Poetry competition CLOSED 30th November 2011 3:07am
WINNER
siphondarkness (Levi)
siphondarkness (Levi)
RUNNERS-UP:
TheAngelWhoFell
and Chandler
The Doll House
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
As I look,
it stares at me.
Glass pain windows,
where the eyes should be.
Its gaping mouth,
a open door.
Beconing me to explore.
I crawl in,
to see.
The secrets behind,
this thing that stares at me.
Big,
Black,
Unblinking,
she greets me.
Black buttons,
pain and sadism fills her eyes.
Her limp from saways,
as if taunting me,
with her mental ways.
The first room is grand,
perfect arangement,
contorts the land.
Simple white chairs.
Simple flawless forms.
This perfection is what Im straped to,
I cant do.
I cant move.
Im like her I relise.
helpless,
thrown,
and and flawed with perfection
ever out of reach.
but in this form
a toy,
a rag,
something thrown aside
only pain is in my eyes.
And this house is where I lie.
it stares at me.
Glass pain windows,
where the eyes should be.
Its gaping mouth,
a open door.
Beconing me to explore.
I crawl in,
to see.
The secrets behind,
this thing that stares at me.
Big,
Black,
Unblinking,
she greets me.
Black buttons,
pain and sadism fills her eyes.
Her limp from saways,
as if taunting me,
with her mental ways.
The first room is grand,
perfect arangement,
contorts the land.
Simple white chairs.
Simple flawless forms.
This perfection is what Im straped to,
I cant do.
I cant move.
Im like her I relise.
helpless,
thrown,
and and flawed with perfection
ever out of reach.
but in this form
a toy,
a rag,
something thrown aside
only pain is in my eyes.
And this house is where I lie.
Anonymous
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
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Anonymous
<< post removed >>
[font=Courier New][size=2] < in the doll house >
at night
in the doll house
sometimes
it's scary
but in the day
it's empty
just the silence
except
when the dogs bark
their barking
barking that we hear in movies
barking that assures it's real
though even we know
we know it's just a movie
even though we're really here
we're really in the doll house
so
why do they try?
whoever is
whoever is outside
while we
we only want to be
to feel somewhere
to get
outside the day
to leave
the night
to go away
but closed
inside this house
that doesn't have a dog outside
so we forget about the dog
and all the silence
there's the sun
that's streaming through our windows
lighting up these motes of dust
these windows
bragging what the sun can do
the sun in afternoon
when everyone's away
our house
our house in silence
us inside
through all these years
of seeing sun
of feeling all this silence
silence like a river
like a river we can never join
the silence is this house
the sound of this old house
the sound that this old house it makes
the empty sound that this old house it makes
on days
when there's nobody here
nobody here but us
this house
this house of dolls
is where we live
is where we live and never leave
we never leave this silence
silence that
that really isn't here
this house
discarded years ago
there isn't anyone
not even me
to leave
to go away
all this
all long since pulled apart
decayed...
though still
in this old house
inside the middle of a day
when everyone's away
this silence
must make way
to dogs
to their faint barks
the barks that crawl inside
the dream as it reveals
the movie of this house of dolls
the we
the movie we
the us
the well-dressed dolls of us
the well-dressed dolls
the us
the us that we must be
- - -
at night
in the doll house
sometimes
it's scary
but in the day
it's empty
just the silence
except
when the dogs bark
their barking
barking that we hear in movies
barking that assures it's real
though even we know
we know it's just a movie
even though we're really here
we're really in the doll house
so
why do they try?
