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Time falls away from me,
Broken shards of life coldly slip across my naked skin.
No longer shall it crack its whip against this flesh,
So scared by the trance it seductively binds us in.
Love falls away from me,
The rapturous embrace of us, we two, as night blankets our bodies.
But such an entirety is carved from all things pure,
Thus made to live but a fleeting moment.
Fear falls away from me,
Letting up its strained grip upon this soul that longs to fly.
Never again may it come to lick the risk from off my lips,
Leaving but a cold and bitter taste of what once was and yet will never be.
These restraints fall away from me!
Finished with being enslaved to a society of material ecstacy.
My spirit doth not belong to this sorrowful, fathomless pitfall of human error.
But now sets forth to guide amongst greatness, listening to the echoes of thine name.
The World falls away from me.
There is nothing here left for me.
Nothing that could suffice my soul which is confined to such a world absent of the juices
of Life.
I turn; cast my shadow upon Death’s red robes,
His poisonous hand hath come to greet mine.
These People,
These Things,
These secrets that are born from my mind come from out the Darkness to welcome the dying of the Light,
Rage for this shamed World,
Rage for a fixed Life.
For my Rome is Burning, Burning, Burning,
But to live another day would be a lie,
Because as I Die,
So doth the World.

-N.D. Spangle

N.D. Spangle

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The following comments are for "As I Die..."
by MaddAsAHatter

as i die
Hmm... where to begin.

The beginning of this poem, the first ten lines or so, are like any other stereotypical goth poem, which is to say that it's overtly poetic, almost nauseatingly so. All this talk of souls, rapturous embraces, broken this, broken that, and eternities made me want to roll my eyes.

It seems pretentious.

And then the archaic language rolls in, as if nobody saw that coming. Doth, thine, thou, hast, whatever. Nobody talks like that anymore, so what makes you think anybody reading it would do anything but chuckle?

Poetry doesn't have to be over-the-top to be good, and there's no sense dwelling on dead language.

( Posted by: die_daily [Member] On: June 6, 2004 )

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