Nightmare Fuel - Images

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Rebecca Hawkins: Mother and Child

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Otto Dix: Nächtliche Begegnung mit einem Irrsinnigen (Nocturnal encounter with a madman)

otto dix lunatic madman world war one ww1 first world war ruins trenches imperial germany soldier der krieg

Otto Dix: Überfall einer Schleichpatrouille auf einen Grabenposten (Attack by a sneak patrol on a tr...

stealth sentry trench warfare otto dix world war one ww1 first world war german imperial germany soldier death combat

Otto Dix: Zerfallender Kampfgraben (Collapsed Trenches)

first world war world war one ww1 trench warfare death german imperial germany soldier otto dix der krieg

Otto Dix: Verwundeter (Wounded Man)

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Zdzisław Beksiński: No Official Title: Mausoleum of the Giants

zdzisław beksiński untitled dark fantasy skeletons explorer crypt oil painting

Zdzisław Beksiński: No Official Title: Necropolis

zdzisław beksiński untitled gravestones cemetery graveyard oil painting necropolis dark fantasy

Greater Love

GREATER LOVE Rolling and rolling there Where God seems not to care: WILFRED OWEN Adapted by George Pratt Your dear voice is not dear, Gentle, and evening clear, And though your hand be pale, As theirs whom none now hear, Paler are all which trail Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. Kindness of wooed and wooer Šeems shame to their love pure. Your cross through flame and hail: O Love, your eyes lose lure When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! Your voice sings not so soft, Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,- Weep, you may weep, Till the fierce love they bear Cramps them in death's extreme decreptitude. Your slender attitude Heart, you were never hot Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot; for you may touch them not.

GREATER LOVE Rolling and rolling there Where God seems not to care: WILFRED OWEN Adapted by George Pratt Your dear voice is not dear, Gentle, and evening clear, And though your hand be pale, As theirs whom none now hear, Paler are all which trail Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. Kindness of wooed and wooer Šeems shame to their love pure. Your cross through flame and hail: O Love, your eyes lose lure When I behold eyes blinded in my stead! Your voice sings not so soft, Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,- Weep, you may weep, Till the fierce love they bear Cramps them in death's extreme decreptitude. Your slender attitude Heart, you were never hot Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed, Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot; for you may touch them not.

wilfred owen george pratt above the dreamless dead death war world war one ww1 first world war poetry soldiers trenches

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; DULCE ET DECORUM EST WILFRED OWEN Adapted by George Pratt But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime... Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the ho If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori. Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind. His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling, Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; DULCE ET DECORUM EST WILFRED OWEN Adapted by George Pratt But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime... Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs And towards our distant rest began to trudge Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the ho If in some smothering dreams you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old lie; Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori. Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind. His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;

wilfred owen george pratt above the dreamless dead poison gas chemical warfare world war 1 ww1 poetry first world war death war charcoal sketch

Soldier's Dream

Soldier's Dream Wilfred Owen I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears; And caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts; And buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts; And rusted every bayonet with His tears. And there were no more bombs, of ours or Theirs, Not even an old flint-lock, not even a pikel. Adapted by George Pratt But God was vexed, and gave all power to Michael; And when I woke... he'd seen to our repairs.

Soldier's Dream Wilfred Owen I dreamed kind Jesus fouled the big-gun gears; And caused a permanent stoppage in all bolts; And buckled with a smile Mausers and Colts; And rusted every bayonet with His tears. And there were no more bombs, of ours or Theirs, Not even an old flint-lock, not even a pikel. Adapted by George Pratt But God was vexed, and gave all power to Michael; And when I woke... he'd seen to our repairs.

wilfred own george pratt above the dreamless dead charcoal sketch poetry world war one first world war ww1 soldier

Zdzisław Beksiński: No Official Title: Behold A Pale Rider

zdzisław beksiński untitled death undead horse skeleton a pale rider dark fantasy oil painting

Zdzisław Beksiński: No Official Title: Cronus Devours His Sons

zdzisław beksiński untitled giant monster cannibalism ruins dark fantasy oil painter

Zdzisław Beksiński: No Official Title: Gestalt

zdzisław beksiński untitled undead spirit amalgam oil painting dark fantasy

Zdzisław Beksiński: No Official Title: The Hollow Soldier

zdzisław beksiński untitled soldier oil painting dark fantasy undead hollow

Zdzisław Beksiński: No Official Title: The Creeper

zdzisław beksiński untitled monster ruins fire apocalypse dark fantasy

The Temple of Love

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Face stolen

faceless mud brothers grimm

Brothers' Grimm face stealing mud monster

MOVIECLIPScom

MOVIECLIPScom

mud monster brothers grimm

William Utermohlen's Self-Portraits Prior (1967) And Post-Diagnosis of Alzheimer's Disease (1997 and...

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Oh yeah, Mr Krabs

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