Two shattered eyes, in self-indulgent defiance
Find a tarnished tapestry appealing,
In the blinding chaos, they have seen a meaning
Instead of seeking order, the sight perceived is thrilling.
The newborn night, with its delicious emptiness
Is the stage for reality’s fragmentation,
The frozen shapes that haunt the sleeping dimension
Start grasping for breath, fueled by burning imagination.
A world on fire, untouched is only the vision
That guides the harmless flames of thought,
With a gentle lick, the moon erupts in motion
And also the trees, they dance in fevered devotion.
In parallel direction two halves work to create
Suitable cond
Strong hands, Brittle grip by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
Strong hands, Brittle grip
What hope is there in power,
When the smallest leaf can cut the wind,
A rushing river is split in two by pebbles,
The vastest ocean stirred by a wing?
Colossal strength to play on hidden strings,
To coax out a tune, inhuman effort is required,
For hairy hands a hint of music is forbidden
But softer fingers can make the mountains sing.
Black and white wolf beneath a cherry tree,
Howls and whimpers for some fruit
In time he dies, having tasted just the roots,
It’s a sparrow’s fate to live in sweetness.
Ravenous fixation, gentle yearning, trembling hands
Asinine libation, moldy logic, fevered trance
Multipronged advances, bleeding wishes, dying farce,
Obstinate condition, love sans balance, life is dance.
Be it feathered feet or winged steed
The path untrod looms endless
Sun’s pale shy mistress lights the distance
that separates mere thought from deed.
A pit of snakes, but the dawn, it breaks
Imagination’s addled painting
The brush of fear drips colors dear
But sunshine fades the shading.
A drunken heart with prejudice
Breathes nausea and drinks vertigo
Bites ghastly down on virgin earth,
The fledgling grass is stained indigo.
Tap, tap, tap, a ghost’s delightful thread
In the chambers of your head
Dances furiously, full of dread,
For if the magic tune is throttled
The door is opened, and he’s forgotten, he is dead.
Rap, rap, rap, a knock like thunder stops the beat,
A flash of panic binds his feet,
So the spectre drops the crown
The one your brain had taken down
And given freely for him to keep,
to make you laugh or make you weep,
to be the master of your dome,
to use your body as a home,
to be the thing that twists your will
that breaks your voice and makes it shrill
that never stops to chew and spit
that makes you wish your throat was slit
that whic
The birth of Father Time by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
The birth of Father Time
I was a man before I lost it all
I ran and sang and danced,
The die, however, as I recall
Made of blood and bone, was cast.
The hate for them and theirs was great, a leper of the soul,
I grew to be a man of fear, of anger, of contempt.
So a device I made, to seal their fate, and precipitate my goal,
I bound them all to a scheme of time, not one of them exempt.
Corruptive in its touch, it made the flesh decay,
It made them weak, it made them prey,
to the illusion of control.
Seduced and beguiled, they gave themselves away
To MY will, to MY sway!
I gave them time and took their souls as price,
Gorging, feasting on their boon.
They worshiped
In the realm of writhing maggots
Rule the sleeping kings and queens,
Loyal knights and slavish peasants
Give their essence for the kingdom’s wreath.
Wind may sunder stone or mountain
But their reign holds still supreme
Timeless tendrils tug at living beings
The Cursed offspring, product of a wicked scheme.
Capture death and put her on the gallows
Just another head to roll
Royal greed is still a sin, it swallows
Souls with finesse, instead of brute force.
Now the endless plain calls to hunters
Who in life used traps most vile,
Aspiring to trample fields of Asphodel
They’ll teach the boiling sinners proper guile.
A palace in the
The Test-Taker's Plight by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
The Test-Taker's Plight
O! Miserable morning
Forced to toil before a lonely sheet
Of paper, with questions mottled,
while the brain is stricken
With frost fever, the pink tissue brittle.
The pulse can’t help but quicken
As the heart falls prey to fear, and must
Struggle to wake up the mind
from a slumber so deep, so restful
as to cover thought with a veneer of dust.
What is right or what is wrong
The sinews twist to help decide.
If the general can’t give his orders
Then his aide, the gut, will have to guide.
The vestige of a composed person jumps
Out the window, to play in the snow.
What is left is his shell, fraught with instinct
To complete the ta
Easy, to shed a tear over another
Then add an open sore, the wounds keep score.
But the flap of gossamer lids to erase,
from her mind your smile, easy.
Easy, to singe and scar your body
The smell of burning hair,
Perversely invigorating,
But to sear your heart and parch your soul, easy.
Easy, to take a breath and blow away
feeling, sound and sight
From the dispersing dust only darkness settles,
And to thread on your dreams in confusion, easy.
Easy, to seek compassion from a hole
Thousand miles and more beneath the worms.
But a pillow of rot and blanket of grime
More cozy than a bosom become, easy.
