Frankenstein Poetry Novels & Stories

Like a flower that loses its beauty; so is the present that is happening to the whole country. Darkness forces beauty to mourn, darkening the happy atmosphere without being prevented. Gloom, that's all that's left. An eclipse comes between freezing snows. However, it actually lasted longer in retaliation for the delay. They said the darkness was created by a child. Dark and terrible poems about it began to surface. The girl fell like drops of rain from above the horror. She stood like a haughty tower in the distance. She limped in a gray cloud, like dawn breathing death.

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

O pray the earth enfold Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust. This poem imagines a modern-day "Goth girl" as a vampire ... Dark Gothic by Michael R. Burch Her fingers are filed into talons; she smiles with carnivorous teeth ... You ask, “Are there vampires?” Get real! (Yet she has my belief.)  Sleep and Liberation―the Opiate World of Elizabeth Siddal Ulalume: A Ballad [excerpt] by Edgar Allan Poe The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere—

Aiden is coming to the reading. The reading is good. I wish there was more original work, seeing as the first poet just recited Poe’s work. I am feeling comfortable with Felix and Aiden and happily watch Aiden’s beer while he goes to the restroom. He must speed pee and have the ability to obfuscate, because I nearly jump out of my skin when he returns so quickly, so quietly and so close with those yellow cat eye contacts and his fangs that complete the spooky look. A shiver runs down my spine. How am I both scared and turned on by him at the same time? We laugh and enjoy the second poet whose original work follows the same macabre theme as Poe’s, yet feels fresh.

Raven’s eyes went distant as she began to chant softly: “When the moon cracks and shadows rise, The demon soul shall seek disguise. In womb of light and blood of might, The beast reborn shall seek the fight. One born of love, one cursed by fire, Will wake the world or raise the pyre. Only the light can tame the flame… Or lose us all to death and shame.” I looked at her in shock. What was she trying to say? "What are you trying to say?" Ferris asked her. I could see the fear in his eyes. Raven looked at my stomach then back at Ferris.

Daphne took the time to glance at the enjoyable expression on her face, and asked: "Are you still going thinking about your sister..." .... .... .... Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. She walks in beauty, like the night

Claudia stood in front of door, watching in silence. She saw how Nick continued to get in to her sister violently,how he went in balls deep,as quickly as lighting like a hungry lion mercilessly devouring his prey. He continued fucking the living day lights out of her despite her cries for mercy. " Tsk tsk tsk, poor Miranda," she said and went downstairs and made herself a cup of coffee. Elaine approached Miranda with a concerned look on her face because Miranda was now screaming like hell.

wonder plants. perfumed by poetry or—philosophy. the Ecosystem, the still neon-twinkling thought of. the world: you & me & this apparition of faces, Notre Dame burning out of time w/ Kreymborg flowers all phrasally rooted to the print composition of ‘vers libertines’ in Others. where is the Other in The Waste Pound & Other Poems? subjected to, quarterly slicing open, the social subjectile: my dear abiotic of the super blood wolf moon, Make it new!

Fiasca laughed out loud. "I am a businesswoman, after all." Emma shrugged her shoulder's as if it was nothing. "Yeah, the iron lady." Fiasca grumbled in disdain. **************** Short poetry for my lovely readers: It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set:

I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said-"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away." P.B Shelley