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The Cycle of PassionNever knowing eyes never did haunt us
’Tis our own ditty which fails to daunt us;
The amorous rose or the lovebird’s lustre
Leaves but two shades for a season’s fluster,
Yet the poet’s pen is perchance guided
With rabid romance, nature unprovided -
For summer songs are bare conversation
Betwixt life and long winter’s predation:
Pale thirst for passion or higher power
Quenches its quaff in the quiet hour,
The soul’s tragedy is in demanding
Liberty lost from body remanding
Creation’s cold woes and callous joys, cannot grace
Vanity’s visage or the selfsame face,
In vain, we swallow the daily smother
To love ourselves, we love another.
Sleep Well, My SoulSleep well, my soul, the light has passed
’Tis dark, this closing hour,
Rest in peace, sweet life, at last
Let your toils awake a flower.
Dream deep, asleep, of each roving wraith
Which sought a home in thee
And sigh a little, for the wasted faith
Which were born of you and me.
And smile beneath the mourning ground
As the world clasps morning’s glory,
For the moon still dotes the earth around
And the sun gilds another story.
And then, in a squall of rain and rue
Lament life’s sole severance;
For god and men, we wept them true,
Slighting our Reverence.
The Fall of EpithilinonI
Let no man speak of wars whence
No answer graced our call,
Let man remember gods thence
Gods, watchful of our fall;
Speak in silenced sighs, men,
Dead men hither sleep,
No flag here flails, amen, amen!
Who can ever beweep
Our brethren in the deep.
Frightened colours breached the sky,
The church bells played a dirge;
The bustling hills and vales so nigh
In crimson rage did merge,
Archers with crescents held high
Keen arrows fell like sin,
The portcullis in sorrow, shy
Interred our fathers in
The last grave of our kin.
Wailed the night in thunder blare;
The mangonels did come,
Lonely trumpets singed the air
When Earth ravished our home;
The eastern tower, wasting wear
For a trebuchet did bow,
Fallen stone and ballista bare
Broke its stony vow,
As the beadle mopped his brow.
Mildly armoured, men at arms
Stormed the brazen fray,
Howled the castle’s cold alarms:
Ladder men up the brae!
Blazed in ire the fields and farms:
The winter’s yield was spent;
A Slice of EntropyLife is not form or symmetry or a stack of hours
on a dustless shelf
falling, hovering, floating, flailing
feeling comfortably numb
in a lover’s grasp
is the autumn of an ancient anarchy
knowing all these affections are temporary
and as they cease, so shall I
from a star to a star
streaks the dye of the unending night
shedding colour on what is alive
basking in the ambivalence of creation
wondering what is the great purpose
of existence, survival, procreation;
Why must life go on?
life goes on
fantasy, excess, poverty
of objective, of reason
naught lasts a season,
gravity is the do all end all
in the cosmos, time rules god.
Wishes and wills, thoughts, sentiments, impulses,
cannot slow that unforgiving arm,
or plug that black hole of impendence,
victory and defeat
will meet at square 1;
the cheers and the jeers will die away
in the violence of that
Life – 0. Death – 0.
Vita incerta, mors certissima.
My Knight in Formal ArmourNobody loves Monday, but she was not Nobody. Monday mornings meant a host of official emails, a swarm of new themes to gossip about and a cup of tea that couldn’t quite wake her from the torpor instilled by the weekend’s laxness. Her boss would come up to her desk and take a progress report of her current projects and by the end of the day she would have to type it out send over once again. She would often order takeaway to brighten the fated day but it did little to change things when you have to be professional while eating your fricassee or your fries. A potpourri of “social synergy” events often took place on Mondays, but to know that that was another excuse to boost employee efficiency conveyed a heart of emptiness.
She worked on seventh grade textbooks, filtering through its content with the keen eye one develops as an editor and looked forward to that first cup of tea that would give her a few minutes to stare at the day’s excited sensex. The cup of
Decima ItalianaClouds appearing as streaks of pink
Across the cerulean skies
Compel me to employ the ink
Of my pen to poeticize
As the silent beauty of dusk
Fades into the shadow of night
I sense the darkness in my bones
And despite the touch of moonlight
I have never felt more alone
My soul nothing more than a husk
ProphecyI'm traveling aboard the sands:
Traveling, trying just to understand...