Easy, to stretch your hands to grasp
the
Questions for Mother Nature by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
Questions for Mother Nature
Let us ask you, Mother, these chosen questions,
Most thought over, most mulled, most complex.
For we are yours, even if we are our own fathers,
And only you can banish the fears
that bother, that torment, that vex
Your youngest children, yet the oldest race.
We ask you this:
Through a field of lilies and roses
a gentle wind may blow.
But do the flowers begrudge every leaf
that they lose to the unseen current?
If the sun that shines upon their colors
Is blotted by some flying animal,
do the flowers blame the shadow, or the one casting it,
For their stolen nourishment?
A bee may help them on their quest
To prolificate and spread their seed
Scream! Silence. Mother weep,
The little sailor’s gone forever.
Water. Fury. Drowning. Deep.
The seaman’s essence, lost. A Siren.
The cradle of waves, his home, now feels empty
Every shape seems grotesque, compared to her form.
A man may die, but his soul keeps on existing
As a thrall to her magic, to her smile, so inviting and warm.
Her body is perfect, her beauty transcendent,
Swept up by her eyes his mind is tormented
And more than all sinners in all the nine hells,
This man of the sea is fevered, demented.
Even the mightiest deities are jealous
Of her fine silken hair and lips like wild cherries.
Every being, from heaven
Two shattered eyes, in self-indulgent defiance
Find a tarnished tapestry appealing,
In the blinding chaos, they have seen a meaning
Instead of seeking order, the sight perceived is thrilling.
The newborn night, with its delicious emptiness
Is the stage for reality’s fragmentation,
The frozen shapes that haunt the sleeping dimension
Start grasping for breath, fueled by burning imagination.
A world on fire, untouched is only the vision
That guides the harmless flames of thought,
With a gentle lick, the moon erupts in motion
And also the trees, they dance in fevered devotion.
In parallel direction two halves work to create
Suitable cond
Strong hands, Brittle grip by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
Strong hands, Brittle grip
What hope is there in power,
When the smallest leaf can cut the wind,
A rushing river is split in two by pebbles,
The vastest ocean stirred by a wing?
Colossal strength to play on hidden strings,
To coax out a tune, inhuman effort is required,
For hairy hands a hint of music is forbidden
But softer fingers can make the mountains sing.
Black and white wolf beneath a cherry tree,
Howls and whimpers for some fruit
In time he dies, having tasted just the roots,
It’s a sparrow’s fate to live in sweetness.
Ravenous fixation, gentle yearning, trembling hands
Asinine libation, moldy logic, fevered trance
Multipronged advances, bleeding wishes, dying farce,
Obstinate condition, love sans balance, life is dance.
Be it feathered feet or winged steed
The path untrod looms endless
Sun’s pale shy mistress lights the distance
that separates mere thought from deed.
A pit of snakes, but the dawn, it breaks
Imagination’s addled painting
The brush of fear drips colors dear
But sunshine fades the shading.
A drunken heart with prejudice
Breathes nausea and drinks vertigo
Bites ghastly down on virgin earth,
The fledgling grass is stained indigo.
Tap, tap, tap, a ghost’s delightful thread
In the chambers of your head
Dances furiously, full of dread,
For if the magic tune is throttled
The door is opened, and he’s forgotten, he is dead.
Rap, rap, rap, a knock like thunder stops the beat,
A flash of panic binds his feet,
So the spectre drops the crown
The one your brain had taken down
And given freely for him to keep,
to make you laugh or make you weep,
to be the master of your dome,
to use your body as a home,
to be the thing that twists your will
that breaks your voice and makes it shrill
that never stops to chew and spit
that makes you wish your throat was slit
that whic
The birth of Father Time by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
The birth of Father Time
I was a man before I lost it all
I ran and sang and danced,
The die, however, as I recall
Made of blood and bone, was cast.
The hate for them and theirs was great, a leper of the soul,
I grew to be a man of fear, of anger, of contempt.
So a device I made, to seal their fate, and precipitate my goal,
I bound them all to a scheme of time, not one of them exempt.
Corruptive in its touch, it made the flesh decay,
It made them weak, it made them prey,
to the illusion of control.
Seduced and beguiled, they gave themselves away
To MY will, to MY sway!
I gave them time and took their souls as price,
Gorging, feasting on their boon.
They worshiped
In the realm of writhing maggots
Rule the sleeping kings and queens,
Loyal knights and slavish peasants
Give their essence for the kingdom’s wreath.
Wind may sunder stone or mountain
But their reign holds still supreme
Timeless tendrils tug at living beings
The Cursed offspring, product of a wicked scheme.
Capture death and put her on the gallows
Just another head to roll
Royal greed is still a sin, it swallows
Souls with finesse, instead of brute force.
Now the endless plain calls to hunters
Who in life used traps most vile,
Aspiring to trample fields of Asphodel
They’ll teach the boiling sinners proper guile.
