From deepened abyss
With lights slowly twinkling
Above as Below
Knows only Darkness
Into the Fray the Bold and True.
Into the Hells wrought by Angels.
Into the the sound of thunder crashing;
crashing on the Eastern shore.
The Earth is railed at their wake.
Through sound and arms they strike as none.
And have awoken a peace seen aloof;
the World is united against the storm.
For centuries the land has quaked.
Histories have been made upon those dunes;
those dunes that make the Eastern shore.
For on those shores, the black gold prospers.
Guns and Oil have been no stranger to Mother Earth.
Surely she coughs at each puff.
But of that pain
is for another time.
Today the journey continues,
the never ending quest to soak a land
with the red of a nation grim,
and strike fear in those that would follow.
Who is to say,
which aim is true?
Should the giant bow to the snake?
or should the snake make still his woeful fangs
Against an enemy so dear.
One can triumph against many!
That is their call.
Yet time and again,
their cries have adorned our halls
We strike as one, with s
TeachersI met a woman, long ago, her spirit bold, her skin so fair, yet her past, a tale untold.
I saw her through the blackest night, a night that still evokes a seeded fear.
How could I have been such a fool, may the Gods strike me so bold!
She took my heart and stamped it out, rend asunder, and took to flight.
Left me broken, this I know, I still can grasp her scent in wind so foul; it grips my soul.
Truly, I lay upon my back, gazed at stars; I would see the moon burn red; may Love be brought down low, for I lay forsaken here.
I took her by the hand, I comforted her deepest fears and banished them unto the void.
She led me to believe, that I was only One, Bold and spoken for, it was all a lie.
I swore in two tongues, and then a third, I would see the day fall dim, should I wake from this ill dream, may I never be so bold.
Time went on, and I healed my broken heart.
Then as if the Gods heard me, They sent an Angel to renew my Flame, and I found myself, a Man again.
She basked in my words, to
So soon does the page end.
So soon does my ink dry out;
spread so thinly as my soul,
yet the words that I doth writ
gleam as bright as hidden gems.
Sought from this world;
I hid in shame.
I found a power
So great and unimaginable;
A diamond mine, I struck
And thus did these words flow
Verses, psalms, and notes profound;
Within me, birthed a new sound.
At once did I discover;
I took to page and writ these words,
Lashed from bone
and penned in blood;
Great truths did I proclaim.
I called to others;
Writers dim and great alike.
Artists both unknown and famous;
all sought out
To share what I had uncovered
A gift and blessing to all who read.
May they find the strength here
that eluded them all their years.
May Truth exalt our souls,
As we all seek fame
To make us feel, truly accomplished.
I danced my pen across the cello’s strings
I twitched the chords of an angelic harp
I sang a song and angels found it bright
Lifted me up, from this darkne
Should madness grace me here this night,
I’ll sever pen from this eerie dusk light.
And mark the note, so clear, with angel flight,
To hear the song, of divine and ancient might.
I’ll pause my quill and rest my ears
on a chord that sings, sublime, away my fears.
Through all my hopes and dreams, I’ll fade away with joyful tears
At Heavenly choir, that draws me ever near.
I can see Hell; no more, and now unclear...
My path before me, alit with thoughts and wings.
These songs I hear, from darkened hymns and choral beams;
I am ripped apart at the seams,
by tunes and visions that haunt my dreams,
and visit me upon my waking eyes, dear ‘oh me, I’ve won the prize
A great gift, this maddened pen,
that etches psalms across the minds of men.
And tears from them their slumber deep;
turns them into the humble and the meek.
By grace is given, these haunting visions;
at once they plagued me, now they only visit
and dote upon me wise; greets me with gifts and n
On Temple GroundOn Temple Ground
Oh sacred Ground,
thy Earth is pure,
thy song is gold;
as the diamond of the world.
Oh holy site
now marked by stars, all alight,
your presence is graced
by Her divine steps,
Of which she made
of her own accord.
Her resplendent song;
A golden voice
as pure as the swan
that blessed the Eternal Pond.
A majestic Temple
Built on holy rock,
With brick and stone, taken from afar
and carried to this place; delight,
My home will open to all.
I hear the wind
from Her lips.
Her name is pure;
I dare not utter it aloud.
Yet She is known
by all great Muses.
She arrives in Dreams
etched from immortal seed,
Thy shall bask in song and brew.
