Here's One I Wrote Last Semester

[maeve]

Down the dark stairs into the

safety below; punks, rivet heads,

romantics, elder goths, technos,

industrials and fetish goths swirl

in a sea of black hair and

undulating bodies.

In the shadowed corners candle

wax molds itself to table tops.

Cigarettes spill over ashtrays

soaking up the liquor of half

empty glasses. Black glitter covered walls

dance to the beat of flickering light.

Essence is created in movement

as bodies coast through conversation,

minds benumbed by the sound that

each creature experiences

in their own way,

but comprehends

as an archetypal knowledge.

All know, that here is where they belong.

The existence of a familiar compassion

lingers in the air. The lies within the truth

are exemplified. Death and darkness, mourning for

man’s inhumanity to man are necessary if

we yearn for light.

A culture like no other, shedding intolerance

like old paint. Liberation is the manifestation

of the art,

and it is an art,

all of it.

Caressing the mind with lover’s hands

as the soil swaddles the seed

whispering to it - that it should grow.

Observe the dance as the soul masters

the elegance of gothic beauty

with no intrusion

into another body’s space

yet

boys and ghouls develop into a faction

swallowing all in a corporeal transcendence.

Night lingers in every place but one -

where the glaring lights of the ghoul’s room

contracts the pupils. Instinctively

hands shield faces like vampires in the sun.

Gangs of Dresden Dolls

fix their black lips and eyes

at the reflecting station

because we do reflect. Despite the rumors.

The solace of affinity pulsates like

blood through the veins when you

return to the dark – a peaceful descent

to the tomb. Covenant’s “Deadstars” calls

the body and mind back

into the sanctuary –

where Carpe Mortem is branded

on everyone’s heart.

[Lanaia]

Down the dark stairs into the

safety below; punks, rivet heads,

romantics, elder goths, technos,

industrials and fetish goths swirl

in a sea of black hair and

undulating bodies.

In the shadowed corners candle

wax molds itself to table tops.

Cigarettes spill over ashtrays

soaking up the liquor of half

empty glasses. Black glitter covered walls

dance to the beat of flickering light.

Essence is created in movement

as bodies coast through conversation,

minds benumbed by the sound that

each creature experiences

in their own way,

Totally AWESOME!

but comprehends

as an archetypal knowledge.

All know, that here is where they belong.

The existence of a familiar compassion

lingers in the air. The lies within the truth

are exemplified. Death and darkness, mourning for

man’s inhumanity to man are necessary if

we yearn for light.

A culture like no other, shedding intolerance

like old paint. Liberation is the manifestation

of the art,

and it is an art,

all of it.

Caressing the mind with lover’s hands

as the soil swaddles the seed

whispering to it - that it should grow.

Observe the dance as the soul masters

the elegance of gothic beauty

with no intrusion

into another body’s space

yet

boys and ghouls develop into a faction

swallowing all in a corporeal transcendence.

Night lingers in every place but one -

where the glaring lights of the ghoul’s room

contracts the pupils. Instinctively

hands shield faces like vampires in the sun.

Gangs of Dresden Dolls

fix their black lips and eyes

at the reflecting station

because we do reflect. Despite the rumors.

The solace of affinity pulsates like

blood through the veins when you

return to the dark – a peaceful descent

to the tomb. Covenant’s “Deadstars” calls

the body and mind back

into the sanctuary –

where Carpe Mortem is branded

on everyone’s heart.

[Homicidalheathen]

Sounds like my kinda party!!!