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.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Pale Flower
A love poem.
Pale Flower
The moon could shine,
and fail when reflecting your skin.
The petals of a rose,
could look dilapidated against you.
If I touched your face,
will it's fragility shatter under my touch.
Would I be left holding air,
wishing your form lay within my arms.
Your delighted laughter,
has enthralled my senses.
But when I whispered your name,
would it fade into the wind?
I long to feel your heart's beat,
to hear it fade into mine,
and melt into placid warmth.
A utopia in comforting embrace.
My fingers could thumb passed your chin.
Laying in quiet prayer,
in hopes you wouldn't crumble
beneath my entropic caress.
The moon stares in contemptible envy,
its reflection upon the water.
Casting hateful eyes,
it weeps in jealous rage.
If rain fell against your visage,
could I wipe the tears away.
Might I shield you from the moon,
keeping your mirage to myself.
Your pale reflection spoke,
that the bodies on the horizon cried,
craving for you to return to them.
But your voice spoke no.
The glint in your eyes,
put stars to shame.
Stolen away in my arms,
we can disappear into the night.
But as I felt your warmth,
your features faded with their decadence.
Please, don't away from me,
just let the skies wait a minute longer.
Pale Flower
The moon could shine,
and fail when reflecting your skin.
The petals of a rose,
could look dilapidated against you.
If I touched your face,
will it's fragility shatter under my touch.
Would I be left holding air,
wishing your form lay within my arms.
Your delighted laughter,
has enthralled my senses.
But when I whispered your name,
would it fade into the wind?
I long to feel your heart's beat,
to hear it fade into mine,
and melt into placid warmth.
A utopia in comforting embrace.
My fingers could thumb passed your chin.
Laying in quiet prayer,
in hopes you wouldn't crumble
beneath my entropic caress.
The moon stares in contemptible envy,
its reflection upon the water.
Casting hateful eyes,
it weeps in jealous rage.
If rain fell against your visage,
could I wipe the tears away.
Might I shield you from the moon,
keeping your mirage to myself.
Your pale reflection spoke,
that the bodies on the horizon cried,
craving for you to return to them.
But your voice spoke no.
The glint in your eyes,
put stars to shame.
Stolen away in my arms,
we can disappear into the night.
But as I felt your warmth,
your features faded with their decadence.
Please, don't away from me,
just let the skies wait a minute longer.
What is Human
I wrote this to highlight the struggle with changing ones social role...among other things. It is a view on being a human, and how life is fleeting, and too fleeting to be wasted on climbing ladders.
What is Human
Born in the flesh we die in,
we can't change ourselves like suits.
But surely we change our minds,
as frequently as we change shoes.
When lacing all laces,
strapping all straps,
please realize, life isn't a two faced
nor a sickly trap.
From diapers to canes,
finger paint to forgetting our own names...
we lay searching for a reason,
from the cradle to the grave.
E plurubus unum,
is a confusing lie
that leaves us with a fleeting sense,
we belong with eac hother until the day we die
Regardless of past deeds,
we will always bit the hand,
that reaches down, gifts, and feeds...
only to anger when we have naught.
To the dark we all gather alone,
searching finitely for meaning.
But meaning is the same, despite what we believe,
we are merely searching for life's sweet reprieve.
What is Human
Born in the flesh we die in,
we can't change ourselves like suits.
But surely we change our minds,
as frequently as we change shoes.
When lacing all laces,
strapping all straps,
please realize, life isn't a two faced
nor a sickly trap.
From diapers to canes,
finger paint to forgetting our own names...
we lay searching for a reason,
from the cradle to the grave.
E plurubus unum,
is a confusing lie
that leaves us with a fleeting sense,
we belong with eac hother until the day we die
Regardless of past deeds,
we will always bit the hand,
that reaches down, gifts, and feeds...
only to anger when we have naught.
To the dark we all gather alone,
searching finitely for meaning.
