals a man with strong features. Chris first noticed the demon’s eyes which are very dark, much like the fog that previously surrounds him.

Luke snorted. "Apologies, my friend." Aaron said softly. "I feel the suffering the same way you do. I can not remember the last time i was happy." "Yes." Luke agreed, a solemn look on his face as he stood up from the chair and joined his friend by the window overlooking the massive farm where they worked.The sun had begun to set in the distance and soon darkness would inevitably take over. For a while,nothing was said between the two men as each kept to his thoughts while reminiscing on their sufferings. Luke examined the scars on his arm and let out a sigh. This was getting too much to bear.

You have to say goodbye to your freedom and every action you do must be calculated… there’s no room for mistakes. On the next cry of the rooster, the sacred door would open towards the present and you can’t do anything to escape that. He remembered her words again. Is there really a present place? If so… am I a part of the future or in the past? The world I’m living right now has a king, queen, princes, princesses, soldiers… A lot dies and a lot are misjudged for the things they didn’t do. I wonder what place does the present have. Do they have their freedom? If so… they must be lucky. He is known as someone mischievous and playful in their palace, but he knows that deep within lies a kid so

RHYS’ POV The empty dark is worse than the angry kind. Angry I can work with. Angry has edges – walls I can hit, a body I can throw into a drill until the feeling burns off. The empty dark doesn't have edges. It opens up underneath you and you fall into it and there's nothing to grab onto, nothing to fight, just a silence so complete you can't tell if you're drowning or if you drowned hours ago and haven't noticed yet.

6 All I could hear was my deep breaths, I had darkness all around me and I couldn’t fathom how I could help myself get through it, the black and white shades were surrounding me and I was finding a way out. Suddenly a manly voice echoed, “hey hot piece,” it travelled across my mind like a bullet, “whassup huh? how’s you doing,” his voice was making me obnoxious, wanting me to get it out through some way but I was unable to throw it out, instead, It grew further.

Love so very true in reds, that beat within our heart, shadows black take form as hate, which tears the soul apart. Greens of joy and happiness, lush grass beyond compare, sadness, shrouded depths of blue, the waters of despair. Yellow screams of agony and pain which we endure. Guilt and shame are shades of grey, a torrential downpour. Earthy brown desires are that for which we lust, the loss of which comes with age, like chrome begins to rust. The image changing constantly as time plods slowly on,