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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
The Fifth ElementSeek out the sea
Sight beyond the shore
One element and another three
Within to look you'll find one more
Never The Same AgainShattered tears,
And bloodshot eyes;
And a broken mind.
All because he
He caused this pain;
But he can hurt me no more
Washed away like rain.
Then why do I feel like,
Like nothing has changed.
He'll never go away
I'm haunted all the same.
And blood soaked sheets;
No more fears,
Only broken dreams.
A Daily GrindSlackened views
In dusty shoes
A trample to the sound
On gavel, just a civil judge
A hammer slamming down
Of penitence, atoning time
And probing of your worth
A muddy haze through lazy days
As water is to earth
A number issued
Stole a name
As in these days it must
In population's upward climb
Of bearing dawn till dusk
A rebel in a wayward soul
Meanders down the road
A pressing search for pots of gold
A shoulder's heavy load
Domesticated pots and pans
Hung gleaming in their rows
Tired feet and dishwash hands
As children age and grow
Work through the rain
Past soiled weary sights
Production carries through the day
Till five o'clock at night
Pens are pushed
Down many page
And clocks are watched most oft
Calculations buzz in air
But every soul
To what they do
Must spend a time in sleep
And travel through a land of dreams
Subconsciously to keep
ZealOh, the grand and boastful
Lies that devour us all!
Never to sever ties with the hopeful,
Nor delouse the segregated downfall …
Of the mass strings of refuse,
Choking on the mouthfuls
Of loose commentary, and we lose …
A precious token from a handful of fools.
Decadence and decay
Destroying the lives of our youth.
Turn your head, look away,
For the sight is much too uncouth.
Destruction of the individual,
The masses claim equal right.
Answering to a lost call,
The screams unheard each absent night.
Dusting off the canopy
Topping paths far gone from time.
Awaiting fair agony
For dutiful and unkempt crime.
Cries from the monasteries
Awaken us from dreams we dare not lose!
The churches and the sanctuaries
Drive us not from the temptations we seek and choose.
A pleasant overdrive
Is all that is left of ourselves.
Plant, succeed, and thrive!
Climb those pestilent, sticky shelves.
For ours are not lives we chose to live.
Our choices are cliff dives from
Forsaken mountains, a ch
Walk In My ShoesThat crazy girl
What’s with her head?
She’s shining one moment
Then clams up as dead
She’s talking to someone
A ghost we can’t see
He mustn’t be real
Just a sad fantasy
Her lover has left
Now she cannot move on
Her mind has built fears
Where they do not belong!
But he’s there and he’s real
And he won’t go away
Though mostly, these days
In the shadow he stays
But this week he revealed
He came out of the thick
Someone was getting
Too close to his chick
Old friends, they know
They’ve seen the games
This pattern has played out
Time and again
She thought it was over
She thought she was free
But that sweet delusion
Is the real fantasy
He leaves her sweet songs
Would you like to hear?
Then tell her that she has
No reason to fear
Some moods are natural
Some are induced
There is nothing but sorrow
When love turns to abuse
MemoriesI open the book,
sitting next to the dim lamp.
I stare at the page,
unseeingly, in a daze.
The dim lamp lights the dead face.
Been contemplating, as I walk
That maybe, it’d be best to talk
Inside my head, and not aloud
The birds are such a chilling crowd
To sneer upon me as I stroll
As if I claim each grassy knoll
As if each pond were owned by me
I don’t assert such majesty
In certain circles, certain friends
No one admits the awful trend
Of speaking to themselves alone
Except for me, but then they groan,
“Have you gone daft, or simply dumb?
You’re making fools of everyone
Someone could hear you, silly twit
So kindly put a sock in it!”
Forgive that less poetic line
Somehow, I feel I’m wasting time
But then again, that’s how I feel
When I converse with nothing real
And paint my shadow on the ground
These simple habits yet astound
The people who will not pretend
To see my dear, imagined friends
Been contemplating, as I dream
That maybe, it’s not best to seem
A different soul, compared to most
Perhaps it’s best to be a ghost
Copper and Gold LeavesCopper and gold leaves, A
Tussled gently in the breeze. A
Brings me to another time, B
A child’s mind. B
Through the rushing whispers in the trees. A
Forest hear me please? A
Bring me back in the wake of C
That place. D
When life brought euphoric love C
And not disgrace. D
Bring me in the wake of C
My space, D
Where chilled winds from above C
Caressed my flushed face. D
Bring me back in the wake of C
Those times, E
Where I can hear F
The windswept chimes. E
They wring so clear F
Till dense future comes to impede H
My memories, G
Causing them to recede H
Beneath life’s newly fallen leaves G
Three SwordsI have three words,
I shall tell the Lord.
So I stand by the Gourd,
and lay down my swords....
Sword of Strength:
In life and your troubles,
your power can make rubble,
on Life's bubble.
Fight hard and long,
For Victory's song...
you deserve to ring the gong.
Sword of Intelligence:
It's much more than you know,
greater than it's foe.
You can ignore greed,
stand and lead,
and stop the Devil's deed!
it can lead to evil's lair,
if pushed to a dare.
So have caution my friend,
as you use the bend..
that can destroy or mend.
Sword of Humor:
In times of dark and despair,
you bright up my fair.
You shed sunlight,
through dark's night.
How can dark stand a chance,
with your laughter and dance?
It leaves it in a trance!
After you claim victory,
it goes down in history.
Every detail to it's mystery.
With these three swords,
go far, forward....
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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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More