more of my poetry

Chapel's Ghost

The chapel,,,quiet and suttle,,
not a single soul trobbing,,
a single horror,
a hell within the mind 
as it ticks slowly,,
within a soul of a mortal,,
they claim to pray,
sing, to dance with the dead,,

the trobbing within the madness,,
foever in the unhollowed fate,,
crucify all the slaves; a nightmare,,
that just won't die,,an apparition in the chapel
a supernatural being,, a ghost perhaps,,pale as a corpse.

the pastor never seen him,,a horror forgotten,,
within a hell,,fire and brimstone,,LaVey's slave,,
The spirit,,horrifyingly real,,summoned from a seance,,
the necromacy -- in a house of witchcraft,,Satanic whore,,
the spirit they will never find,,the apparition in the chapel.



~Nickolaus Albert Pacione.

Sins of The Father

My faith in my prayer,,
fight with what I used to be,,
a shadow of what I was,,
in the writings from the grave,,
my soul -- black and torn,,
immortal left to warn,,
the words of a gothic preacher,,
in the darkened streets,,
blackened in my soul,,
left it all behind in the rapture,,
The rapture of souls,,
I am fallen away,,
my faith driffed away,,
my prayers are nothing,,
Does anyone hear my voice?
The words of a teacher,,
talking to this sinner,,
that I, never a saint,,
all that is left behind a shadow,,
within the fires of forever,,
a gravesite left unmarked for all,,
to see and the thoughts of those
turned away are the voices,,
that are heard in the night..

Legion
in the lies that we walk into tommorow,, we are the shadow of the Christian God's Sorrow, Can he hear the screams that we heed, or does he laugh, watching us slowly bleed, long we crave to be santified. yet we stand alone and waiting to be crucified we stand alone with the fate that our soul will carry, santified we are -- are the ones chosen to be buried alive in shit; we bend over -- waiting to be butt-fucked, waiting -- are we for the rapture, santified in piss, this we stand, blood-stained -- and crucified, we stand alone. to this pool of blood that we may drown, choking in our years -- santified in this that I do not want, end of the world that I may hear -- crucified for this, bleeding, and santified for this -- blood-stained is this, Dear God -- you sit there and lie, looking down -- waiting for you children to give you your suck off, an eternal blow job, santified is this, blackened by the written truth.. inside my mind, I begin to walk. in the shadows, they begin to talk, lock me up because I am insane, looking inside, can they hide,, look into who I am, the one as Legion,, this as we are, the image inside the suicide,, follow us, you may turn to me and drink the holy water,, look inside, because you can't hide, turning into a human target, you begin to bleed, gangs, drugs, murder and guns,,, these are the means of I having fun,, inside out, that I will see in the eternal sleep,,, I am the walking insane, another bullet into the brain spiritaul thoughts thrown away, murder comes out to play, I am the one laughing at those dying upon their knees,, sending money to the weeping mother fuckers on the TV screen,, Instutionalize one should not be -- seeing all there is,,,swimming alone inside a bottle full of piss,,