Loreic's Poems

Ode to the Cold

Why am I thought as sad and dreary,
Simple because I think the dark as cheery!
Some how I'm an outcast,
Because I love the gray overcast!
To most the dark clouds me sad,
but to me I can only be glad!

And the cold, how some seem to shrivel and die,
which is odd as it makes me feel alive!
All the other bundled in many layers,
as it they are to become mighty slayers.

Yet the sun, damn the sun!
It burns my skin like a fresh baked bun!
While some can't wait for summer to arrive,
I need Autumn to live and thrive!

In the cold and dark my heart does grow,
to the summer I say, “I think it blows!”
Clearly now I concur,
The dark and cold, I do prefer!


Turn off the light

Turn off the light! May it blind me no more!
The truth right before me is horribly torn!
It takes what is good, and rots its very core.
This light is my enemy, for this is sworn!
Those hungry hearts that scream out more,
their twisted souls are now forlorn.

The droning, it continues on!
In a way that eats at your very soul,
and as I lay my ear upon,
I understand how it takes its toll.
Words more horrid then Genghis Khan,
have been spread out since days of old.

Lies are safe, lies are power,
with hidden truths quieted by sword,
but some day when lies are at their hour,
and truth will shoot out from past's lore,
and dark shall melt light's power, and lies shall ever cower!
Turn off the light! May it blind me no more.


Sir

Hello friend, guess my name,
Only then will you get my game!
All those hearts of hate and power,
come down here for a finale hour,
and boy is it sour,
all these people who often cower,
to them all I put to shame.

A classy man, that I am,
please don't confuse me for a ham.
A little wine, or maybe tea.
Who I am is who you see.
Either way I have high taste,
even though I'm down from Grace.

I have a very important job,
munching souls like roasted corn cobs.
People often take my deal,
though in their life I make them prosper,
in the end to me they kneel,
their damned souls I do foster.

Lucifer, Satan, and good ol' Scratch,
many names to me attached,
but to those who seek me for some cure,
To me alone they address “Sir”