
Soldiers lie in a field of stone
Giving all, their day is done
Death, the great leveler, clears the field
All are equal when day is done.
My soul, she shrieks and flings me down
Laughing maniacally
The wind picks up and lifts her dress
Teasing and pleasing me
All is nothingness, so she says
As she pins me to the bed
With a silver shaft of cold, cold steel
She runs me through and through.
Benn Bell

Analysis
This is a powerful, visceral piece of poetry. It leans heavily into a dark, gothic existentialism, balancing a sense of violent surrender with a strange, Macabre ecstasy.
Here is how the layers of meaning break down:
1. The War with the Self (The Divided Soul)
The poem doesn’t feature an external monster or a physical attacker; the tormentor is explicitly “My soul.” By personifying the soul as a chaotic, maniacal female entity, the poem explores a profound internal fracture. The narrator is at the mercy of their own spirit, suggesting a state of psychological or spiritual crisis where the mind is being violently overthrown by its own deepest, darkest impulses.
2. Existential Dread and “Nothingness”
The emotional turning point of the poem hinges on the line:
“All is nothingness, so she says”
This grounds the poem squarely in existential dread. The “soul” here acts as a cruel messenger of cosmic indifference. She isn’t just attacking the narrator; she is forcing them to confront the absolute void. The maniacal laughter underscores the absurdity and hopelessness of the human condition—the realization that beneath all our struggles, there may be nothing at all.
3. The Intertwining of Pleasure and Pain
There is a distinct, unsettling undercurrent of eroticism mixed with violence throughout the verses:
It suggests that the confrontation with absolute truth, or ultimate destruction, carries a terrifying thrill. The narrator is helpless, yet transfixed by the sheer, overwhelming power of the experience.
4. The Silver Shaft of Cold Steel
The “silver shaft of cold, cold steel” that runs the narrator “through and through” reads like a metaphor for a sharp, piercing realization. Silver is historically associated with purity, moonlight, and exposing the hidden truth (like killing a monster). Here, it feels like a cold, unyielding truth cutting through illusions, anchoring the narrator to reality (the bed) by completely shattering their defenses.
It is a striking exploration of a mind wrestling with its own existence—simultaneously terrified of and captivated by the absolute void.
Thoughts?

When I entered the black hole
I was struck by the naked singularity
And the music of the night.
Jupiter was ascending
And Scorpio was rising
The jukebox was blaring
And the sirens were screaming.
The neon wilderness showed me the way
To the star-studded brilliance of the Milky Way
I lost all consciousness as the drugs took hold
Somewhere in the depths of the hold.
When I regained my strength from my long winter’s nap
I dug deep into my jeans for a few copper pennies
To be sure I had the means to pay for my midnight sin
I strolled through the door to the daylight again
And once again became human once more.

Who packed your bag?
I packed my bag
Where was your uncle’s sister born?
Have you ever met an Arab?
-James Fenton
Any electronics in your bag?
Yes.
Take it out.
Take that phone holder off.
Take your shoes off.
I don’t have to take my shoes off.
Why?
I’m 75.
You’re 75?
Yes.
Ok. Step aside through here.
Any metal on you sir?
Yes, on my hat.
Step through the scanner.
Ding ding ding…
Rescan him.
Why do you have to rescan me?
Rescan him.
Any soreness here?
No.
OK. I’m going to pat you down.
Pat pat patty pat.
Thank you.
Enjoy the rest of your day.
-Ghost Dog
The oak leaves lit by
the Strawberry moon are like a
flight of bats on the wing.
For want of a bird
The sky was lost
For want of a nail
A shoe was lost
For want of a life
A knife was lost
For want of a toy
A child was lost
-Ghost Dog

The essence of his energy preceded his physical presence
He was unconditional love, understanding, and gentle strength
He was passionate, patient, and kind
His heart was full of tenderness and love, yet he was fiery and
fierce
He loved her like no other could
His fingertips ever so gently moving slowly over every curve and
inch of her body as he whispered “I love you, I love you, I love
you”
He knew the shape of her body, the essence of her soul, the
workings of her mind, and the Goddess that layed within his grasp
He knew her inside and out
He saw what no other could see
The deepness of her heart and soul
The beauty she hid within the cold walls of her delicate being
He felt what no other could feel within the ethers of her limitless
and abundant heart and soul
She was mysterious and mystical, his Goddess and his nymph
She was his map and he was her soul’s great expedition
He left no stone unturned and no crevice unexplored
She could feel his touch ever so softly as her body started to
tingle within the warmth of her femininity
Her body defied her
She dropped her sword and shield
Removed her armor
And gave herself to him freely
She exhaled in ecstasy as he entered her divine sacred space
willingly, tenderly, gently, and passionately
Together their passions erupted and their sacred juices flowed
into beingness
The two light beings joining became one vibrant light of love in the
infinite universe…
~RC~

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my soul –
Of cypress, with Psyche, my soul…
Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her…
And I said: What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legend tomb?
EAP
“Mr. Poe, why don’t you write your poems so that everyone can understand them?” He replied, “Madam, I write so that every body can not understand them.
My Soul She Shrieks
My soul, she shrieks and flings me down
Laughing maniacally
The wind picks up and lifts her dress
Teasing and pleasing me
All is nothingness, so she says
As she pins me to the bed
With a silver shaft of cold, cold steel
She runs me through and through.
BFB
“Mr. Bell, why don’t you write your poems so that everyone can understand them?” I replied, “Madam, I write so that every body can not understand them.

Once I saw her in the light of day, I suggested she might see a plastic surgeon.
“Listen, sweetheart,” I lisped, “Did you ever consider plastic surgery?”
Well, she turned on me.
It was awful.
I can see now why they used to name storms after women.
She grabbed my .38 right out of my armpit and proceeded to fill me full of holes.
By the time she emptied the special on that hot Saturday night, I looked like a rancid piece of Swiss cheese.
“Aw, why’d ya hafta go and do that baby?
This was my best dinner jacket. It only had one hole in it before. Now it has seven. I’ll never be able to wear it again.”
That’s the last thing I remember before I lost consciousness…