Wishing I could read aloud Almighty's plan
Like an angel-gypsy would, from mortal hands
Hear the empires of the world in fright,
"God, show us mercy before might!"
Who lights the oil in darkest night,
What spark could make evil take flight?
There's too much terror, too much pain,
Don't want to pulpit-preach ever again,
What shred of comprehension can I claim?
The desire to know everything is just our stain.
See the world without somebody opening my eyes
Live a life without living a leisure of lies
Say words that myself and I can understand
Give and take without eating the palm of your hand
Make a criminal rage in an innocent street
Break a heart that can't lift itself up to its feet
Change a life that was changing on time of its own
Hurt a father, a sister, a household, a home
Drink the bile of resentment and swallow the dregs
Take the walk of shame proudly, on my battered legs
I will beat back your demons and scream out the truth
My love, I am not an abuser like YOU
proof of lifehuman condition
proof of life
My CoreMy Core
Many people who have met me wonder
What lies deep within, and beyond
The range of physical vision
A secret? A dark deed? Perhaps love
If 't were a secret, then who would I tell
We all know that secrets lie in our hearts
Unless we confess to heaven above
Well my heart has kept its toll of anger
I wrote once many years ago
That the corridors of my heart and mind ring
With the haunting echoes
Of an irate mother
Occasionally I hear my brother
So the secrets locked within heart and mind
Surface in my moments of weariness
If I could leave them all behind
And take my long needed rest
Ah then surely I would be blessed
No greater joy than peace
That lies there too
A vast warm and calm sea
With its sunny shore
Just for my love and me
A refreshing seclusion
Away from the doubt and confusion
True CrimeShe was a guilty soul, damned the child she mothered;
With a heart full of love her hands had him smothered.
Sloth was his sin, for he couldn't be bothered
to Raise the nameless faceless whom he had fathered.
He lived six years a machine part with a price on his head
Until the begotten lay claim to his mangled body, dead.
His labor values to his grave, shallow in dirt;
He deteriorated his small hands for your shirt.
As the days went by, she got thinner and thinner,
She soon died from many nights without dinner.
After three years she was company enough to die alone
Because the parents have never brought her home.
Only nineteen and forced into it she had no other resort,
but to furtively sever the spine of a life to abort.
Blood spilled stemming from her lover's rejection,
Soon she joins her child in death from an infection.
Unclear is reality, life so melancholic,
to be Birthed from the womb of an alcoholic.
One day the bastard would know why Charlie was his name;
No use for love of a s
Earth Doesn't Need usWe are the humans, a distinctive race
But life our planet has no need.
We rock the land outside and in,
Fueled by selfishness and greed.
Though some are driven by intentions of good,
To mend the wounds and smooth the rough.
Scaled to those opposed and dormant,
The efforts and ideals don’t prove enough.
It’s time we crack down and stand up tall,
Provide our species some clarity.
Show what we can do and what we’re doing,
Let the doubtful, destructive, and careless see.
Overlords of the food chain we hunt any and all.
For rations but also material gain.
Killing dying species for their rarity and hides,
Getting closer to wiping them out of this plane.
Nature’s prosperous, harmonious cycle of life,
What dies and what thrives is all meant to be.
Then we butt in with our trucks, trash and axes,
Breaking, staining ground, downing tree after tree.
The Earth’s own creatures just take what they must,
Humans dredge, destroy and build what they please.
Forest acres eve
Silly ThingsI say silly things
And silly things say me
When I do not understand it
The silliness flies free
A joke is told
And the I laugh
Silly thing is that it took me
An hour and a half
If I say silly things
And silly things say me
I may not understand it
At least, not immediately
LongingWhat is it I long for?
I long for a soft bed,
A comfy place to lay my head.
I long for summer to never end,
So that I may spend eternity with you instead.
I long for good looks,
So I may no longer hide my face in digital books.
I long for your love,
As mysterious and unreachable as the Heavens above.
What is it I long for?
I long for happiness, forevermore.
Sonnet XVIIIThere goes another hour;
We have too many to keep.
To hoard away time and sleep
Ha! But we have the power!
Aye, though the sun may glower
In the evenings he will reap,
His warm gaze will lastly sweep
Amidst each field and flower
And perhaps he is thinking,
Though I cannot tell for sure,
What we think is certain cure
For all the defeats tasted,
People with clocks are clinking:
Another hour wasted.
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