Rev. Jan's Fiction Extravaganza

Lugubrious Poems from 1991

I must apologize in advance for the sheer, unadulterated melodrama present in these poems. Fall semester of 1991 was a pretty unhappy time for the formerly happy-go-lucky Jan Nielsen, and she took it out on her computer. I guess the some rhyming parts aren't bad, but good grief, could I have been any more over-the-top? (And clearly the prediction made in the last one was false :)

I must, however, dedicate these to all the lonely, unhappy teenagers out there who feel the way I did. Trust me, darlings... life does get better!

I apologize again. These are just wretched.

A Lover's Requiem (read down, then over one column)

You thrill me with your promises,
And then you break my heart.
Your skill at such deceit, my pet,
Is nothing less than art.
My love for you's not ended,
Though to God I wish it could;
For you the passioned soul of love
Was never understood.
"Dust to dust" they say to death;
With you I have no choice.
Your love- oh, yes, the love you sing
Has stolen my own voice.
I call for you, I cling to hope,
I long for you and your embrace,
And yet when you approach me
How quick you are to turn the chase!
For you the vows were broken.
For you the words unspoken,
For you, the slightest token
Of love is left to feel.
To death I turn my mortal soul-
How quick She is to take it!
Without you Her hand is true;
Your hand could only break it.
Your augery, your spiteful hate,
They chill my bones to dust.
You tell me not to want you, love,
But oh! you know I must.
For you I live in Hell now;
For you deceit is my vow.
For you, there's no more why or how
In life's forgotten dream.
The empty vessel of my life
Is over now, despite the strife.
I ache for you; the hurt runs through;
It fills my veins with hate for you!
The siren's song you spin for me-
How quick it is to fly;
You old me closer, tightly, love!
And leave me there to die.
And for you, love,
I fight my soul,
Becuase yes, my love,
You are my goal.
And yet, I cannot let you go-
Death, come no faster; slower, slow!
The ecstasy is leaving me.
Climactic now, you turn to flee
As ever you have done to me.
The agony has set me free!
Forever, love, I forgive thee.
Your anguish you've bequeathed me-
Your lies, your doubts, your fear-
But when my heart cries out for you
There's no one left to hear.
The agony you press on me,
The hate you bring, the love you flee,
All are one, as you and me
Become the dust that must needs be.
-Jan Nielsen June 4, 1991
-or- -Alexandrei Kvoratin November 1, 1764


Morning Broken
Torn asunder
By the thunder,
	By the wind,
	The pouring rain

		I lie crying,
		Slowly dying;
			Yet the end
			Will come again.

				Fear is blinding,
				Grasping, binding;
					Moaning now
					I touch the pain.

						Terror breaks me,
						Coldness shakes me,
							My life in vain.

								Day draws nearer,
								Anger, clearer;
									No hope now;
									My death is plain.

			Sunlight finds me,
			Burns and bites me,
				Time is gone
	 			But hurts remain.

					There's no hiding;
					Death is riding
						Closer now
						Into my veins.

							But--Pain is fleeting
							My heart still beating
								Cold but safe
								It must be you...


In the heavy darkness of the black before his eyes
One can see the solitude that every man feels at night.
There is no light to hide within,
No summer's day to warm his soul at its coldest.
And yet he, too, is warm in this twilight;
It is the stuff of night that keeps him alive,
The stuff of nightmares that is his sustenance.
There is no shadow he has not known,
No door he has left unopened,
For all is clear within the darkness he calls life.
He is man, and not man,
Alive, and immortally dead.
His is the realm of the night,
The kingdom of terror,
And he is not afraid.

The Night of Friday the Twenty-First
It's cold and the ache returns.
The blood stains my fingertips,
I want to sleep next to somebody warm.
The scenes of memory bring a flash of heat
Each time they are drawn to mind, the nights
So very long ago and yet not so long at all.
Four months, I know, or is it three? But
The images are clear as water -
But the water is not clear - 
It too has been stained red with blood,
Red with rememberance. 
And yet the memory is not sad; it is merely memory;
Merely a taste of what my past would be,
And why my future will remember.
The blood creates a bond, stronger than water,
For water cannot colour blood, as the blood colours us all.
The ache will cease in time; 
The blood will ebb and disappear again -
But the stains remain indelible, and their warmth
Does not burn.
And the poetry, like the body I desire,
Leaves its mark, however small, on my world.


I will never love again.
Love too many times has been offered-
And scorned, too many times left me mere pain
To be forgotten, to be abandoned,
To be shrouded in the faceless death of Pity,
Of sadness,
Of numbness.
Too many times numbness has been love's drugged substitute
And there is no substitute for love.
Without love there is pain,
There is scorn,
Seeking to be hidden, but drowned in the numbness.
Damn you; your scorn becomes hatred to me, leaves me
Blind, leaves me
Because I feel no pain
No love
I will never love again.

-Jan Nielsen
September 18, 1991


Hey, kids, if you find yourselves feeling numb, seek help. That's a reeeally good sign of a major depression (a depressive episode that lasts longer than two weeks but less than your whole life, usually brought on by circumstances). I can't stress enough -- this is not a "normal" way to feel, and you don't have to live that way. Talk to someone -- a friend, a teacher, a guidance counselor, your parents, your siblings... it doesn't matter who; talking really helps. Heck, write to me if you want to; I'll certainly understand. Depression ruined what should have been a perfectly good year for me, and is in the process of making this one pretty unhappy, too, but it can be dealt with; you just have to take the first step.

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