AmidstA glass of barrack sat on the table before Harangozó Konrad. Beside it were his two previous glasses, emptied of their contents entirely. His table faced the window and the October rain slowly dripped down it without speed as to be satisfying. The bar he was in was not quiet but no conversation or drinks being poured penetrated his consciousness. To say he was hunched over his drink, nursing it, would be exactly correct.
The day had echoed with every other day he spent in Budapest. No matter how much the streets were wandered, they never grew more pleasant to him. He had been freed of the shackles of working by the murder of his mother, an executive in an industrial equipment firm, and the subsequent death of his father, who gave up on the struggle against disease and despair with the loss of his spouse. This freedom, however, did not afford him the benefits that many desired – it did not impress him that he could acquire any material good he wished, or spend the day however he
Symphony: 3rd - StunnedNymphly Syzygy</b>Symphony: 3rd - Stunned6 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
First Violins: (The love that dare not not speak its name).
Thunder and darkness,
As sudden as a moment’s comfort,
Have thy will, shy mutual flame,
I saw it.
Second Violins: Unasked, unasked,
The lines were made
‘Tween eye and eye,
I and thee,
Engross’d and lost in this nymphly syzygy.
Pianoforte, First Violins, Second Violins, Violas: (The love that dare not leave its name unspoken,
This love so precious, potentate in that I am thine).
The conjunction above the overcome moon,
Caelus, Saturnus, Tellus,
Trapped in godly syzygy
Fain whisper in mine ear this lyric:
She that thou dost
Meet in instants when all that is other
Is a world apart
And yet do not realise any further meaning
Flutes: For thou hast a private jest
See, this morrow, those days are yest,
Whereupon thou shalt, had thou not have guessed,
Take weeks to mull,
And only by intercession delivered
From resistance proffered
Against that which might only b
Symphony: 2nd - StasisOn Rue de Comte St Germain, we ran to MontrealSymphony: 2nd - Stasis6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Violas, Snare Drum, Flutes, Trumpets: We were trying to kill
An immortal man
To steal the secrets of the Comte.
For so long mystics, we had meditated
Upon elongating our humanity for so
That to shadow him from his visitation,
Then take up full pursuit,
Not sure whether we ran in the realm of man or the realm beyond,
We felt our victory approach.
Tubas, Timpani: The liars of the occult
Claimed to have met him,
Conveniently implying that he didn’t exist,
He greeted those who would guard him from us gladly:
We followed different secrets.
Vibraphone, Violas (pizzicato): Be fully aware,
That there are volumes filled with answers
Hidden in baked-clay, stone-bound repositories,
Forms, dynasties and incantations
The location of the Lake of Clear Water,
Or the mystery of man,
Even in these tomes, where we learnt
In partnership, all of our ways,
There were but hints of the Comte St Germain.
Unreleased: QuarterstaffUnreleased: Quarterstaff7 years ago in Other More Like This
I watch them clash, serrated
They are serene in their speed,
Though if I could not see true nature
The blows of their quarterstaffs would be beyond my perception.
I once imagined them fighting,
Fighting for me,
And for my hand, though we might already be more than united
This time, the combatants are real.
'my way stands not in contradiction to yours
but in motivation.'
The counter meets it -
The bladed staves like lovers who never fail to kiss at the lips
'it is precisely a question of motivation.'
These warriors, to they I am incidental,
Speak no more of me and my deliberation,
Tell instead of this battle.
Their arms arche just to hold these weapons -
They are both burdens of sorrow and device,
But wielded with the true determination of men made by their armament.
The oaken staffs are too thick, too dense,
Fully articulated from the beginning,
To be cut by the shimmering razor edges
They knew all along that this was how it had to be
And that they will both die together
TMS-ChiaroscuroTMS-Chiaroscuro6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
On the threshold of day,
The delineating line between light and darkness,
Where twilight ripples across the stilled landscape
And an imperceptible chill rises up.
[The battlefield is expected to be more chaotic.]
With subtlety, the bleakest of every breed of despair
Lives alongside the potential for
The border crosses.
Dark emptiness reigns;
A sign on the arms-reach horizon:
The million bright ambassadors of morning;
The million bright ambassadors are dawning.
Lights sparkle at the joining of day and night,
Barrenness and wholeness,
[There is a reason
There is a purpose]
These beams which could not shine,
Save in chiaroscuro,
Where side by side the presence and the absence are.
The darkness brings weeping
Weeping scours the heart and face alike
That the light is made clear.
