Secrets

[tainaprincess]

Secrets
Sterile.

White.

See-through.

Claustrophobic.

Asylum, you say?

No.

A classroom.

So quiet,

Even amidst the conversations.

There seems to be a lull,

And it all seems to be closing in.

So many voices,

And yet the same end.

So cold,

So chilling...

Bone-chilling.

Could something terrible,

Bloody,

Limb splitting,

Have happened here?

What fascinating stories

Lie beneath the surface?

Beneath the appearances?

Is it new or does it just appear new?

Everything has its little history,

We just need to dig it out.

The flashbacks start,

From a long-ago era.

And yet, it seems like the present.

Picture it:

Large, brick house,

Flowers everywhere,

Bright, vivid colors,

The aromas wafting around,

Everything seeming to be happy,

To be perfect.

But in all that seeming perfectness,

A deep, glooming secret lies.

Deep,

Deep in the recesses of that house,

In passages even more secret than those of servants,

Dark chambers lay,

And there the master and mistress of the house could be found.

Her thoughts emanated everywhere,

"I've had enough degradation,

Enough of your torture,

Enough of your sneaking around."

Aloud, she says,

"How does it feel now?"

And an eery laughter erupts,

Accompanied by shrieking,

As the guillotine comes down,

Not once,

But multiple times,

Slicing off individual body parts,

From his still living body.

When there was just the torso and head left,

She took the knife at his side,

And carved out his heart.

Turning to the fiery pit,

She roasts the heart and eats it,

Then finishes the job with the guillotine.

Calmly,

She takes the pail and rag at her side,

And scrubs her secret dungeon clean of evidence.

No one knew the master was back.

No one would ever know.

Just like no one would ever know her fate,

His true love.

She emerges from her secret,

As though everything was right with the world.

Yes,

It's all coming back,

Back to the present,

Yet, with the taste of the heart still fresh.

Sterile?

In appearances only, perhaps.

This new building is so full of secrets.

What deep, dark secrets are left to discover?

Only time will tell.

[tailor STATELY]

Love your poem.
Macabre.
"A classroom" indeed.
Riveted to the end.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[tainaprincess]

lol, Thanks. i appreciate it.

[hillwalker]

A touch of voodoo and a woman's revenge. Very powerful and with a touch of black humour to spice it up.

I did feel, however, that the following lines were unnecessary - the reader is best left to ask their own questions imho:

What is the story?

Seems to be new

But that may be it.

It just seems.

What's the real story?

Why is it so clean?


A little tightening could make this a memorable piece.

H

[YesNo]

A good description of the kind of woman a guy shouldn't marry.

[Haunted]

ah, sounds great from the comments above. I started to read it but got scared away by the length, blame it on ADHD!

[tainaprincess]

A touch of voodoo and a woman's revenge. Very powerful and with a touch of black humour to spice it up.

I did feel, however, that the following lines were unnecessary - the reader is best left to ask their own questions imho:

What is the story?

Seems to be new

But that may be it.

It just seems.

What's the real story?

Why is it so clean?


A little tightening could make this a memorable piece.

H

I really appreciate the critique. Looking back on it after a few years, I can understand why those lines seem unnecessary. I will revise it, and clean it up a bit.

[tainaprincess]

