If I could ask the future a question I would ask if I had loved Other question would spring to mind, Less selfish ones certainly Do we learn our place in this universe? Is the world for once less hateful? Has the truth been resurrected? But all these will come in time. And for these I can wait, But I would sleep soundly every night of my life If I could know that I have loved. = Was it fierce? Was it tender? Was it true? The last is the most agonizing. Oh how hard it is to know if I have lived! Love and life are two clasping hands And to know one would be to have a verdict to both. = But the future is not my oracle. To ask impetuous questions of at my leisure And I am looking for one answer. And in my lusty chasing after fairytales I forget the sadness of fate.
Another day gone And what to show for it? Nothing but the same bleary eyes in the same scratched mirror Hung on the same gray wall More of the same morning rush and evening sputter The same midnight longing = A comfort that I don’t quite know why Perhaps because love just works like that A soothing silent lullaby Calling me to sleep Or at least to close my eyes and hope Hope for a change tomorrow, or simply something worth waking to. Perhaps another day.
“Let me sleep.” I call to my mind, My echoing mind That rebounds the shades of thoughts and words Calling me with luring cacophonies To nightmarish phantasms.
“Let me sleep.” I call to my sheets, Trapping me in warm, unrelenting arms, Made humid by my sweat.
“Let me sleep.” I call to my clock That smugly ticks my failures In crimson numbers, Unrelenting and unforgiving, Screaming to me the passing hours.
“Let me sleep.” I whisper near tears As I close my unwilling eyes.
I look upon this world, Like colored glass: With Sapphire panes of ocean Azure ribbons of river, Emerald squares of forest And verdant bolts of valley.
I look upon this world of glass And see panes stained red, with the lives of men And red with the fires they have started And left to burn.
I look upon this world of glass I weep, for I know the minds of men And what comes of their schemes With this world in their hands, I can only dread the passing years.
God, Thy father in heaven, Step not again upon this earth Which you forsook Like a child left to the ripping dogs.
Step not again upon the sands And the stones You let be stained by blood, Not again, may you step Upon our lands.
Our lands: The sacred land of man, Left to us to steward over; We are now the kings of earth, With none to cut our conquests.
You have left us, Casting upon us your illusioned servants Who seek to rechain us to your will
What is your will? To have us die? Perhaps your will is void, As the space between stars is void: Meaningless and empty.
Your will is not empty, For that perhaps your owed a thanks. For in your will, you grant us the greatest mercy: The right to die and leave our guilt, our mistakes, and our rivers of blood To others.
Come upon an ocean bank And find upon the trash strewn sand a bottle This is not the one you seek, With a message inside Neatly wrapped With a little scarlet string and sealed crimson wax This is not the bottle you want With a cork you would pop off to read some fanciful words Or a map, you always wished for a map; But this one is empty, save for some sand and some water And it is amber colored, The one of which you dreamed was pale lilly green.
You set down to its resting place Where it rests until the seas will lead it back, The sea does not need the bottle, but you have less need So is your thought as you toss it back. You walk across the raped sands, Ravaged by trash, In search of another bottle.
As you stumbled down a dune you see one, More hopefully tinted emerald. As you near it you dodge splinters of jagged glass, Thoughtless of their origin. You stop and pick up the bottle, There is a note, You pick it out and read the word: ‘STOP.’
My heart burns, my blood boils To see you in your skin, Just your skin; With your hair across your chest, Across your back, across your shoulders. All of your hair.
I burn to see every inch uncovered For me to see, to touch, to watch Your chest rise and fall. All of your chest.
I yearn to run my hand down your back; To trail down the valley of your spine, From the cold skin of your shoulder blades down. All the way down.
I ache to see you eyes, Half lidded, veiled by you hair, Shining in the dark, Letting mine trail down, Down, Down.
I feel a great sense of confidence in the voice of your poems - it has a strong presence. You're also definitely not one to shy away from engaging with different forms of punctuation and I think your use of the question mark is pretty effective in engaging your audience. My favourite poem so far is "A world of glass" - it definitely speaks to the fragility of human civilization. Keep writing!!
Loved the playful word-play in this last poem. Especially the first stanza - what a fun piece! Also enjoying some of the experimentation with formatting and structure that you're using. Nice work so far!
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
O Alexandria, Upon the distant sands; I come to you and cup the hallowed ash Of your greatest repository.
I would drown the world in blood, To see those flames reversed, So the shadow in the night cast only by the moon.
I would kill a thousand men a thousand times, To see those pillars rise from the sands Of time and rock.
I would sacrifice everything and still more, To tread the floors of those venerable halls, To touch even one of the forever lost scrolls And glean from them lost ancient wisdoms.
But as it is: All past; I stand with the ash in my hands And weep for the stupidity of man.
I’d heard he had started a fistfight in one of the seedier local taverns because someone had insisted on saying the word “utilize” instead of “use". — Patrick Rothfuss, A Wise Man's Fear
Also enjoying some of the experimentation with formatting and structure that you're using. Nice work so far!
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Points: 169
Reviews: 44