But meaning is the same, despite what we believe,
we are merely searching for life's sweet reprieve.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Sands Mask Democracy
I asked a question to people, "What is Freedom?" They gave me answers that only reflected in the fact that they do not know what freedom really is, nor understand what it's like to be stripped of it. TRUE, I do not know personally, but I will not take my limited freedom for granted. "THEY" represents...well..a lot of things.
Sands Mask Democracy
What is freedom?
Can we believe the callous lies,
that taper the wistful dreams?
Children grow into hypnotized zombies.
They sit behind desks claiming peace,
yet flags still lay in smoldering remains.
The ashes were danced upon to the songs of hate.
Detracted wills, spread ignorance.
Soldiers occupied a foreign land.
Their remains boxed and package,
like the mass producing machine.
Boxed and shipped out, their return broken.
Orphans asking for food,
go ignored beneath your skyscrapers.
Money can buy weapons and flashy comfort.
Glass and metal built on tears of famine.
Did you forget the look in their eyes?
The ones you trampled upon,
reached up with agonized looks.
They were kicked down by your militias.
Body armor dispersed instead of bread.
The value of full bellies less than bullets.
Shell casings lay riddled in the earth,
starving babies crying for food piercing beyond gunshots.
Oil shipped in barrels,
drained from the earth in a wake of bodies.
The lifeblood of war sought more victims,
as the rich grew richer, lives became less plentiful.
If they refused to take from the needy,
they were branded as traitors.
A collective clouded greed in democracy.
Intentions are only as good as what you can take.
Overthrowing tyrants masked new dictators,
hoping to grub in black gold.
They toppled regimes with expedited promises,
yet sons return in caskets.
We all know the mission is completed,
people fearful to live are truly at peace.
Uncle Sam's guiding hand has ensured freedom's march,
as he lined his pockets black.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Daybreak
I have kinda gone back to my doomsday style writing... mah b. I have been working on some hopeful nice things, but the words haven't come together just yet.
Daybreak
The night rises against a stark back drop.
Spare them the excuses and justification.
When the bombs fell,
there was no such courtesy.
Children cried at their mother's breast,
begging for the scraps of nourishment,
and being fed by resignation.
Their bellies are bloated, hunger for truth.
We are enslaved,
by the repetitious cycles.
Vicious fervor they all cried,
"Torment, Torment."
Feet wore blisters as protection,
from the ground of mines
that brought embers to their pilgrimage.
A journey without peace.
Shelter was the comfort,
that was found within the lining of a coffin.
Powerlessness lay at the wife's feet,
tyranny as a widow maker.
Equality put heads to a stake,
their mouths screaming for atonement.
It's always so fair to everyone,
save some, more fair than you.
Crumbled schoolhouses,
where children no longer played
were left to corrode in the sand.
A new era of ignorance on the horizon.
When the sun finally rose,
shown only the smoldering remains of hope.
A silence that rolled hush through deserts
once alive with temperance and faith.
Tears were all that was left to shimmer,
in the burning sunlight.
Scathed by the brightness of luster -
innocents disappeared into the glare.
Daybreak
The night rises against a stark back drop.
Spare them the excuses and justification.
When the bombs fell,
there was no such courtesy.
Children cried at their mother's breast,
begging for the scraps of nourishment,
and being fed by resignation.
Their bellies are bloated, hunger for truth.
We are enslaved,
by the repetitious cycles.
Vicious fervor they all cried,
"Torment, Torment."
Feet wore blisters as protection,
from the ground of mines
that brought embers to their pilgrimage.
A journey without peace.
Shelter was the comfort,
that was found within the lining of a coffin.
Powerlessness lay at the wife's feet,
tyranny as a widow maker.
Equality put heads to a stake,
their mouths screaming for atonement.
It's always so fair to everyone,
save some, more fair than you.
Crumbled schoolhouses,
where children no longer played
were left to corrode in the sand.
A new era of ignorance on the horizon.
When the sun finally rose,
shown only the smoldering remains of hope.
A silence that rolled hush through deserts
once alive with temperance and faith.
Tears were all that was left to shimmer,
in the burning sunlight.
Scathed by the brightness of luster -
innocents disappeared into the glare.
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