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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
Life is a Study of ContrastIf not for the darkness,
We wouldn’t know the difference
Between a star and a ball of dust.
Life is a study of contrast.
We get dark,
Not to fall apart
But to shine.
Bad HabitI think I was your drink of fine wine,
only used when needed from time to time
I'd get you tipsy, as stars collide
Your drunk, slurred words
blending in with mine
(I couldn't even comprehend
when you said it wouldn't happen again)
I think I was your cigarette break
when anxiety filled,
from me, you'd take
One puff here, and one puff there
(I could barely hear
when you said, "I'm sorry, dear")
I think I was your line of cocaine,
thinking I'd be there to ease your pain
I'd bring you higher,
head suspended in clouds
(So I knew it was fake,
when you said, "It was my mistake")
I think I was your bad habit,
and ignorantly, you were mine
You continue to relapse, my dear
But rest assured:
I won't this time.
How to Hug from Far AwayType and write, your arms wide open,
smile through emotions, the warming moment.
Far away, but so very close.
For the friends and family, you love the most.
Create a letter, then press enter,
send your love you’re no pretender.
Across the sea, one day you’ll meet.
For friends and family, you’ll one day greet.
Retrieve a message, return the hug,
feel so better, a different love.
From different lands, gentle hands.
For friends and family, who make you glad.
It’s easy to hug from far away,
But harder to feel, the warmth we need.
WallsTell them all your secrets.
They'll never tell a soul.
They'll keep you standing up
When your body's had its toll.
Beat them in your anger.
They'll never scream or cry.
They'll let you vent your feelings
And never pester why.
Hide within their safety.
They'll keep you tucked away.
They'll let in just enough light
For you to know it's day.
Unrequited LoveAn act of admirable courage
from the sincerest of hearts
a love that I cannot encourage
the feeling in me then departs.
Do not be in solitary confusion
I have a burning determination
do not reach the wrong conclusion
but I must reject this fixation.
It is not you, nor is it me
please do not lose all hope
but I believe this was not meant to be
I know that you will be able to cope.
A heart with fervent ambition
may not be able to settle as easily
a pretend love cannot come to fruition
truly, I do care for you deeply.
Forgive me, how selfish am I
for turning away such a great love
please don't let your spirits die
No words of appeasement to think of.
I apologize endlessly for your unrequited love.
Maiden of the Olive Oil TreeMaiden of the olive oil tree -
caryatid body, color of cream,
how do you fare against the crumbling temple?
How do you fare against the pressure
weighting upon your chest?
For you have long kept this temple,
broken, like a mother.
You have long adorned it
with your cultivated crest.
But when the framework falters -
the foundation all decaying -
will you climb the olive branches,
free, no more inept?
And bathe in oil satin,
to smooth the ancient scarring,
as time releases tension
from your ankles to your breasts.
His Last Kill"Open the window," he said to me,
one morning after the sparrow had died.
"Cast his feather, his copper wing,
his beak of honor, his perch of pride."
But I couldn't cast them - set them free -
to the breeze or to the rolling tide,
for the sky was static, the water - bleak,
and the conscience of my suitor - denied.
DeanThere is a boy named Dean.
I knew him for so long
before we were pre-teens.
Actually, we were born
days apart, just three.
Not long after
our friendship would start.
This boy was full of life
and loved to have fun.
When he was ten years old
the doctors realized
that between his
red cells and white
something was not quite right.
There were us few,
who helped him through,
just Sam, David, and I.
Of course, his parents,
and Tony too.
Remission was soon
we could see the end
this boy was so strong
nothing can go wrong.
He was healed.
He grew healthier,
he grew out his hair.
All the long, I was there.
He was my best friend,
and I was his wimpy little girl.
We would wrestle in the grass
we grew close so fast.
We made silly games in the pool,
we jumped on the trampoline,
which my parents never knew.
We played tetherball,
looked at stars and just talked.
I developed the biggest crush.
It was a different time then,
all I did was blush!
Of course I couldn’t tell him!
This DiwaliIt'll be rather quiet this Diwali,
A dark festival of lights,
And in that darkness I'll reminice
At least light a diya they said,
For this year's Diwali,
But fire alarms hate festivities
And would not let them be.
There will be no family this year
Just pixels on a screen,
And no sweets will sweeten this Diwali,
And no Sherwanis to dry clean.
The clouds will keep their peace tonight,
The skies immune to plea,
Just a lightning bolt? A clap of thunder?
None for my De-wali.
Dear fairy light friend I must admit
I have no diyas for thee,
All I have are stars 'neath the alien sky:
Diyas for you and me.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More