Famous Dark Poetry Novels & Stories

“In their castle beyond night Gather the Gods in Darkness, With darkness to pattern man’s fate. The colors of darkness are no monotonous hue- For the blackness of Evil knows various shades, Full many as Evil has names.” Karl Edward Wagner

An hour later, after searching for anything to help us within books that ranged from brand new to hundreds of years old, I huffed with disappointment and decided to stretch my legs; my pale finger trailed over the spines of books, dust painting my fingertip. Once I reached the poetry section, I smiled brightly. All around me were books from Silvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickson, Robert Frost, and many others that were like my old friends. Taking a random book off the shelf, I flipped through its contents. "(...) Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh "You enjoy poetry too?" A familiar voice spoke behind me, making my heart speed up as I jumped slightly. Turn

Many days passed like a dream to Ryan. Now Emily and Ryan's relationship starts growing stronger. But still, there is a fear of something in Ryan's heart. On the other side, a mysterious man makes whole the world upside down to destroy Ryan. "What the Fuck, you all are useless can't you find anything about that girl," the mysterious man growled aloud in full of anger to his subordinates. His subordinates were afraid of their master's anger so they just stand with their head down and beg for another chance.

“Of course. OH sing the song of the Dark Prince, Alexander the second. He brings victory to the lands, enemies drop at his feet where he passes. He is the warrior. The devil son. Ask not when the sun will rise, nor when the night would give in to day. Ask not when the fight would stop, nor when you will stop hearing the silent footsteps. For who is coming? It’s the Dark Prince. Ask not when the winds will stop blowing, nor when the trees would stop falling. Ask not when the windows will stop clanking, nor when you will stop hearing the bloodcurdling screams. For who is responsible? It’s the Dark Prince. Ask not when the sword would stop slicing, nor when the bloods will stop dripping. Ask no

“You’re alive after all these years. That means, you daughter wasn’t able to kill you.” Everyone looked at Mr. Frae as though he’d gone senile. Mr. Porche, in particular, poked Mr. Frae by the shoulder. “Are you telling me that he’s no other than the legendary Dark?” Mr. Frae looked at him straight in the eye. Michelle was amazed Mr. Porche wasn’t vomiting. With those terrible pimples, anyone would find it hard to stare at his face. “No doubt about it.” The clouds grew darker and thicker when Dark laughed. It was even worst than his voice. There’s not single humor hidden in it, just pure coldness.

As the wolves crept closer, she whispered softly — a voice trembling with memory and power: > “When crimson rains and moonlight dies, The Dark shall walk where silence lies. The Child of Dusk shall choose the path, Between the Sun’s love and the Dark One’s wrath. But death must come to light once sworn, Before the God of Dreams is born.” The ground shuddered. A low growl rolled through the forest — deep, ancient, alive. The wolves froze mid-step. Whining, backing away, they turned and vanished into the fog. Rhea’s eyes widened as the growl grew louder, vibrating through her bones. It came from behind her. She turned — slowly. Beyond the edge of the mist, the ground split open. A shadow began

Her favorite by the writer. He was young, definitely younger than her, dressed in jeans with holes and a white linen shirt tucked in the front with a brown leather jacket over it. His hair was dark brown, almost black and hung in loose ringlets to his shoulders. He was wearing what looked like very expensive boots. He may have been the most beautiful man she had ever seen, in person. He glanced her way and his eyes met hers. They were so blue she was sure they were contacts. She was flushed, she could feel it. She looked down and started toward the other side of the shelf, trying to seem unaffected. She peeked through the books and noticed he was coming closer, still thumbing through the boo

Then, with purpose, I tossed it into the trash can. The sharp, hollow clink of metal hitting the bottom echoed through the quiet night. The wind brushed against me, its chill settling over my skin. I looked out over the night view, where even the dimmest stars held a faint trace of light. Then, I turned and stepped back inside, closing the door behind me. In that moment, I felt a stillness I had never known. Everything in the past had finally fallen with the stars into endless darkness. And ahead of me, there lay countless possibilities that I could explore one by one.

He asked me, and I shook my head. We both laughed. I got up and began to wear my clothes. "How did it go with Lilly and those two?" Sylvester asked me, and I told him all that had happened. He was stunned at how ruthlessly we dealt with the girls. "And they call me the dark one," he said, laughing. "You should be called the Dark Luna. You and your friends. Goddess, that was something else," he said, and I laughed. "Never have I ever thought of bathing a wolf with silver. Their skin is marred for life," he said, and I shrugged.

"You petty, controlling prick." I swiped the message, and a poem scrolled onto the screen in a font that looked like dripping ink: "Where the marble meets the mud, a scholar's light shall turn to blood. A pact is inked in secret sighs, beneath the mask of 'Holy' eyes. One shall fall so One may rise, fed by the Saintess' golden lies. A demon waits within the breath, of the lion who's cheated by a death. Save the spark or join the pyre; the Author's ink is made of fire."