ZephyrB
Poetry for me has recently become a medium by which to express myself. I find great joy in the discipline of verse, and love to take inspiration from the work of others. / / I am from London, born and raised- though I have lived in Tanzania for a bit and wish to really explore my options. Like most around my age I consider myself really deep and broody, so i revel in the opportunity to figure out I'm not the only one
Sometimes when I feel blue,
I like to sit and write
Just for a moment or two,
Knowing not what to say
I dawdle,
Gently passing on the day.
The words never quite align
To the continuous churning
Of my great design.
So I sit down and think
to equate this all
to ink.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:29 AM UTC
Young and bold he leaped forth,
With the power of youth at his back.
For he was the inheritor of this world
So, willingly he would attack.
Spurred on through the tales of past,
His was the passion of fire,
Deep into the world he charged fast,
Such was his burning desire.
Moving with purpose and haste
He drove forth with ambition and need,
Complete was his care not to waste;
For he was totally freed.
He stumbled, fell and stumbled more
Held by the tacit complicity of life:
He had marched through Hell's great door.
Emerging was his great strife.
He had tossed the key to his lock,
Hurled it away through his greed;
Now was this great block-
Stammering and starting to bleed.
Dark were the storms of his mind,
Festering in loathsome obsession,
Entranced by memories entwined-
Disfigured through utter suppression.
Hollow and totally coarse,
The light that shone brighter than all
Now flickered in total remorse,
Not answering to his previous grand call.
Though through darkness comes light,
Bound by the laws of accession,
So he would not be consumed by the night,
Nor bound by any great depression.
Life is but totally strange;
So he rose up and bowed around
Destined for some great change-
For his was soon to be found.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
“Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain”
- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy
Clawing at the cages of this most abdominal confine,
The twisted pulp of bitterness and confusion screams.
Upstairs lies consumed, engulfed in the comfort of self-obsession,
Whilst the walls shake and collapse with the splendour of Jericho passed.
The corruption of the temple is absolute.
Though, the officiousness of the disguise is haunting;
None put forth to rid this virus of the domain-
For it is allowed to fester. Curious be the work of the Despoiled.
Just as Lucifer: son of the morning,
We are misguided into the obsession of control;
For there is none to hurl us into this accursed damnation
Except for the selves.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 3:44 AM UTC
The lonesome oak sits, forlorn.
Knowing that it too has been trapped in the illusion
Of movement. Yet this is our curse,
We as the living cannot move through this confounded confusion,
We do as we must to survive and then cease as quickly as we started.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
To the tree which falls with no one to hear it,
To the soul which passes with no one near it
Life is but the passing of events;
A single thread in the myriad of webs.
We live and act as we do- moving singularly...
Forward as does the stream which gargles and ebbs.
We flail blindly in the dark for the promise of the sea-
that image of beauty and of peace,
Yet, just as the blind man, we are lost- weaving and
Winding our ways with an uncertainty which never leaves.
"When the heart is full, the tongue will speak".
I find this more true than ever.
I am destined to wonder blind, though embrace it
I must, for freedom will be mine forever.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
I itch and scratch
but cannot catch,
in time to watch him flee;
this ****** awful mozzy-
how he's mocking me!
I strike out hard, intending harm.
Christ! little mozzy, not my ****** arm!
Oh little mozzy, for you shall rue,
for now 'tis I
who shall be hunting you!
I grab the spray
and with it pray
to get him back.
So, now little mozzy,
it is I who shall attack.
Aha! look little dead mozzy,
I told you, you would see.
Now you are dead, mozzy, right on my floor.
Wait! what is that I hear?
Surely, mozzy, you did not bring any more?
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
There is that space that is forever ours.
We were the bold. Though, little did we know
that to break free of the countless lost hours
we had to set ourselves free. To show
The world that we were strong! That strength
we found, though at what cost?
Have the love torn years been stretched to such length
that we are hardened? Are we lost?
To live, love, laugh- this is the goal;
yet we lived, loved, laughed and still we wanted
more. The strength of solitude has drilled a hole
through the unity of partnership. I am haunted
by the limitations of my freedom. I cannot hold,
nor be held. My new found power has
exposed my old weakness. I miss being told
of a time yet to come; where as
one we would conquer the failings of
the generations lost before us. Maybe their
cynicism is right? We have the naivety of
youth- the hardness of age, yet we lack the care
and wisdom that comes with it. Yet through all
this, I feel the strength of your calm:
your loss is but temporary- to crawl
before the walk, so none more shall cause you harm.
So, to my fallen angel, I cry "Stand!
Taste the air of happiness". Your time has begun;
you are free from the shackles of my hand,
for soon, my dear, you shall be more than one.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC