A Child's Game.My Deepest regrets for what I doneA Child's Game. by Seanchai-Caleb
But it was purely in my intentions.
We wore close once, I have not forgotten.
But I did it and my condolences
But I simply sip the sweeter wine now.
You are Red now,
And I am purple.
I remember playing those games in the halls.
The die dashing along the Floorboards,
Or the Kings of Chess.
We argued for hours, I was never good a losing,
I let you win though, my emotions a cloud.
As teens we grew into
And so my desires, But they wore not just for you.
I grasp what I could take,
And I bloody well pleased with what I got.
Even If it affected you.
Now the bells knell,
And I must take my seat now.
So you need to choose.
Die or I?
Beg To God,Save Me.I am done asking,I demand.Beg To God,Save Me. by Seanchai-Caleb
My God's love, I feel like a knuckling Knife.
What God could condemn me to this Purple life.
I breathe heavy every night,
As I try to have Nightmares.
I Ask and I get "Stand up tall"
All that happens when I do that
Is I get knock down harder every time.
It comes worse with every titing leather shoe in the hallway.
Why did they chose me?
I am weak,I was beautiful within.
But now destroyed with in.
I Stand tall now,
With a Noose facing me.
Like always, I will fall
Glacial LoveIt started from the ground, A seed of loveGlacial Love by Seanchai-Caleb
A man of white, from his tip to toe
He was fully cold but his heart is warm
They started to round balls, three should do
they collected a hat and also coal
Apon his head a cap and a smile
and a big orange carrot for a nose
the children love to play with the snowman
the decided to call him Benjen
a name for the new, found glorified hero
they play with him ,but they don't know his fate
Come the next morning, dawn has risen
Benjen has melted and the children cry
they will never forget the snowman Benjen
The Quiet manHis castle is a dark domainThe Quiet man by Seanchai-Caleb
it hold its secrets in it.
The secrets of of men who have begged for death,
Who submitted and ask to die.
The walls are haunted by scathing shadows
Like a hunter.it creeps the wall
Wrapping and swallowing its prey,
dragging them into the deeps of the merciless dungeons
But in the fort,there is a man.
Says nothing and takes his meals.
Blank expressions paint his face,
But his mind is a canvas
of Acrylic ideas and schemes of sketch.
In his dungeons is where his toys lay.
Every possible thing is there.
With fresh leftovers of his Victims hanging the walls.
Hung like a trophies for all to see.
Or perhaps warnings?
His Gaunting glare cuts deeper then any rapier,
Wordless he is ,only a stare of inspection.
This is a man not to be crossed.
For all you hear is
"Our Blades are Sharp"
|I am a writer from Ireland. I mainly write poetry but I do write stories as well. My main inspirations being Poe, Walter de la mare, Derek Mahon and more. Books, I enjoy Shakespeare of course and am a hugh fan of George R.R. Martin.|