Harlyquinn The Warlock's blog: "Words of the Warlock"

In the last few seconds all the clocks ticked in unison, His Vision cleared but saw nothing, darkness. He stared into the blackness that was becoming his life. But he realised that the blackness was just a centre Now around it he could see the cold blue, grey of a steel tube He noticed that the tube was a barrel A barrel with dent and scratch marks down its length But then he saw a movement of a finger of a gloved hand Tucked behind a trigger guard marked with a fleck of white paint, He saw the cylinder begin to revolve the Chambers changing places Filled with their load of dull grey slugs of destruction His nostrils were filled with the smell of gun-oil He closed his eyes and He tried to shut down his brain He felt the barrel press against his head for a moment There was a screaming in his head, a voiceless cry of agony But then he realised that his life was not flashing before his eyes Why had he not seen, could not see His life at His death Was this some way that Fate was telling him That this was not, his Time, not his time to die. The scream inside his head subsided. The smell had gone, he opened his eyes. The gun, the gloved hand, his assassin was gone. Leaving him wondering whether he had imagined it He was in his own room, in his own bed It must have been a dream, a nightmare The full horror of it hit him, his stomach contracted He ran to the bathroom to throw up, but the first thing he saw was the Mirror and the oily black circle on his forehead

ON THE EDGE The trees stretched out their fingers And tap on the windows The Darkness is coming It’s the season of the bat The rustle, that you are hearing Is the scuttle of the Rat In the Darkness Love lies bleeding. Off the edge And on the ground Nothing lost and nothing found Can you please sharpen These plastic scissors The edge has gone I can not shave Now I forget The why of here Like wearing straps A Bondage slave. It’s not here or the Hereafter I am gone, but still remain Laughing down my sleeve Which I have torn off Is what you see, what you believe I like your cheeks, they feel so soft. I stole this knife But it has no edge I have snapped it’s blade So the corners shine I rub it slowly Cross the window ledge The taste along My tongue’s divine. They say, I’m mad But who are they This Madness is all pretend But who are we Is what I say To tell the truth It’s all been lies With ivory teeth And blood shot eyes Now, before I forget…. That the walls are soft And stained in red I hear some screams They are not mine But, they will be soon In tide and time I am worst, in the morning Before the Gruel Just like the glass Before I smashed through I HATE YOU….You are mine On the edge….So Divine I find you hard…..so hard to find But I’m not of this world Or so you remind.

CRUSHED PETALS Outside, on the doorstep lay some snow filled boots, unused like the axe against the tree Of toil it was now free and a future you could not see left to rust and to rot and for nature to abuse no one strong enough to use Sullenly The Widow Gently Frowns Unaffected by the Knight Who Steals the Dreams her life is rendered by the seams and stiffels down her screams Remembering Long Dead laughter as it fades into the night which to her is only right The Knight picks a Flower That the Dawn will never see Turns His Head into the wise See the turmoil in his eyes Is it tears or is it lies crushed petals in his hand You will not Know but only see Is it you or is it me She Throws Incense in the Fire And it Glows Purple in the Flames Bringing Aromatic Smoke into the Room reminding her of church and tomb Both are Pernicious in the Gloom the candle goes out Only the Memory Remains With the darkness making claims A Nightingale, not in courus Sing a mournful little Song See the Sadness in its Eyes Only, Owls are really Wise Lamenting as the sun begins to rise The moon hides behind a Cloud Shadows starting black and long Was it right or was it wrong