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Literature
Just so... (edit)
I could fill
the world
with flowers
but that wouldn't
make you happy.
Happiness
is fleeting
at its best
and you
exist somewhere
on that
dark hilltop,
watching
flickering stars,
rising from
a dismal, damp,
Daemmerung
and streetlamps
set into
their forgotten
byways.
Wandering minstrels,
the lost ones,
sing
sadder songs
than most
can bear -
And the world
does not care.I live there
too -
some days,
many nights
when humanity
seems useless
in the vast
panorama
of shattered,
broken-glass
dreams.
Such a
dark mirror
but many pieces
make a whole...
Flowers die
quickly.
They are
meant to -
cut down in
comparitive
youth
but stars
are old.
Streetlamps
...
Literature
Peace
My thoughts plague me,
in the darkest hours
where stars linger above me
while the moon gently shimmers
sometimes hidden behind dark taunting clouds.My worries haunt me,
ghosts of my past dance before my eyes,
trapping me in my own dismal alleyway
afraid to face daylight,
to face my silent fears.My fearless thoughts prod me,
their honesty, alarming
as black and white as the moon and night sky,
cut throat, steadfast and unshakeable
tall, fearless, wise like an old oak tree.My head spins as I torture myself,
fighting with two sides of myself,
teasing my fears into line,
pleading with my inner spirit
hoping to find reason.To find peace.
Literature
Still Here
I love you all
I am so ashamed
I feel your souls
as they twist with rage
I sense the warmth
that you hold so dear
and seek the comfort
that is always near
Soulfully, mournfully
the children moaned.
In the forest as the fire burned.
The hazy day had faded
into a surrealistic dream.
An ancient, scared shroud
covered the world
shielding us from
the darkest deadliest night
We journeyed to the ocean
to hear the white dove's song
Our souls realized our essence
as our bodies died
I love you all
I am so afraid
Just the briefest of looks
then a shallow grave
The bridge was crossed
in the storm that day
Children had come to show the way
This lonely man...
had no more tales to tell
His cold, dead eyes
showed only a vacant, hollow, stare
It’s still here you know
Left behind
Beside the rose
Have you forgotten?
The smell of summer’s rain
Purple clover fields
softly sprinkled
with ginger rays
The palace tower
still gently sways
Awaiting your touch
Awaiting the day
Do not shed a
This poem is a collaborative work between me and EquanimicAtaxia.
Make of it what you will.
(Oh, and if you didn't notice, every 2nd and 3rd large stanza, plus the first triplet, is a piece of a sestina. XD I'm an addict.)
Make of it what you will.
(Oh, and if you didn't notice, every 2nd and 3rd large stanza, plus the first triplet, is a piece of a sestina. XD I'm an addict.)
Mature
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Comments2
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Thanks, Mr. Guy! It's nice to see other RAFians here. 