[x]

Sonnet XVIIThis fault be mine, and I alone to blame
'Neath the shadow of my nocturnal deed,
I am sinfully yours, a prince of shame,
O Themis, if you are truth, make me bleed!
Yet, if my lapse in darker hues are found
Seal forth each gash with resin acrid wrap,
My damnation no pain of flesh can wound,
My devil no Christened reverend trap.
I tell you dear friend, leave my soul to be;
Your prayers, your curses shall fall to waste,
From rancor, this satyr heart is free,
Yet bitterness, this rimy tongue shall taste.
Futile the frown or poor Atlas' grudge,
Before heaven or hell; I, I will judge.

Butterfly Rising

She cries out into the stillness of the night:

"Why is this happening to ME?"
"Why are you hurting ME?"
"Why won't you leave ME alone?"

Her words float on the air, ascending upward,
then fall to the ground gently,as flakes of snow;
frozen tears from Heaven.

"Is anyone listening? Does anyone care?"

The heart grows cold, numb. Darkness beckons.

"Oh, just to sleep and never wake up!"

The constant pain. The ever-present need for
resolution, for closure.

But like an evil bird that refuses to return to the nest,
forsaking her own, so too relief keeps fleeing.
The noises in her head - a cacophony of confusion!
Unrelent

GuidanceGuidance.

My father once told me that life is supposed to be a struggle
And that everyone has their own specific type of hustle.

Whether it be working in an office or stacking products on a shelf.
Naturally we all share the same aim of accumulating wealth.

He also told me that nothing is promised in this life time.
When you least expect it the man upstairs will throw you a life line.

Something or someone that will give you a reason to continue.
Awaken the hidden belief and talent that law dormant within you.

He then told me that happiness and success are short lived.
In time your name will both appear and disappear from life's short

Little Black BookConscience was my killer;
Little black book of fate;
I stored each name
In colours of shame
And preserved the sinful date.

Skeletons in the closet;
Corpses in the yard;
All I did want
In my fell haunt
Was a faded tarot card.

By the StrandI still breathe your name by the wavering shore
And cast away to the sail winds a song
And close my eyes and evermore belong
To the unfed brine and its yearning roar.

The distant lamps polish the incensed green,
A flock of fallen stars upon the bay
Alights a dream of a submerged day
And strokes in feud a mind's browbeaten scene.

And standing by the strand I pace and skew
In hope a rising crest will fell or hide
Your voice; yet each raw spate, each rippling tide
Borrows to bestow an echo of you.

War Woundthere's a war wound in my chest
that I cradle in my heart
and nurse it with parables
but,
it never,
never grows up.
sometimes I feed it vanities,
a glass of Scotch or two
but in the morning's residue
it reflects no summer truths.

there's a war wound in my chest
which sought shelter in my soul
now it lies as an attic masterpiece
for the years to unfold
the colours have aged with me
rubric to rust to puce
and this work of art upon my heart
is but
for the artist's eyes.

there's a war wound in my chest
which fell our company
but I who saw the shot and shell,
know it well indeed.
for he assigned us nameless,
no rank, no

The Artist's PleaThe fingerprints of mankind among each hill
Does the artist's eyes with melancholy fill,
A meadow unseen, untouched by time
Lends the poor poet his timeless rhyme,
The song of a lark, the scent of a rose
Bears in its womb, the birth of sweet prose,
And though man will pillage and nature abuse
Where from will he find tomorrow's muse?

C:love like you
is sweet
such a wonderful
feeling to be with you
seeing those blissful eyes
hearing the sweetest voice
I've ever heard
in my life c: <3

FamilyI’m waiting at the gates
As everything fades
On this rainy day
I keep trying to keep my head held high
The feeling within me won’t go away
Wondering if you will show up
Pretending things are okay
I put on a big grin
But the disappointment returns as the night turns grey like now

I tried to yell out to you
Fighting the tears so you wouldn’t see my pain
But, it is vain
Because they escape my eyes
And I scream out as I cry

Did you see me waiting by the train all alone?
I spend everyday waiting for you
Without an umbrella so the world will hide my cry
I begged you to come back to me
I’m waiting for some crazy fantasy
To

2012: Memories and ResolutionsAs 2012 came to an end, I was once again reminded of how short life is.

In the final days, I attended two funerals.

One was for a baby boy who I never had the chance to know

And although he was not my son -- I knew the pain, all too well.

No matter how tiny the foot prints they'll stay with you; even after five years.

The other....

was for a remarkable woman,

who gave me many years of great memories.

Both have left a hole in my heart.

2013 starts off feeling so empty and a need for something more.

What is my resolution for this year?

I'll try harder than ever to mend this broken relationship that I swore was done not so long ago.

RevivalIt has returned
to hold my breath at bay;
to steal my soul away.

Its gentle steps, resounding close
behind me.

It has returned:

palely blue-hued eyes
surveying me;

muddled calls at night
awaking me;

bitter, glacial breaths
pursuing me.

From its slumber in the lulling waves,
the peaceful turning of its grave,
it surfaced,
putrid skin depraved,
to hound me, cruelly, as a plague—
it has returned!