The flash of lightning.
The clap of thunder.
Fear creeping down his veins like icicles.
He's not facing the ravages of the elements,
But something much worse:
Her anger at his deception.
How did she find out?
He'd been so sure she wouldn't find him;
She shouldn't have even known he was in town.
Where had he gone wrong?
Now he had to face her.
She'd shown up out of nowhere,
And he,
Well, he'd been caught,
Pure and simple.
He hadn't known where to turn,
There was no place for him to go.
He had to face the music now,
And it wasn't too pretty.
Oh sure,
He'd gotten away with it before,
But every time,
She'd been forgiving.
Now he saw that,
When he'd thought she'd been forgiving,
She'd been storing up for this,
This one moment when her fury would burst forth,
Made worse by the shadows of her past.
When he'd married her,
He'd known she'd been tormented as a child,
He'd known her suffering,
Her fragile state of mind,
And he'd helped her.
Oh God, how he'd helped her.
They'd spent hours, even days,
Cultivating a new sense of trust for her.
And in that time,
He'd gotten to see the real her,
Her true beauty,
And ...
Well,
He'd known what she was capable of.
A few years down the road,
And his interest began to fade.
He'd take longer "business" trips,
And he'd known she suspected nothing,
At first.
Then the questions started pouring in.
He'd easily sidestepped them, for a while.
But he made one fatal mistake,
He fell in love with a local.
When he was away,
He couldn't stop thinking about her lusciousness,
The unmistakable sensuality reserved just for him.
And he wanted it,
Oh Lord, how he wanted it.
Now, he was gonna pay for his greed.
He'd gone after her like a hound,
Smelling the blood,
Feeling the rush of it,
The sinewy skin,
Knowing that the secrets,
The hunt,
And the being hunted were the best of it all.
He'd felt a savage need then,
And now,
After having felt so much,
All he could do was
Whimper and cower like a child,
Knowing he'd lost his beloved FOREVER!!!!!
What fate awaited him now?
He was about to find out.
Mere hours before,
He'd received the best news of his life:
He was going to be a father.
Now,
One careless mistake later,
And all his hopes and dreams were being dashed away,
And he awaited his punishment anxiously,
Cowardly.
He hadn't been able to protect her,
Much less save her and their unborn child.
He'd taken one look at his wife's face,
And froze in fear,
Watched in terror as she flew at them both.
Oh, why hadn't he been more cautious?
Why hadn't he left her when he'd had the chance?
Looking at his wife now,
He wondered why he'd overlooked all those signs.
She had a crazed look in her eye,
And was smiling at him
In a way that made him want to run,
But run, he could not.
He seemed paralyzed,
And again wondered why?
Hearing her cackle made his loins turn to ice,
And the sheer pain of pondering his fate was enough torture.
But he knew there was more coming to him.
Somehow,
She'd had the strength to drag him and his mistress
Down a winding, obscure path,
Down secret passageways in his own home,
And took them deep into the earth.
She tied him up to the bedpost
So that he wouldn't get in the way,
Forced to watch as his beloved was burned alive,
Burned in a fire pit that had already been prepared.
He could smell the burning flesh,
And his stomach began to churn,
And he couldn't bear to watch further.
He turned his head away,
But the witch,
As he now thought of his wife as, said,
"Oh no you don't.
You will watch the torment you've caused!!!"
followed by a peel of laughter.
The laughter was the worst part.
To make certain that he watched the entire ordeal,
She proceeded to tie his head onto the post as well,
So tightly,
That he could feel the fibers of the rope cutting into his own flesh,
And he felt a trickle of blood down his forehead,
And trembled.
She felt and saw the tremble,
Laughed,
Wiped away the blood,
And licked her fingers,
Asking him,
"What?
Are you afraid of a little blood now?"
And he knew his fate was going to be excruciatingly painful and bloody.
He closed his eyes, but she forced his eyelids open,
Giving him no option now.
He thought of screaming for help,
But realized it would be useless.
If no one had come by now,
It meant they couldn't hear the screams coming from the pit,
And he was doomed.
She left him then,
Tied to that bedpost,
Pondering his fate.
She didn't return until late that evening,
After the fire had abated,
And all that was left were
The ashes of his hopes and dreams.
He'd had time to observe the room he was in,
And saw all the whips,
Knives,
Swords,
And other weapons he could not identify,
And wondered which would be used on him.
What he feared the most was the guillotine.
When she came back,
She seemed calmer,
And his fears began to ease away slowly,
But then she turned to the wall with the whips,
Chose the largest one,
And walked towards him.
It took all of his will-power not to crap on himself,
But after a few slashes of the whip,
He no longer cared.
He just wanted it to end.
He was cold,
Hungry,
Empty inside,
And now,
He was broken.
He felt as though nothing she said or did now could be worse.
He was wrong.
She proceeded to skewer his appendages,
Still attached,
And began twisting and turning them,
Pondering what to do next.
Then she kneels down in front of him,
And pulls out a small knife.
She leans in,
And starts slicing him,
As though it were a sausage being prepared for the skillet.
He knew then and there that
This woman he'd thought he'd known,
Knew him better than anything,
And would use that knowledge to her advantage,
She'd use that knowledge to
Extend his torture past his limits.
Oh,
He could hear the claps of thunder
And feel the lightning strikes,
As he looked her in the eyes.
Slowly,
The fear slides away,
Awakened by the voices,
Swirling around,
And the hint of panic.
No,
Not in the past,
But in the now.
Walking to class,
And collapsing on the floor,
All that seemed like a figment of imagination.
That is the truth,
And yet,
The only question left to answer is,
"What happened to me then?"

(This one was written as a sequel to Secrets, but it was meant to take place before it.)

[tainaprincess]

ah, sounds great from the comments above. I started to read it but got scared away by the length, blame it on ADHD!

You should read it, even if you just take it a little bit at a time :D Then you can tell me what you thought about it.

[Delta40]

I agree with Haunted. I'm on a deadline here!

[tainaprincess]

Changing Hope
In this deep and dreary darkness,
There seems to be no light penetrating.
All around, it just feels:
Gloomy,
Sullen,
Somber.
But wait, what’s that?
A tiny speck,
So tiny, it seems to hardly be real.
But real it is,
And so is the hope it brings,
Hope that amongst the enfolding devastation
Keeps growing and growing,
Until there is nothing,
Nothing but its warmth and light,
Engulfing us in its vision,
A vision that we will survive
The devastation we have wrought
On ourselves and this,
Our innocent planet,
And all its innocent creatures.