The maker of fate paints with chiaroscuro.
SynaxariumSynaxarium7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And it is thus that the martyrs are collected
Two-thirds up a tower-block,
An inside flat with no view of the sun
There is a child who has never had recourse to walk.
One more week.
For joy to turn to turn
A smiled face; the Paradox.
Those who will be noted first
Have had the joy ripped from their centre.
So let us be the first to put our names and natures upon the list
To mark the deathdate as today.
And a host of nameless souls shall find themselves
And log in the book;
TMS-WintersongTMS-Wintersong6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In the latency, in the nascent
I'll break down in the Wintersong.
Fog fills up the lungs with the taste
Of happiest sorrow;
Ive never felt peace that doesnt taste like this.
The air crispens as he passes
Because I shiver at the Presence and I tremble in the cold.
My archipelago of childhood memories
Is a submerged continent
The sea temperature tumbling,
Still the feeling of this frigid bliss crossing my lips
Has been there always,
Stern as winter,
Through the unfallen snow lie the footsteps of an
Unimaginable God and his fragile adoptive son.
In War there is no symmetryIn War there is no symmetry9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She bursts forth from the trenches
Her bayoneted rifle firing bursts of death
She cannot be more than fourteen
But the war has come
It's time to kill or die.
A master general, studying the poetry
Of troop movements, and artillery strikes
Knows where to send his troops
So they can die for the cause
And be hailed as heroes, not murderers.
The pilot of this plane
is losing control, his Napalm payload
may or may not be hitting the 'Cong below
His mind (and his commander) shrieks "burn the trees!"
the trees are but ash.
In War, there is no symmetry,
no beautiful dance of life and death
no heroes or victors; all there is
is mud, blood, fire
TMS-The Prophecy FulfilledTMS-The Prophecy Fulfilled6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Looking back across the years
Having nothing to hold in the present,
Draws one to look back in longing.
Perspective of the past shifts from what it ought to be
Instead of seeing legacy, one sees halcyon days
That are gone.
Looking back across the years
We've had joy, we've had tears.
I cant help but cry in this telephone conversation,
I cant help but anything, because Ive not the last jot of strength.
Tears stream and my voice cracks more
Than the weak signal of my fathers voice,
And he says
I want to run to you right now.
But he doesnt just give words of desperation,
He gives words of the Word.
And its in this moment that the prophecy is fulfilled.
Not a triumph of strength, not a powerful,
The armour is first and foremost to stand.
Before my eyes as my father tells of the Armour of God,
I see myself, clothed in golden armour,
Like the Helm of Hador,
Know that Ive not
Muse Song Titles.Showbiz: Fail to show you're out of business.Muse Song Titles.6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
Your skin is red with a painful sunburn that seems to want to last forever. It has been overexposed to the neon lights that insistently buzz above you as your day's hours slip by silently. You'd like to turn them all off, those wretched lights. You remember that soft yellow light that used to caress your young face as you sat reading a book filled with fairy tales. But those days are long gone. You have no time left to dream, you read only news, reports and bills, and the neon lights have infiltrated all your rooms. They save energy. They save energy and don't waste it. But what of your energy? They have drained yours. They feed on yours.
Your muscles feel sore and stiff because each day you repeat the same gestures. You sit. You reach. You type. You type. You check the time. You shake cold hands. You rub your eyes. You can't reverse the effects, your musc
WMD-HaitiWMD-Haiti6 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
On the shores of the destitute isle,
Gasping on salt-water
That sickens and thus refreshes,
Drast pants and slumps.
His stolen freighter has found no port,
It stirs, as beached as he is,
Clutching at purpose when the hell
Has broken forth.
Had taken hold of this land,
And new waves of bloodshed and poverty
Those deeds that he hated, hates,
Have surmounted the island of Hispaniola.
Even as broken as this,
Lurching and stumbling,
His voice is loud enough to call
To flee to his staked-claim-shore,
Clamber desperately and with great thanks upon the ship,
Whilst his fearsome visage,
Once called the Face of Fear,
Holds back the marauding troops.
A new feeling seizes him, standing there,
Exhausted and barely still believing in his cause:
In that heart turned aflame by hatred,
The seams undo and the compassion that by mastery too weak for conquest
Had sent that hatred to destroy worthy enemies,
Sloshes, ungainly in its newborn movement
Cover Version: He WishesIf I had the treasures of the hidden heavens,Cover Version: He Wishes7 years ago in Other More Like This
Their silken spirit, their whipped-up cloud,
Forged by light itself (imbued with all colour)
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
All of the drapes of the sky,
Twilight through the blue that lets the stars speak,
The clothes of dawn, the diadem of the moon
If I had them, then I'd pull them down
To place beneath your feet, love, as you deserve:
Yet I, so poor of spirit, so lacklove,
All I have are dreams (not stolen from kings, but merely my own);
So in the stead of the heavenly velvet, I lay down these,
For your path.