End of a RainbowYou seem to be always attending a masquerade.
A moonstone and migrating bird.
But always making your presence bright when the world sheds one to many tears.

The myth itself is realistic and fake.
Gold doesn’t exist at a rainbow’s edge.
But no one would see how much more gorgeous you truly are.

So stay hidden beneath the rainbows.
Your guardian angel will fetched you everything to sustain you existence,
While never being caught red-handed.

The world’s tears can never be wiped away completely
Rainbows will always be followed through to the end
However only the rainbow I follow back to you will actually end.

New Year, New SkinTo think at the beginning of last year it was you and I
holding hands;
you and I standing alone against the world
Now that it is a new year,
you are but a scar.

Sirel (to love)Sirel

written 11/21/2012

He came to me in the rain,
appeared before me when my head was between my knees,
when the heavens and my eyes did weep,
"bella, bella, no llores,"

pulling me up from the gutter,
my soiled wedding gown,
"My heart is broken,
my prince is gone...I am forsakened."

He took my hand,
"he was no prince, he was no prize"

And since that point in time
he opened my eyes,
I used to walk in a world littered with vacant tables and seats,
flower center pieces and fine china gone to waste,
nothing but ghosts and a weary string quartet as my only guests,
Ceremonial candles left unlit and my finger ringless
Groomless,
a woman scor

MorbidHis eyes are
dark of course
his gaze drab
and lacking
his fingers thin and long
made for pressing down
on the wooden necks
of old cellos,
made for pattering along the
path of the black and white
plastic of
piano keys.

He drinks his coffee
black
because he's so sick of
the sweetness.
Tired of the tart smiles
of false romance,
bored with the everyday
metronome of her beauty as
it threatens to dictate
the rhythm of his universe.

The robust,
power of bitter
structure quakes his tongue
and he feels as though
he has just breathed in
a black
ocean.
He sputters
and spits
and is not careful
about staining his new
white dress shirt.

He laughs.
This

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The ForkSomewhere in between the beginning and the end,
We were born into lives that we did not choose,
We landed in the spaces in between the phases,
Of colossal deeds and vexatious sins,
With wooden mallets sans silver spoons,
We crafted our childhoods, all sweat and gore,
And ever so often life took a exorbitant curve,
That habits begot prematurely died immature deaths,
Sometimes, it became so algid,
That we took a little comfort in each other's warmth,
The jolly fervor we shared in each other's prescence,
Kept our hearts beating through the days and nights,
At times it seemed like it would never cease,
And we'd remain forever, midnig

The Bird that LivedWhite haired and wise, he stood perched on a tree,
Looking up at the stars as if they were his equals,
For he had survived the most dogmatic trial,
He had made it through the night.

Back in the days of the blues,
His brethren were hunted by insatiable beasts,
Oh what chance did tawny plumage and jagged talon stand,
In the face of a 223 Remington?

Once proud emperors of the cerulean sky,
Fell down on the Earth and waited to die,
And for once, it seemed like freedom could be leashed,
And ruled over by coercion and fury.

Along came that chemical, death itself,
To kill small rodents or so they thought,
But this rancorous creation, t

SerenityLong after my city days are spent,
I long to go to the mountains again,
To the meadows where the wild goats graze,
And where the rhododendrons are born and bred.

In the company of oaks and laurels,
I long to start my life again,
And live amidst the rosy finches,
And where the horned larks make their nests.

Far, far away from the city lights,
Which dazzle and flare our mortal plights,
I want to live in the absence of mobocracy,
By a silver stream, under the golden sun.

I want to look up at the sky and see the stars,
I long for harmony, silence and repose,
And before I breathe my final breath,
I want to see a free falcon fly.

Pe

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The Passion Fruit

by ~Zark123, Nov 18, 2012, 5:43:57 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Concrete Poetry

Tease the heart in little doses,
A dash of red, not all the roses,
Fan the flame that's frail and dying,
Cull the bird that's fit and flying,
Win the sight of every pleasure,
Yet forfeit the sunken treasure,
Pull one step short of simple ration,
Hoard the enshrined conversation,
Speak in words that betray ire,
Prepare the untimely pyre,
Call out the rites in gleeful voices,
Portray a faux lack of choices,
Then leap before the burning fervor,
Await the sorrowful preserver,
Raise the stakes to hold your bearing,
Stretch the tender till it's tearing,
What is broken, makes one stronger,
What doesn't end is meant for longer,
What is pined for is not what is
And longed for neither hers nor his,
A dearth, a lack, a want we savour
And THAT lends the passion fruit its flavour.

The Passion Fruitby ~Zark123

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Concrete Poetry

Agreed?

~shehrozeameen Nov 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This work has a certain... Bronte feel to it... Not Pope or Byron per say.

Its good, its a worthwhile read... but its too abstract... Too much food for thought.

*PsychoNeko08 Nov 18, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

i usually get bored of poems halfway but i read this through it was interesting and lovely till the end

~Zark123 Nov 18, 2012 Student Writer

Haha, thank you

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The Passion Fruit

The Passion Fruitby ~Zark123

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