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 Poetry Thread 
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wisdom crystal finder
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Joined: 04 Dec 2012 10:41
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At peace and content
They remain so no longer;
and seek adventure.

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15 Jul 2014 09:02
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subnet notes finder
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Joined: 17 Jun 2014 16:15
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Wow, someone sent me an awesome piece of poetry through the fanpage. He's probably from this Forum, because the site doesn't show up in the Google serch results yet.

Echo Distance
What can I tell you about the maze, that you do not already know? Most likely, I will leave my notes somewhere in the maze, or you shall find them on my corpse. Either way, you are already inside the maze. You’ve already seen everything I am about to tell you. Never the less, something still persists. There is a slight glimpse, a narrow chance that somehow, someday, I will escape. It is only natural. Escape is the only thing I have pursued for all this time, it is perfectly rational for at least some part of me to believe in it. So that’s why I will write. As an account of what has passed inside, for the day I leave. When I am out, I can tell people about this place. It will be found, located. Its mysteries explained, its secrets plundered. It will be looted, and demolished. That’s really what I want. Resentment does that.
I live in a maze. How long I have been here, I cannot say. Time isn’t real, especially not here. It doesn’t help that it’s always night. There aren’t any clocks that I’ve seen anyway. So it could be days, it could be weeks. I think it is weeks though. It feels like that.

So what is the maze? On a structural level, it’s a series of equally sized rooms, arranged in a grid. None of them have roofs, but the walls are too high to climb anyway. Inside, the rooms are different. Some kitchens, some lounges, some bathrooms, ha, I even found a pool. I wish I had stayed at that pool. Most are similarly styled; like something out of the 1970s. Garish colours, and that kind of futurism that looks horribly outdated nowadays. Some of the rooms have doors, to other rooms. It doesn’t seem to follow any particular pattern, just random doors. It goes on for, as far as I can tell, eternity.
They move around while I sleep. The rooms. The doors. They shift, and they change. Sometimes I’ll go into a room, and it’s different to the one I went it through the same door yesterday. So I keep moving. I’m afraid one day I’ll wake up, and I’ll be in a room with no doors. I keep moving, through the doors. Through the rooms.

Above me is just the night sky. It’s so dark. And silent. Only the sound of the moving rooms. There are no clouds, no wind, but there are stars. No our stars; the constellations are different. They are brighter, closer. I can feel them pressing down on me. The stars are so heavy. They seem to get closer every time I blink. There are other things up in the sky too. Cubes. They rush past, silently, crossing the dark sky. They have no visible engines, no wings, nothing to keep them up, yet they still fly, disappearing over the brick horizons to destinations unknown. Maybe they are new rooms for the maze. I once tried to signal one, as it passed, hoping whatever force piloted those square craft would spot me, would pick me up and out of the maze, but to no avail. Other things, still. Not cubes, but the things that use the cubes. The things that service them. I only catch glimpses of them, but what I have seen they are huge, and they don’t make sense. Shapes that aren’t shapes. Skin and machine. What I can see is only a half reflection of their shadow, and still it terrifies me. I haven’t tried to signal those things.

There is one other thing. The shell. Apart from my clothes, the shell is the only thing I own. It’s a small mollusc shell, painted, in flaking blue. A conch, to be specific. It coils to the left, and on the coils are the remains of gold paint, on top of the blue. That’s not what’s important about it. When I put the shell to my ear, I can hear things. The sounds of waves, of course, but also something else. There is a man. He talks to me. He whispers things. They don’t make sense, sometimes, but other times he talks about the maze. Where I am. He talks about a man trapped there, and how he wants to help the man get out. I don’t think he’s talking to me, he doesn’t seem to know I’m listening. So I listen to him talk, sometimes for hours on end. He never stops. Just talking forever. The man in the shell, I call him.

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04 Jan 2015 20:54
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subnet technician
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Joined: 22 Sep 2017 02:33
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I am thinking of a way to revive this thread

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14 Feb 2018 17:07
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lost in subnet
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Joined: 21 Dec 2017 17:30
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There once was a young man from Kent
Whose arm through a waterfall went;
He said a short prayer,
And from the 8th layer
To him, Shiva's power was lent.


25 Feb 2018 15:46
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subnet traveller
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Location: On the edge. Looking down.
Lol.


25 Feb 2018 16:30
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subnet technician
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Joined: 04 Jan 2013 14:25
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nice.

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26 Feb 2018 12:29
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A Poem About Draculas And Why Communism Is Good And Necessary

Tonight I’m going to hunt a dracula.
My brethren gave me loads of flack-ula:
They claimed that dracula be one guy’s name,
And that not all vampires are called the same.

But I just left those pedants in my wake,
And in my inventory: garlic, stake,
And holy water in case he hates god.
Towards the forsaken castle I trod.

I rapped upon the sturdy, wooden door.
Who opens it? None other than Igor!
It’s nice to see he found himself some work
Since all that fuss with Frankenstein, that berk.

I’m led through ornate halls to dining room,
Where Dracula slurps red soup from a spoon.
“Aha!” He cries, as blood drips down his chin.
“I’m glad Igor was kind and let you in.”

This welcoming display unsettled me,
As I expected feral savage’ry.
What kind of sanguine beast could show restraint?
In confusion and tiredness, I faint.

As I awake from restless, cursed sleep,
Three pale, emaciated figures leap
Away from me in fright. I rub my eyes,
I’m in a bloody dungeon. Ain’t that nice.

The figures are all women wearing white,
With spotty, crimson stains; unpleasant sight.
Two holes in each their necks the women show,
I realise that I have some also.

“God fucking damnit mother fucking shit.
I’m going to die of blood loss in a pit.
I never should have tried to kill this guy,
At least not one my own,” I start to cry.

To take down draculas who hoard their wealth
You can’t do anything all by yourself.
The common folk must form a union
And seize Dracula’s means of production.


26 Feb 2018 22:34
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subnet technician
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gave me a good laugh, well done

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28 Feb 2018 10:35
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lost in subnet
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Joined: 21 Dec 2017 17:30
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Minecraft Fuck


Silk Touch on my diamond pick

Look in awe at my big dick

Redstone pulse lasts one game tick

Searching for a gf whose thick

Mining blocks with one left click

Pussy - that I love to lick

Speed I beacon makes me quick

Girls flock to me cos I’m slick


- seizurecube


16 Mar 2018 21:38
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Dog Chocolate


Baby dog is called a doglet

They will die if they eat choglet


- seizurecube


16 Mar 2018 21:40
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