Vision Ghost

Rookie - 5 Points (24/01/1979 / Epsom, East Surrey)

Poltergiest - Poem by Vision Ghost

Chilling is the touch of this air, where forth the spirit treads
Damnation and sacrosanct, defiled from this bleakest dread
Rise from this accumulation, of the two worlds in energy, collide
For a sensation of the coldest hand, on shoulder doth fear slide

Spectre of illusion, as fear is that which, the mind makes thee cry
Approaching this treachery, of the plane from thee who might die
Pulsing of the breath, that which unites, in the beating of my heart
An evil is sensed, of a negative energy, the pleasure to tear me apart

Vengeful spirit, forlorn this world, with the hatred not far behind
Upset and furious, is not a redeemer, is all the capsulate is to find
Appear to me of an aggression, the violence, which it bestows now
A dreadful accumulate stalks, and steps forwards beyond my brow

Knowledge that this beast, of the dark, has surpassed my reckoning
Entrapment, for my fear is the ignorance, of that which is terrifying
A child screams from the weakness, of their innocence that shall play
Only human consciousness, can look upon this and witness in dismay

The power of the unseen creature, that dwells in the infinitive anxiety
Chaos that draws upon oneself, and the hate woven, in such complexity
Suffering cries, that is the hearing of its very presence, through remorse
Cold is the air, that surrounds my living cell, for fury to runs it course

Everyday mourns the passing, of its pitiful existence, as the ghost
Every night the scenario of hate, that’s played, to the spectral boast
I smell a new odour on the air, that which was the sensation, of its day
A time ages past, that’s revisited somehow, like the enduring nights play

What is this monsters perspective? The reason for this unbridled, raging outlet
Oh the fear, tears flow in fears that grips my heart, like an unseen gauntlet
Another object, of my purchase, rises to the air and races to my brow once more
A cut and crimson split is resulted, from the impact of this hateful, spectres war

For this house, is the spirits place and thus the human soul, is the invader
No sharing or penitence is found, within my covet, never a peaceful divider
The attack is unrelenting, as is the madness of this frustrated force, unbound
Running from this place, where neither priest nor bible, brought peace of sound

Let it be that this chaos is incurable, a conclusion sought, is deathly fruitless
Be it that I may never be free, of the thing that haunts me, so reckless?
I ponder on these thoughts, as the place I may never return, awaits, a new soul
That door, that place, the history played again, like the fire awaiting the coal


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Poem Edited: Thursday, August 19, 2010


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