Merry are those days
That lifted me from my descent,
Her faithful tune,
Carried me from darkest Hell.
Upon her bosom
I rest my crown
She soothes me still
with her divine image.
She sings to me a song;
well played on lute so rare.
Without Her blessing,
I could not prevail.
Without Her guidance,
My step would surely falter.
I thank Her now, with this
There are many sights that I have seen,
Upon the pebbled road,
Upon the simple path,
Yet none can compare
To the sight of my soul,
Empty and Alone.
I use to think
That I was meant to be alone.
Now I am sure of it.
But it no longer bothers me.
I use to cry,
Alone in the dark;
Without a guiding hand,
Rent from Angels light.
I use to cry alot,
Now I am still.
As a stone within a pond,
Immersed in sorrow,
Yet unmoved or unshaken.
What have I become?
I don’t feel like I use to.
My Heart is cold.
I muse about the noble woman,
who may yet rekindle,
A broken, soft Heart.
And here I stand,
After the long road,
Upon the precipice .
A new chapter awaits;
I remember my Father.
I think of my Mother.
This journey has been for them
as much as it is for me.
I remember my Fathers wisdom:
“The road is endless.”
I hear my Mothers words:
“You are not alone.
Angels love thee.”
I wish that I could
feel their grace upon my soul.
I feel sickened
that I c
In WantIn Want
How great my desire,
How fortunate my soul.
To sit here at chapters end,
And bask in glory whole.
I cannot believe,
The luck bestowed
upon my able mind,
and failing body.
To me I make this vow,
that once I win the day,
All shall bow
before my unconquerable soul.
And once the day is won,
I will reap my Fathers wishes,
and make his dreams
an ever waking reality.
I shall find a home,
for what is left
of us, too few in number,
yet great with score.
We shall revel in our glory,
and wonder at our joyous luck,
but the embers of chance shall fade
only to reveal
Twas Fates hand and not lady luck.
That played their part so great.
The Calm - An Anariarch MusingThe Calm - An Anariarch Musing
If one sits upon a stone so calm, if one glances far up above, they might see feathers, rent from angel wings so bright; I have seen such a sight. A single feather brings peace so clear. A single thought, spreads a message so profound; very deep, I find them still. Floating above a pond, or flowing amongst a river. Stuck on a branch, or among the roses; once I saw a Feather in my Tea, its fluff shining through the morning mist, as a lighthouse amidst high cliffs. I sit in my kitchen, about me there are herbs and spices, an aroma here and there, even incense puffs from a stalk, fastened to a holder, as wise as time. There are plants that perk the eyes and give amusing blooms. Flowers spread their pollen; my nose is stalwart at their scent, never sneezing yet at once allured. Peace come to my mind; I sip my tea, it is very fine. My House is clearly divine.
Beyond this table, at which I sit, behind me lie two open doors, a gateway to my Garden. But with this
Ancient Conquerer - An Anariarch TaleAncient Conquerer - An Anariarch Tale
If ever there was a time, to put in writ these thoughts of mine, now is the hour, for mine enemies flee and cower; With this sign I have conquered. Truth and musings, this I speak, from tongue once wicked, now humble, thus, meek. With ancient bread, and simple wine, I partake this of mine this night. And should my soul decide, this very night to take deep flight, I shall travel very far, and bring glad tidings; there is no need to spar. My pen is gentle by eerie light, caressed by a moon lit star, I shall write great words, with strength and might.
Of the road behind, I speak in solemn verse; the thought of it does fully immerse. Myself, I am marked and scarred, wounded, yet still I march on. I was not always this brave, it was not always that my head looked above. Often, I would be found in the Pit, blacken as Oil, crying out as a misfit; truly I say. The demons would sometimes win the day. Yet night and sleep does not end the road; dreams as whis
look at the clouds todaywhen i met you, i stopped writing. i also stopped waking up to a face full of post it notes saying things like its bad luck to see the woman before the driving test, or my house smells like apple cider and bluebottles have eyes, or i've got static in my arms. i stopped feeling sorry and i stopped falling down the stairs. i noticed the stars at night could have a story and you could have taken the ocean and put it in your eyes. i also stopped writing.
when i met you, i stopped trying to be a nice person and just was. when i met you, i discovered post it notes and then i couldn't use them. i realised my house was not just a picture of a house and that your silence is so loud and my loud is so quiet. when i met you, i stopped writing and i cut star shapes into my blanket because i couldn't reach the sky, even with a ladder.
when i met you, i traced the map of your bones and filled my hands with yours because i stopped writing. i also stopped walking backwards because i noticed that i coul
Broken HeartDo you love?
