Darkness bids farewell

(Sebastian Michaelis – black butler. All credits to Yana Tobaso)

I weep at the foot of life’s misjudgements

The cancerous truth hidden by governments

The darkness of the unknown envelops you
I stand alone, a force unbound

By hatred, terrorism and shockwaves of silence

My thoughts are different, my views are just so

Why do we live the life we lead, if someone is marketing hatred and greed?
But that is the darkness in all of us you see,

The darkness of self doubt and anonymity

But shed light on the situation at hand, cower before the naked truth of mans desire

To perish himself and the world in a cancerous fire.

The darkness is all it leads to now

I bid you farewell and take my final bow.


Manuscripts of the mind – Poetry

No words can reach my heart

it is locked up inside

no books or ideas can quench my mind

philosophy is a hunger and i feed on it daily

an open heart to ideas of the past expand my future

but i cant bear to loose my present

my family and my life all mundane but worth it.

so i write to you dear reader in hopes you’ll understand

a world with ideas is great but love is worth more

enjoy what living gives you,  for you wont experience it again.

I might be old but i am wise – some have said, much before my time.

but what time was it that i wasted writing manuscripts of my mind.

  • (c) Danielle Parrish


The annexe of misfortune: – poetry

The annexe of misfortune:


Cold, dreary and somber are the emotions that run through the beating heart of the annexe.


The smells of stale summer air flow through the cracks, a hint of spice from the warehouse below.


The only news is misfortune and the only food is hope.


Could huddling for warmth degrade their worth in the eyes of some who take away their rights to even breathe, to be human?


The two families merge as one throughout the year – becoming like the tides, ever near and yet ever far.


Thoughts of hope flow through ink to paper, the annexe calls – from within the cold dark walls, and fogged windows.


Radio broadcasts the outside world, it seems so foreign, and so frightening to her that people that they knew are being stolen in the night.


All the propaganda making Jews feel like herded cattle, only one direction- to the slaughterhouse, the annexe feels the fear of those whom she protects, a souls combined cloaking is the only safety they have left.


Like whispers, the nights cold air rustles through the cracks of the annexe, for fear of feeling the families have no heater – no material worth, for it was striped away when peole found out about what their worship is worth.


Poison is the power of some at the helm of a revolution for the masses – The poison that proves evil can see no truth – no truth of the future, or of the families  that he holds in his hands.


Cradling shelter the annex gives to many- although misfortune is around the corner and the sirens make breathing heavy.


Heavy are the hearts of  those who carry on, a candle’s light flickers- like a lone birds song.


Emotions as bitter as the food that they eat – fighting over who in which family has the bigger piece, of the dust on their plates that they have to eat.


But in this house of misfortune, a diary it does contain with the hopes of a young girl running through the papers veins.


From this hope, a story of the the house in which it contains- a little girl and her big family-  all but one, never to be seen again.


Goodbye, said  Anne- you were my only true friend.  – Danielle Parrish

(based of of the diary entry, friday 10th of march – 1944)

A bundle of contradictions:

A bundle of contradictions:


Alone in the annexe I sit, becoming one with the days, and the seasons.

Alone she sits, pondering about whether the war will end soon, or if her time is up.

I ponder about my family and what strength drove them through this bundle of contradictions that I call my life.

She ponders about  the restless nights, the fights and the sirens throughout the mess she calls her life.

Becoming a lady, I must sit poise, prim and proper.

Becoming a lady, sacrifices must be made, her beauty for her brain, and her heart for her hope.

I begin to wonder about the chimes, chimes that break the day into evening and the evening into night.

She wonders about the chimes, the sand shuffling through the hourglass- she wonders about her future.


A bundle of contradictions, I write to my diary- two halfs of a whole person but a split in my personality.


A bundle of contradictions she writes, anger, happiness hope and despair- two halves of a person that no one sees is there.


Could the war be over, all my suffering coming to end?- I am begining to view  friends as family, but my family i am starting to view as friends.


Could her savoirs be near?- could the new beginning break the dawn – or is this just a painting that a talented artist has drawn.


One thing is for certain I’ll be the best writer yet- even after death, my life will become a sonnet for the masses.


One thing is for certain, her life will live on- through movies, poetry and song- her words will become history every time she lays her pen to write, until her final breath bits the night .

good night. – Danielle Parrish


(based off of her last diary entry, Tuesday the 1st of August 1944)

The cold war of segregation :

The cold war of segregation:

A yellow star is branded upon their clothes, like cattle they herd them in droves;

A man at a podium fuels the new generation with unjustified hate, it was to late for Art college – but not to late for mistakes.

Cutting away all of their smiles with guns and gas and poisonous bile, Whilst others look on in fear, who could be next?

A war cold as the bitter jeers that are given, new laws and new feelings- none of which are justly given right to see light.

Leaving behind the voices of many who march on and get beaten till they are bruised and bloody, what life is this for Jews?

The war rages on as emotions run cold, the sight of trains and thinning cities, officers in fancy uniforms patrol marching like new gods as the death count takes its toll.

Hiding away like mice from a cat, fear and anger marches on in the cold war of segregation.

Where the only song is war and the yellow star is slowly purged from histories pages, forevermore

  • Danielle Parrish (2016). (c)


The side of angels – a Sherlock Holmes themed poem

“I may be on the side of angels but do not think for one second that I am one of them” – Sherlock Holmes

The side of angels

is a terrible side indeed

where experience is lacking and intelligence is in great need

but do heed my advice for i wont repeat it twice.

The game is on Watson, and I haven’t got all night.

Moriarty is dancing with the Devils tongue,

setting of explosions in the name of fun

“The people are in danger, Sherlock”

you exclaim with great heed

Yes, i know that  Watson – but i care not for the loss of human stupidity.

the world is better off with the peoples heads cut off – they run around like chickens anyway- trust me i’ve experimented every possibility

That the side of angels is righteous- and just

But i need freedom- to do what devils must.

You know i don’t have many friends Watson – in fact i only have one.

You put up with my intelligence, and i mess with you just for fun.

For that I am truly sorry, but the chase is just begun.

I may be on the side of angels but do not think for one second that i am one.

  • (c) Danielle Parrish 2016

Sherlock homes themed, man I love me some Sherlock 🙂


Dry spells of the mind – Poetry

My mind is rattled

my faith is in shackles

Who I love…

and what I love is vexed by everyone,

who doesn’t understand the meaning. 

My hope is dried up like a well in a drought.

People toss coins in and expect their wishes and expectations  to come out.

School is a endless haze of work and no emotion 

an infinite turmoil of knowledge with bias, the truth with added opinion.

But if they agreed that everyone is unique and emphasize individuality 

would they still attack me ?

attack my faith?

My body ?

my lifestyle?

and who I love?

They say your life is your choice, but we will tell you which one to pick

When will life choose who to attack,

my shield of a facade….

or what they find crawling underneath.

Dry spells of hate, no water – no mist 

My imagination runs wild – it tells me to jump a cliff.


Should I tear down my wall or just call it quits…….

People fight in wars based on religion, but we choose to focus on who people love – and talk as if it was their opinion.

Why do we fight when nothing turns out right?

My dry spell of a mind is fighting to figure out what is right…….

-(c) Danielle Parrish. 2016




Post digital. Hive mind

I have digital eyes, they see the clear sky

All of earths wonders bare to my eyes 

My heart is a hive mind beating to the drum of life 

The stress and the pain of another’s mans strife 

I conform to the living but inside I am dead 

A post digital memory in a hive mind of dread

My light sombrely flickers in the midst of  Digital lies.

We cover our hearts in nature but inside we cower to the rise of a digital era

A era anew, the best part of humanity is over, our hive minds goal is to give up all control

And we trust ourselves our biological bodies to

 Beings with no soul.
To them we unwillingly give up all control.

Planet earths time is over, nature has taken its toll.

The rise of metal and oil is a horizon we antisipate 

A post digital distopia-  that will surely kill us all

-(c) Danielle Parrish