Young Writers Society

A Nightmare's Come:
(Dining with the dead)


Voices, a thousand voices, of spirits dead and gone.
A caress of wind, delicate as a moth's wing.
Opened eyes, vacant, staring forever; do not blink.
Wake up, child, a nightmare's come...

They whisper, but one cannot obey.
Goblets of wine, red and thick; poured by ghostly hand.
Women plead for aid that cannot be given.
Wake up, child....

Wafting smell; decay. Of festered wounds and death.
Snarling, hounds of bone tear bloody limbs.
Screaming women, seed spattered on chest and face.
Wake up....

Midnight chimes, a dozen tolls.
Beheaded men, offer choice platter of gore.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Slowly, madness takes it hold.

Wake... Wake...
Staring eyes fall from sockets into glasses.
Teeth fall from one's mouth.
Blood oozes from appearing sores.

Severed hands reach, tugging on one's vested chest.
Never a familiar face...
Wailing winds tear, make haste through ghostly room.
Shadows moan and scream, approaching.

Hounds of hell sink fangs, bloody tears down one's leg.
Opening, jaws stretching wide; a bloody hand plunges.
Fingers scrabble down one's throat,
reaching, prying, tearing.

Nail-less fingers claw, removing flesh from bone.
Wake...
Helpless, terrified, unable to remain... Awake.
Clock chimes nine of twelve.

Time slows; slowing.
Torturous sight; the dead rise from their seats, reaching.
Toothless mouths grasp fingers...hands; legs and feet.
Shadows creep, they move towards; a victim.

Wake...
Nightmare; one shall never leave...dead or alive.
Twisting, tearing, pulling, ripping.
Soundless screams, a throat torn.

Wafting smell of freshened blood; hopeless death arrived.
Voices, a thousand voices, of spirits dead and gone.
Whisper, shout; telling of time left.
No more. Pain clouding, deafening screams.

Wake up, child, a nightmare's come.
Too late the warning came.
Too late to pay heed.
Too late...
Too...
Late...

XD
Well, that was quite interesting. It seemed to have a ryhthm of its own even though you didn't want it to ryhm. By the way, why would you not want it to ryhm? I realize that this is your choice and why poetry is so unique to each person, but at some points I felt that rhyming would help the poem progress in ways that you poe did not acomplish by itself. I like poety and I have often said that poetry is the hardest work to critique because it is so personal. some poetry seems to come in waves of emotion of that way the feeling is very real while when writers go back and ry to fix them they end up killin the poem. With this I think that a good review will only help, NOT that it isn't good in the irst place. In som points it seems to be a little over...over....darn. Can't think of the word. Maybe over worked? Just take a couple of days off this poem and then come back to it and take a critica eye to it. Just a little bit more polishing and it will be great! I really liked it despite my depressing review. Kepp writing loved it!!!!

Hi there, WrittenInStone.

Amazing. I love how you worded this poem, originally and beautiful at the same time. I only have one problem with it. Just by looking at it, it looks kind of complicated, and that's because you created no stanzas. I think that by creating them, people would be more motivated to start reading. God knows how many people opened this poem and when they saw it, they got lazy and simply just closed the tab. D: That's not cool, because they missed a lot. So just remember, the appearance is really important when you write; if the reader gets interested and comfortable just by seeing it, everyone will start appreciating you more as the great writer that you are.

~Solly<3

I must say i thought this poe was quite delightfully violent and filled with gore. I absolutely loved it!!!

Teeth fall from one's mouth.
Blood oozes from appearing sores.

i could picture this happening in my head.

Hounds of hell sink fangs, bloody tears down one's leg.
Opening, jaws stretching wide; a bloody hand plunges.

i've always been a bit of a blood thirsty person, so i've been told, and i liked reading this. i like the way you described this.

Twisting, tearing, pulling, ripping.
Soundless screams, a throat torn.

when i read this i could picture the blood spurting from someone's neck. i could hear the screams echoing off of the walls in my mind. i would have to say this would be my favorite part.

Wafting smell of freshened blood; hopeless death arrived.

i thought this was nicely written nicely.

Wafting smell; decay. Of festered wounds and death.
Snarling, hounds of bone tear bloody limbs.
Screaming women, seed spattered on chest and face.

i can imagine the smell making me gag. i could imagine it clinging to the dead like skin to bone.

Screaming women, seed spattered on chest and face.

what does that mean?

Whisper, shout; telling of time left.

i liked this part. knowing how much time you have left can be a blessing and a curse.

over all this poem was very decsriptive and very imaginative. i really enjoyed reading this poem. it was very gory and blood filled. you did a great job on the flow. i liked the way you worded it. you put your own rhyme to it and made it unique. keep writing. i look forward to reading more of your work.

XD
Hey, WrittenInStone!

I've got goosebumps all over from reading this piece and I've got to say that you've managed to capture that gritty, gory effect only found in the Hollywood studios. The endless descriptions of the dead and the decayed and blood spewing all around create quite the picture and the atmosphere suddenly becomes overwhelmed with the imagery.

I'm not much of a critique, but I feel that the poem could be just as impact-filled without a couple of stanzas. There is a slight hint of monotony but that is quickly overcome, thankfully by the ending. The mysterious and daunting lines in the last stanza really bring out the creepy factor.

So all in all, a great job in writing this and I'm hoping to read more. Keep the ink flowing!

Murtuza