whoever is
whoever is outside
while we
we only want to be
to feel somewhere
to get
outside the day
to leave
the night
to go away
but closed
inside this house
that doesn't have a dog outside
so we forget about the dog
and all the silence
there's the sun
that's streaming through our windows
lighting up these motes of dust
these windows
bragging what the sun can do
the sun in afternoon
when everyone's away
our house
our house in silence
us inside
through all these years
of seeing sun
of feeling all this silence
silence like a river
like a river we can never join
the silence is this house
the sound of this old house
the sound that this old house it makes
the empty sound that this old house it makes
on days
when there's nobody here
nobody here but us
this house
this house of dolls
is where we live
is where we live and never leave
we never leave this silence
silence that
that really isn't here
this house
discarded years ago
there isn't anyone
not even me
to leave
to go away
all this
all long since pulled apart
decayed...
though still
in this old house
inside the middle of a day
when everyone's away
this silence
must make way
to dogs
to their faint barks
the barks that crawl inside
the dream as it reveals
the movie of this house of dolls
the we
the movie we
the us
the well-dressed dolls of us
the well-dressed dolls
the us
the us that we must be
- - -
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
I wake up in a dress
surrounded by a table and tea set
I explore to fine the house barren
I call again and again but find no one
The windows are all blacked out
The doors are locked down
The roof opens to reveal
My stalker, this girl
I try to climb out
But you just push me down
You giggle with glee
You undressed me
Then pull me out on to your desk
And tell me I am never getting dressed
I bite and run away
You block every escape
Fuck you I shout
You say you are forever mine now
surrounded by a table and tea set
I explore to fine the house barren
I call again and again but find no one
The windows are all blacked out
The doors are locked down
The roof opens to reveal
My stalker, this girl
I try to climb out
But you just push me down
You giggle with glee
You undressed me
Then pull me out on to your desk
And tell me I am never getting dressed
I bite and run away
You block every escape
Fuck you I shout
You say you are forever mine now
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
- Crypt of the Child -
Whilst walking through the streets of a small town,
Exploring the places that I once had called home...
I came to a cold, dark avenue with no one around,
And the night wind chilled my flesh unto the bone.
The street on one side ran along the railroad tracks,
On the other it ran past lands of green, wet marsh.
Another road lay before it, old and filled of cracks,
But I shall speak of the corner, a place very harsh.
In darkness wrapped, and old mysteries shrouded,
A house on a hill was built there in days now past.
Far from the city lights and the places oft crowded,
The silence of that place, could even eternally last.
If I could tell of that silence, it would freeze the will,
And cause the mind itself to abandon to such chill!
I passed near the hill and the terrible house above,
Walking along the old foundations, with curiosity...
Though no living spirit now did live, nor know love,
In the halls of that house, there was a quiet dignity.
Outside, where I walked into the yards overgrown,
Past rusted swings where once children did play...
A little girl with jet hair, wearing a frilly white gown,
Regarded me, with eyes that glowed bright as day.
I asked her to tell me her name; but she was silent,
Putting her hands in mine, she led me on lost paths.
Her hands were as ice, and strange was her intent,
Far too somber was she, as one who never laughs!
She should be playing with dolls, and a dollhouse,
One to match the majesty her spirit might espouse.
We passed brambles and willows so old and bent,
That the paths seemed: dark tunnels of dying trees.
Down was our road, and wherein the hillside went,
An opening I noted, haunted by a moaning breeze.
Iron, was the gate that barred the way to darkness,
With a lock rusted closed, for so very many years...
Undone, by the touch of that girl in the white dress,
So that we could enter; and therein she wept tears.
I saw a marble sarcophagus, which bore no names,
Nor dates of mortal birth or final death, thereupon.
The child opened the lid, her eyes but dying flames,
As she lay down there to sleep: her playtime done.
She was like a doll being put into her box wordless.
The house had been a dollhouse, cursed or blest!
I then was standing, right before that metallic gate,
Which was as locked as it had been, since raised...
I looked up at the stars, and saw the hour was late,
As I walked the paths back, feeling oddly amazed.
It was lonely by myself, and I missed the girl ghost,
For dark was the way, and long without company.
Yet, as I neared the house’s front porch, and post,
I saw the little girl playing with a ball, most merrily.
