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Fear Darkfangs
This is the journal of Fear
Poetry
Storm Fear
By: R. Frost

When the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The lower-chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
"Come out! Come out!"---
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length---
How drifts are piled,
Dooryard and road ungraded,
Till even the comforting barn grows far away,
And my heart owns a doubt
Whether 'tis in us to arise with day
And save ourselves unaided.


The Trial by Existence
By: R. Frost

Even the bravest that are slain
Shall not dissemble their surprise
On walking to find valor reign,
Even as on earth, in paradise;
And where they sought without the sword
Wide fields of asphodel forever,
To find that the utmost reward
Of daring should be still to dare.

The light of heaven falls whole and white
And is not shattered into dyes,
The light forever is morning light;
The hills are lushly filled as emerald eyes;
The angel hosts with freshness go,
And seek with laughter what to brave---
And binding all is the hushed snow
Of the far-distant breaking wave.

And from a cliff top is proclaimed
The gathering of the souls for birth,
The trial by existence named,
The obscuration upon earth.
And the slant spirits trooping by
In streams and cross- and counter-streams
Can but give ear to that sweet cry
For its suggestion of what dreams!

And the more loitering are turned
To view once more the sacrifice
Of those for some good discerned
Will gladly give up paradise.
And a white shimmering concourse rolls
Toward the throne to witness there
The speeding of devoted souls
Which They make Their especial care.

And none are taken but who will,
Having first heard the life read out
That opens earthward, good and ill,
Beyond the shadow of a doubt;
And very beautifully They limn,
And tenderly, life's little dream,
But naught extenuates or dims,
Setting the thing that is supreme.

Nor is there wanting in the press
Some spirit to stand simply forth,
Heroic in its nakedness,
Against the uttermost of earth.
The tale of earth's unhonored things
Sounds nobler there than 'neath the sun;
And the mind whirls and the heart sings,
And a shout greets the daring one.

But always They speak at the end:
"One thought in agony of strife
The bravest would have by for friend,
The memory that he chose the life;
But the pure fate to which you go
Admits no memory of choice,
Or the woe were not earthly woe
To which you give the assenting voice."

And so the choice must be again,
But the last choice is still the same;
And the awe passes wonder then,
And a hush falls for all acclaim.
And They have taken a flower of gold
And broken it, and used therefrom
The mystic link to bind and hold
Spirit to matter till death come.

'Tis of the essence of life here,
Though we choose greatly, still to lack
The lasting memory at all clear,
That life has for us on the wrack
Nothing but what we somehow chose;
Thus are we wholly stripped of pride
In the pain that has but one close,
Bearing it crushed and mystified.


Cruel Fate
By: Rikke Frost

Oh, Cruel Fate.
How I now savor your sweet taste, and loathe your bitter touch.
I find rest now, but I hate my bones for their weakness.
My Love, it has been tainted by the foulest of curses.
Affection for all. And it now knows rest.
Oh, cruel fate.
How you taunted me for so long.
But now, I laugh with your joke, and close our curtain, of our final act.
With my most grande of bows.
To end our great masquerade with the shadows of truth and deceit.
Oh, Cruel, Cruel Fate.
How I now long for your destructive touch.
Oh, Cruel, Cruel Fate.
How I miss your intoxicating touch.
Oh, Cruel, Cruel Fate.
The cruelest fate, is the one that was expected.
But never desired.
Cruelest Fate.
I seek now, to defy you.





 
 
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