[tainaprincess]

I agree with Haunted. I'm on a deadline here!

Sorry, these poems tell a story. When I'm on a role with something, I let it fly, until I get stomped or feel it needs to end.

[Delta40]

sombre

Now that poem unfolded from a seed and flooded me with hope albeit its preachy end.

[tainaprincess]

From where to where? I haven't actually looked at this poem in a while. I know it still needs work.

[Delta40]

Changing Hope

[tainaprincess]

Right, from what part to what part is it preachy?

[Delta40]

WE CAN SURVIVE.
All we need is CHANGE.

Do we? because you say so. I don't disagree but how do you unfold something wonderful in the imaginations of others and then tell them what that wonder should be in your terms? You write very thought provoking stuff btw... :-)

[tainaprincess]

Thanks. I must agree with you there. When I was looking at it, I was debating whether to take them out or not.

[tainaprincess]

The Taste of Blood
The smell of blood
The sound of it circulating
Its flow is never-ending
The pupils dilate
All senses hone in
The sound of the blood pumping
Makes it rush faster and faster
There is nothing left
Only the sound,
The feel,
The sight,
The smell,
The taste of blood.
It gets the heart racing,
As the transformation takes place,
A triumphant cry is wrenched from their lips,
And they are left panting
The sweat dripping from their sleek bodies
As they fight to hide their need
To give in to their thirst
A thirst which can only be satiated by
The taste of blood.
Breaking free,
They run past the brambles and bushes
Rush towards their only safe haven,
Pounding incessantly,
They give one final thrust forward
And hear a loud eruption around the head
Feeling euphoria in their veins
They’ve finally made it,
And it’s the most beautiful feeling they’ve ever had
The feeling of complete and utter surrender,
Of giving and giving,
And getting everything in return.
Oh, that surge of blood rises again,
And it will not be quenched.
Once again,
Their eyes dilate,
As they drink in the sight before them.
No longer will they search,
For there,
In their midst,
Is the greatest pleasure of all:
Books.
Ah, yes…books.
But not just any books.
These are a special breed of books:
To be written in ink is a mere convenience.
These are written in blood,
Not just any blood, however.
Theirs is the blood of the author,
An eternal being
Giving of itself for this purpose:
To fill the senses,
And enthrall the reader.
Once the book is opened,
The reader is sucked in,
Never to be heard from again.
The volumes continue to grow,
Growing tendrils that attach themselves to the reader,
To better understand their wants and needs,
Their interests and fantasies.
This was their quest:
No longer shall you need food,
The books feed off of you,
And feed you as well.
Thou shall not thirst either,
For the blood is replenished constantly
With new, fresh, young blood.
Here was the highest state of ecstasy:
No other experience could be more fulfilling;
Not even their mating rituals,
Which were a form of ecstasy as well.
Here, the blood rushes,
Pounds,
Gushes,
Fills,
To levels never before attained.
Here is where life begins and ends.
Here, there is no madness,
For madness in the mind
Is easily calmed by the madness of the book.
The blood book,
Or blook, for short,
Replaces the soul,
Recharges the mind,
Rejuvenates the body
With one single thought.
Oh yes, blooks were the new life.
Anything you thought you needed,
Wanted, desired, fantasized about,
Was given to you,
With no hesitation.
All that was asked for in return was
The taste of blood.

[hillwalker]

I'm torn between admiration and bewilderment.

Your longer poems actually read like prose that has been chopped up into fragments - but still undoubtedly prose rather than poetry. It's very well-written prose, and there is some vivid imagery and thought-provoking expressions, but very little lyricism, or poetic conceits such as alliteration, rhythm, rhyme or the sense of a thought condensed into a single phrase.

Your work shows a great deal of enthusiasm - a labour of love and a profound understanding of language and metaphor - but I'll not stop wondering whether or not these long long pieces are really poems?

H

[tainaprincess]

Well, thank you for the compliment and critique. I appreciate both. I would agree with you about the prose. Some of them did start off as simple, short poems, but an idea began evolving in my head, and a story unfolded as my fingers typed away, but I didn't want to change the essence of what I was writing. I do apologize for their length, though. :)

[RebeccaJO'H]

I love your style, especially your use of rhetorical questions.
Nice job :)

[tainaprincess]

Thank you.

[tainaprincess]

As inspired by another Lit-Netter, here is my latest poem:

The Soul

The soul is our lifeline,
The essence of our being.
Just as flowers needs pollination,
The soul is in need of love.

The soul is a garden,
Needing cultivation,
Needing nurturing,
And always giving in return.

The soul is a tree,
Giant in appearance,
Giving of itself always,
Asking for nothing in return.

The soul is but a seed,
Small in size,
But with great potential,
Waiting to unfold.

The soul is everlasting,
Loving with all its might,
Giving of its heart,
Bursting and shining forth.

The soul was,
The soul is,
The soul will always be,
The soul is everlasting.