Leaving her to her solitude, I looked up at the sky,
My eyes on the moon: as pale as the ghost’s flesh.
Pondering the tragic brevity of life, I let myself cry,
For a little girl I knew not, when her life was fresh!
Mayhap she haunts her house still, without end…
Coming out to play and also the living to befriend.
Whilst walking through the streets of a small town,
Exploring the places that I once had called home...
I came to a cold, dark avenue with no one around,
And the night wind chilled my flesh unto the bone.
The street on one side ran along the railroad tracks,
On the other it ran past lands of green, wet marsh.
Another road lay before it, old and filled of cracks,
But I shall speak of the corner, a place very harsh.
In darkness wrapped, and old mysteries shrouded,
A house on a hill was built there in days now past.
Far from the city lights and the places oft crowded,
The silence of that place, could even eternally last.
If I could tell of that silence, it would freeze the will,
And cause the mind itself to abandon to such chill!
I passed near the hill and the terrible house above,
Walking along the old foundations, with curiosity...
Though no living spirit now did live, nor know love,
In the halls of that house, there was a quiet dignity.
Outside, where I walked into the yards overgrown,
Past rusted swings where once children did play...
A little girl with jet hair, wearing a frilly white gown,
Regarded me, with eyes that glowed bright as day.
I asked her to tell me her name; but she was silent,
Putting her hands in mine, she led me on lost paths.
Her hands were as ice, and strange was her intent,
Far too somber was she, as one who never laughs!
She should be playing with dolls, and a dollhouse,
One to match the majesty her spirit might espouse.
We passed brambles and willows so old and bent,
That the paths seemed: dark tunnels of dying trees.
Down was our road, and wherein the hillside went,
An opening I noted, haunted by a moaning breeze.
Iron, was the gate that barred the way to darkness,
With a lock rusted closed, for so very many years...
Undone, by the touch of that girl in the white dress,
So that we could enter; and therein she wept tears.
I saw a marble sarcophagus, which bore no names,
Nor dates of mortal birth or final death, thereupon.
The child opened the lid, her eyes but dying flames,
As she lay down there to sleep: her playtime done.
She was like a doll being put into her box wordless.
The house had been a dollhouse, cursed or blest!
I then was standing, right before that metallic gate,
Which was as locked as it had been, since raised...
I looked up at the stars, and saw the hour was late,
As I walked the paths back, feeling oddly amazed.
It was lonely by myself, and I missed the girl ghost,
For dark was the way, and long without company.
Yet, as I neared the house’s front porch, and post,
I saw the little girl playing with a ball, most merrily.
Leaving her to her solitude, I looked up at the sky,
My eyes on the moon: as pale as the ghost’s flesh.
Pondering the tragic brevity of life, I let myself cry,
For a little girl I knew not, when her life was fresh!
Mayhap she haunts her house still, without end…
Coming out to play and also the living to befriend.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
upon the porcelain moon
Sitting facing a crescent window
the light is shining
gleaming, through and through
In the dark room I bask In
I'm chosen by the moonlight
a sudden stench of rotting wood
I see
I'm the chosen one
let the light shine on me
I gaze upon
the shattered light
Sitting with a white face, torn
eyes of glass
crimson lips touch, light
upon a ghostly face
but still pure
cannibals reach out
and tear the house
I'm the chosen one
those humans have no heart
i'm just a doll
so shy and soft
the gentle light
shatters my porcelain
Sitting facing a crescent window
the light is shining
gleaming, through and through
In the dark room I bask In
I'm chosen by the moonlight
a sudden stench of rotting wood
I see
I'm the chosen one
let the light shine on me
I gaze upon
the shattered light
Sitting with a white face, torn
eyes of glass
crimson lips touch, light
upon a ghostly face
but still pure
cannibals reach out
and tear the house
I'm the chosen one
those humans have no heart
i'm just a doll
so shy and soft
the gentle light
shatters my porcelain