Hey there. I am again to writing...sorry if it seems like I have simply been rapid firing things at a wanton rate. I have four months left in 2012 and it seems to be my most productive year for writing. My only regret is that I feel inadequate with my stuff as of right now. I am planning to do a string of structured poetry again in order to give me a bit more discipline on my respective original works. I dunno...but if any wayfarer happens upon my stuff, please feel free to give me pointers or advice on furthering my advancement. Thanks!
It's kinda like my own free verse/ structure
it has 20 lines, 4 stanzas with a rhyme scheme of:
A,B,A,B
I
C,D,C,D
I
E,F,E,F
I
G,H,G,H
I
We the Dreamers
Signs of a better world,
mustered by an overwhelming fortitude.
The rays of Sun allowed the petals to be unfurled.
And we blossomed from the chains of servitude.
A blank slate.
The waif that wandered into the bitter cold,
mustered the courage to find its way home.
By a hearth and crackling fire to grow old,
the hardships faded into the unknown.
The gift that was late.
The lovers cradled each other,
against all odds their love would endure.
Never would they waver for another,
forever drawn into romance's allure.
They danced a steady gait.
Defeat something unwilling to accept,
their victory shown in gilded streamers.
All promises are intended to be kept.
For we are the dreamers,
those that live to defy fate.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Swan Song
I like to dabble in the thoughts of final acts. Could you hope to create something beautiful out of your last living moment? And even so, would your life be able to speak of the beauty of your time on Earth?
Swan Song
Muted voices hid our acts,
tenuous bridges o'er our hearts.
We are the children,
the ones that dare to dream impossibility.
We oft cling to tentative likeness.
Immortality is naught but fabrication.
When first we begin to walk,
we learn to step backwards with indolence.
From the base clamor of the newborn child,
we learn to seal our true voice within -
a husk that masks identity.
We are the swans without voice,
grasping for ourselves in a conformist sea.
Castles that formed in sand,
were as the schemes of mice and men.
All things must one day end,
but must they be stifled by an unwillingness to go?
Graciously accepting mortality,
they refuse to believe in the bonds of fragility.
Their voices are hoarse,
from crying muted exclamations of delight.
From the fallacy of those believed impervious,
we learn our mistakes are not made alone -
shared within each identity.
We are the swans without a voice,
straining to form the words too late to speak.
The amused sky line,
allowed the stars to shine their brightest.
Heaven hung over,
listening patiently for the call of the returned.
A stone that told that anchored an invigorated heart,
fueled it with the will to continue.
Flames refused to be extinguished,
burning with a determination to rejoice in glorified song.
From the grandeur of enlightened selflessness,
we raised heads in vigorous chorus -
sharing the boundary of heart and soul.
We are the swans without a voice,
hoping our song will echo beautifully through the clouds.
Swan Song
Muted voices hid our acts,
tenuous bridges o'er our hearts.
We are the children,
the ones that dare to dream impossibility.
We oft cling to tentative likeness.
Immortality is naught but fabrication.
When first we begin to walk,
we learn to step backwards with indolence.
From the base clamor of the newborn child,
we learn to seal our true voice within -
a husk that masks identity.
We are the swans without voice,
grasping for ourselves in a conformist sea.
Castles that formed in sand,
were as the schemes of mice and men.
All things must one day end,
but must they be stifled by an unwillingness to go?
Graciously accepting mortality,
they refuse to believe in the bonds of fragility.
Their voices are hoarse,
from crying muted exclamations of delight.
From the fallacy of those believed impervious,
we learn our mistakes are not made alone -
shared within each identity.
We are the swans without a voice,
straining to form the words too late to speak.
The amused sky line,
allowed the stars to shine their brightest.
Heaven hung over,
listening patiently for the call of the returned.
A stone that told that anchored an invigorated heart,
fueled it with the will to continue.
Flames refused to be extinguished,
burning with a determination to rejoice in glorified song.
From the grandeur of enlightened selflessness,
we raised heads in vigorous chorus -
sharing the boundary of heart and soul.
We are the swans without a voice,
hoping our song will echo beautifully through the clouds.
Born to Die
Before you all pass this over before thinking people die. I suppose I write about people dying a lot. Too bad, I suppose. Anyway, I have quite a few new things to post as of late. I wish to move to a better site, but I haven't got a clue where to go...so someone do help me find a new, more trafficked site?
Born to Die
Before we say farewell,
allow last rights scribbled in hope.
Eyes don't have to grow dark,
among a life that refuses to fizzle.
The holes of conundrum cratered faith,
looking to the heavens in inquiry.
Cries echoed into the firmament,
"If is the longest word."
Dancing within a masquerade of conformity,
they swap masks with one another.
Never once can you truly know
those that claim to pull the strings.
Speaking verses that confound the senses,
is this the way we shroud periphery?
The shadows don't merely have to be blindly fumbled through.
Is this waltz spinning chaotically through labyrinths?
Mazes exist to test your limits.
Underneath the rubble a soul can shine brightly,
fighting passed the encroaching end.
A story doesn't have to end meaninglessly.
Foundations crumble with a refusal to bend.
To break is to give in to fate.
Speak insolence through the iron willed,
"Today is not the day we go."
Now we can see the path stretched in obscurity.
Phantoms dance in the concealed notions,
the jesters that play upon your journey.
For every step foreword, infinity pushes you back.
When the night shows the curtain's fall,
questions riddle necessity with the otiose.
There eyes look for answers within that which cannot live nor perish,
never knowing answers lie with the ones born to die.
Born to Die
Before we say farewell,
allow last rights scribbled in hope.
Eyes don't have to grow dark,
among a life that refuses to fizzle.
The holes of conundrum cratered faith,
looking to the heavens in inquiry.
Cries echoed into the firmament,
"If is the longest word."
Dancing within a masquerade of conformity,
they swap masks with one another.
Never once can you truly know
those that claim to pull the strings.
Speaking verses that confound the senses,
is this the way we shroud periphery?
The shadows don't merely have to be blindly fumbled through.
Is this waltz spinning chaotically through labyrinths?
Mazes exist to test your limits.
Underneath the rubble a soul can shine brightly,
fighting passed the encroaching end.
A story doesn't have to end meaninglessly.
Foundations crumble with a refusal to bend.
To break is to give in to fate.
Speak insolence through the iron willed,
"Today is not the day we go."
Now we can see the path stretched in obscurity.
Phantoms dance in the concealed notions,
the jesters that play upon your journey.
For every step foreword, infinity pushes you back.
When the night shows the curtain's fall,
questions riddle necessity with the otiose.
There eyes look for answers within that which cannot live nor perish,
never knowing answers lie with the ones born to die.
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