A palace in the
The Test-Taker's Plight by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
The Test-Taker's Plight
O! Miserable morning
Forced to toil before a lonely sheet
Of paper, with questions mottled,
while the brain is stricken
With frost fever, the pink tissue brittle.
The pulse can’t help but quicken
As the heart falls prey to fear, and must
Struggle to wake up the mind
from a slumber so deep, so restful
as to cover thought with a veneer of dust.
What is right or what is wrong
The sinews twist to help decide.
If the general can’t give his orders
Then his aide, the gut, will have to guide.
The vestige of a composed person jumps
Out the window, to play in the snow.
What is left is his shell, fraught with instinct
To complete the ta
Easy, to shed a tear over another
Then add an open sore, the wounds keep score.
But the flap of gossamer lids to erase,
from her mind your smile, easy.
Easy, to singe and scar your body
The smell of burning hair,
Perversely invigorating,
But to sear your heart and parch your soul, easy.
Easy, to take a breath and blow away
feeling, sound and sight
From the dispersing dust only darkness settles,
And to thread on your dreams in confusion, easy.
Easy, to seek compassion from a hole
Thousand miles and more beneath the worms.
But a pillow of rot and blanket of grime
More cozy than a bosom become, easy.
Easy, to stretch your hands to grasp
the
Questions for Mother Nature by Krazysadfrog, literature
Literature
Questions for Mother Nature
Let us ask you, Mother, these chosen questions,
Most thought over, most mulled, most complex.
For we are yours, even if we are our own fathers,
And only you can banish the fears
that bother, that torment, that vex
Your youngest children, yet the oldest race.
We ask you this:
Through a field of lilies and roses
a gentle wind may blow.
But do the flowers begrudge every leaf
that they lose to the unseen current?
If the sun that shines upon their colors
Is blotted by some flying animal,
do the flowers blame the shadow, or the one casting it,
For their stolen nourishment?
A bee may help them on their quest
To prolificate and spread their seed
Scream! Silence. Mother weep,
The little sailor’s gone forever.
Water. Fury. Drowning. Deep.
The seaman’s essence, lost. A Siren.
The cradle of waves, his home, now feels empty
Every shape seems grotesque, compared to her form.
A man may die, but his soul keeps on existing
As a thrall to her magic, to her smile, so inviting and warm.
Her body is perfect, her beauty transcendent,
Swept up by her eyes his mind is tormented
And more than all sinners in all the nine hells,
This man of the sea is fevered, demented.
Even the mightiest deities are jealous
Of her fine silken hair and lips like wild cherries.
Every being, from heaven
Men tread from far and wide,
Seeking distance where faith reside.
A thousand step to millennial long
On the mountain that breathes alive.
Sky as clear as the ocean blue
That cross every terrain to view.
Left to determine by brave, fragile men,
Who tread to dangerous shore.
For some who fail and never rise,
Death is their lie.
For not all can beat the hill
Or the mountain's strongest will.
But bold does not stay
When their mind edge to fates.
Dare make to the stance
By the winds, icy dance.
And part of not greater force,
Or where faith is strong to endorse.
Its confluent flow of age and strife,
Can bloom into a delicate life.
Fallen were
Why is it that something I feel proud of seems to deserve such quiet secrecy?
I cannot predict the day and age it'll be revealed, let alone my people's reactions.
As much as I yearn for a true, real and acceptable manifestation soon, what if this is not the right time?
My inner, open doors are shut. What is really true?
My road is long and the best stretch is yet in sight - I'm sure the secret will take control by then.
Clearly.
Powerfully.
Inevitably.
Lovingly.
I sit night after night,
staring blankly at the screen.
Friends who I used to love,
are now long gone, they've left the scene.
We used to talk for hours on end,
sharing things for years.
Now all I feel is loneliness,
No company but my tears.
Not one has an hour to spare,
weeks go by without reply.
And even when they talk to me,
it's 'Hi, talk to you soon - bye!'
I've always been trapped inside these walls,
but it didn't matter when I had a friend.
Now there's just me and the computer screen,
days and nights they blend.
I miss the way we'd laugh together,
I miss the stories we'd make.
No more laughing, no more talk,
just me, the screen, a
My sweet hole
Home to few
It's perfect for me
It gets rid of you
It's my escape
The "real" world haunts me
It will replace the people that daunt me
At least for me,
nobody knows my name
When I escape into my sweet hole,
I'm never missed
I'll never be tame
Tropic of Cancer, David Copperfield, A Scanner Darkly etc.
Favourite Writers
Charles Dickens, Haruki Murakami, Phillip K. Dick, Arthur Clarke
Favourite Games
Severance: Blade of Darkness
Favourite Gaming Platform
PC
Other Interests
I enjoy recreating in real life situations that I feel are even a little out of the ordinary, something to jolt and make people suspect that there is more to the world than our logical minds can imagine.