Do you hate?
Do you stop to appreciate?
The feelings someone has for you?
The things that keep you from being blue?
Have you loved?
Have you lost?
Have you tried no matter what the cost?
Do you love her?
Does she love you?
Will you ever find out if it is true?
Have you loved while taking hate?
Is it she who doesn't appreciate?
Are you lost?
Are you confused?
Is it all leaving your heart bruised?
Is it real?
Is it faking?
Is it my heart that's slowly breaking?
Does it hurt?
Does it kill?
Does it make you never want to heal?
A broken heart is a great deal.
A broken heart may never heal.
Unpainted RealityMy brain is sick.
It only thinks of twisted things.
Like how we burn our eyes out,
And we rip our wings.
And then we sit in the dark,
Staring blankly at each other.
Our eye-sockets bleeding,
On a wounded brother.
Then we kneel down,
Praying to the sun.
Hoping things get brighter;
But we don't know what we've done!
We take our tongues out,
We scar them with razors.
Spitting every blade
Across other people's faces.
And if you start feeling,
My words are getting dark;
I'm just painting pictures
But you are making them stark!
And now you feel dead;
Surreal in your mind.
So listen to this preacher,
From the land of the blind.
I am not British nor am I English,
I am a member of the planet earth.
My skin is black making it hard to distinguish
That I do not belong to any specific turf.
Although my passport may say otherwise
And there may be boxes I am forced to tick.
My Continental ties are instrumental in their eyes.
Just like you, I am vulnerable to stones and sticks.
My hair may be curly and my nose may be wide
But my extremities are bound to any communal cemetery.
If you would be willing to compare a picture of our insides.
You will see that our differences are purely elementary.
Yet you are conditioned to see me as incompatible
And this misplaced backhand is something I can understand.
Even though your judgments are far from factual.
Despite our fathers demands, I will still openly shake your hand.
I may wear trainers and you may wear shoes.
You might like rock music and I might prefer rap and reggae.
My team may win today and your team may lose.
But we both will eat, sleep and
EntrancedI taste acid when
your lips move,
yet I am somehow
by the power you
hold over me;
such a subtle
September 23rd, 2010
Calender ManMy steps
ask me why
dead for a full week.
My arms are x's
and my elbows - checkers.
I only see tomorrow.
I only think about the microwave
when it screams
for me to stop.
My lisp is chewy,
to match the scribbles
speckling my elbows.
My steps are heavy."
Golden Ink and Going BackI thought I was in love with that four-year old red-haired boy
Shining in a silver knight costume with a black dragon sewn on
Because I was in the pink Sleeping Beauty Dress
I was a good Belle, too
(Back when I hadn't picked up a book
Except for the blue one with the golden pages
Brimming with witches and fairies and magic)
I wanted to be a princess, back then
They were the ones who always found love, at the end
I wanted to be Wendy, too
Because she wore a blue nightgown and learned to fly
Now, I'd rather be Peter Pan, honestly
Because he managed to swerve this whole ordeal of growing up
(And maybe a little because of the flying)
Now, I just want to go back
Back when the only kissing I thought about
Was in The Princess and the Frog
And the only houses I had to be weary of
Were houses made of candy
Back when the only disappointment
Was when my parents were too tired to read me a bedtime story
Or when I found out that the real Little Mermaid
Dies by Hans Christian Andersen's hand
Practice Poem - Man In CagePractice Poem - Man in Cage:
When I was young I was taught that pain begets pain,
Anger and animosity, malice and cruelty;
So deeply inflicted, so lovingly gifted.
I tasted of its rotten core and dared to call it sweet.
But what do I have to show for it?
White hot scars that burn in my dreams.
Reminders of a fragmented bi-polar self;
Self inflicted propaganda, to reinforce the "truth".
Truth so lovingly fabricated by a weakness within,
So desperately crying out for vindication;
Openly denying all that might shed light upon me,
Seeking only the company of shades in shadows...
Within four walls I sleep in exile;
Quietly pretending that I am still sane,
Never noticing how it has all turned out;
Alone I remain the same...
Never reaching, never living; I am free within the cage
-Chen Yuan Wen, 1st January 2012