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
LongingI want the Renaissance of LoveLonging2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the Age of Aquarius promised us.
I want to understand humanity
and ask you to take my hand when needed.
I want your hand
when I may desire the same.
I want prejudice to die
on the Altar of Compassion
while we walk arm-in-arm
without inhibition or shame,
a Love-In of not just tolerance,
but real acceptance.
My deepest desire is the reawakening
I want to end my vanity
to see what really matters.
I want a mature mind
with a young outlook.
I want to awaken refreshed each day,
and rest reassured each night.
I want to find myself by looking inward
rather than search the world in vain.
I want to accept responsibility and blame
if that’s what it takes to live honestly.
I want a revival of Love
we have all awaited for so long.
I want justice
for its own sake.
I want elections that give
a choice of politicians who will
“reach across the isle,”
instead of ridicule and polarize.
I want America to find its backbone
to stand against brutality
Cloud in a Bottle 1Cloud in a Bottle 1Cloud in a Bottle 12 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
How is it your voice is a canyon which cuts
where you did not even speak, opening the rivers
of my lungs so they could cataract, could rage with breath
you breathed? That the rock swells of your ribs, washed
round and floating, met then barred the way with mine
so that my heart, turned to tides, could not slip by,
and beat against the walls, unanswered, ‘til it drowned?
And that I still don’t hate you, even now?
There’s all this nonsense of lips and bubbles, that’s fine;
still refuse drifts in one direction all the same, refusing—
shored up maybe by some reassuring echoes still unsung—
to sink, so like an opened blouse colored by brine, my hope
finds refuge at the highest point, and lays itself unlocked
on barren sand to fade, suffuse with light, the way all things
in the desert turn finally, achingly white.
preludesi.preludes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
blue rose into the city backdrop
like balloons, a million for the
morning sun prelude.
i've not slept a dream
but i have cried a salty face
and letters spilled like beans
into my moleskine,
almost as virgin as i once was
with few stories between my covers.
the kettle's belly boils
like my head upon a pillow.
i am guilty for rarely finishing my tea
even when i use the small mugs;
pour, rinse, repeat.
perhaps today i will play dead.
perched behind my blinds
it dawns on me that i am surrounded
by walled neighbours, strangers,
they're just preludes to lovers
the way i am always
prelude to the one.
Love SongOh, if I lent my light to the stars, could you then find your way?Love Song7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
With the waves crashing at a romantic pace, tell me: will we
See beauty throughout our infinite resolution, or is this just my delusion?
Could the magic last long enough for me to see nature in your eyes?
I have dreamed of silver rain and mountain panes, but yet I seem
To stay stranded at the peak I have come so far to uphold
Maybe if I wrote you a love song, the melodies would win your heart;
Oh, and then my lasting lyrics would defy fate and pull it apart
And then mend our connection into something better and pure
the trouble isi'd like life to bethe trouble is2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
quiet and lovely
like distant church-bells
chiming through snow,
muted by the smell of
an old book and the
feel of a fire warming
me into my chair, and
a mug of tea, steeping
the moment in hushed
gratitude, easily in reach.
InAVoiceSoSoftItNeverWasHeardInAVoiceSoSoftItNeverWasHeard10 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Daydreaming as I do, sinking, blushing in my bed alone
with phantom embraces and vaporous liaisons,
never at full grips with your absence but gladly in your desire;
I whisper "God" because I found her in you.
Unstable hours mount, dedicated to you;
so do I count our instances one by lonely one.
I spend these days on you and I alone
and purchase many nights in solitary.
I've spoken all my written words,
wrapped finely, tuned to our inevitable song.
And though a pallid star could be everything I am
I burn most insatiably, uncontrollably, when I am burning for you.
To catch the future in your eyes,
pensive fantasy must never realize
the tear blurred rays come from infant dreams,
of newborn plans and undeveloped things.
And I can only cradle thorns so sharp.
I can only give to you what, in giving, I do not
sever fragile threads that guide,
or pick apart the flower in which my love has now confide.
I'll curtail you as your wander-lust
pulls you ever from my side,
dodging my love as awkward