nicholas-laurent
American
After showing promise as a writer at a young age, I took a decade away from writing ANYTHING after high school, suffering from good ol' fashioned ambivalence. Finally buckling down in Feb. '10, I began with a short story titled 'The Inbetween' which was published relatively quickly by Scars Publication and later by Conceit Magazine. Gaining a confidence that shattered that former insecurity, I immediately began work on a full-length novel. Completed in just under six months, I have now begun the daunting and sometimes soul-crushing process of submitting it to agencies. Writing poetry, though, has proven to be very inspiring as it ushers forth the deep recesses of our being, revealing insights that we never knew existed, which are certain to enrich our lives long after we've typed out that handful of words. / / http://nico-laos.blogspot.com/ / http://www.facebook.com/NightvisionReturns / http://www.twitter.com/nic_laurent
Gloating before the unrequited,
We find the dashing, sanctioned, and corrupt.
Their brave hearts undeserving,
Granted only by the conquests of their fathers,
And the favoritism of Nature's *****
There were countless sleepless nights spent amid your memories.
Your cruel indifference, the Nightmare on my chest.
You are unworthy and wretched. Disgraceful and dishonorable.
Unfit and useless. Discordant and dissident.
Your true love is apathy.
And still, despite a noble effort,
I always find my thoughts ...
Returning to you.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
Carried by the noxious scent of unbridled wretchedness,
The thoughts of the masses corrode, upon impact, the ill-prepared,
Summoning the martyrdom of a thousand misguided sheep.
Inside that womb of madness, the absolutes rule,
And the governing law is Us vs Them.
Enlightenment unravels ... piece by ethereal piece,
And the true victims emerge as civility and patience.
In a moment of revelation, laws become clear,
As we meek and meager exchange freedom for protection.
A hive-mind of revolutionaries under the influence, perhaps.
And I can only wonder ...
Where is the queen amid these hapless drones?
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 9:32 AM UTC
Convoluted expressions before the witching hour,
The bewildered and forlorn search for answers.
Nevertheless, the final solution remains at a loss.
Amid the thinning of veils and an orchestra of misty hands,
True objectivity may be witnessed, if only for a moment.
And when questions still go unanswered ...
The bloodied and the broken find their relief
Under the darkened waves of an ethereal ocean.
Not all is lost ....
Feb 5, 2011
Feb 5, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC
A rupturing, promising, hell-bent accolade.
The falling out between lovers ...
And the gut-wrenching fools of this night.
Your time here is almost done.
So cover the light under a paper-thin parasol ...
And the demons are sure to grace the fountainhead.
Still, fear drives us mad.
Laughing amid the distant crashes of emerald rockets ...
And the splitting sides of smiling crocodiles.
Whatever.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 5:28 PM UTC
*The vaulted door.
A secret to shatter your most treasured,
secured, and honored convictions.
The iron lock.
A revelation to unbound you, to uncoil
the creature concealing your true face.
The inflamed key.
A conclusion you never wanted,
yet were unable to seek otherwise.
Freedom.*
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 5:28 PM UTC
A man standing tall; a madman in leather shoes.
With a wave of an unseen hand, with the aid of a pen,
The thoughts and minds of a species are forged.
The beasts teach by doing. The evolved teach by writing.
Yet a word only contains the truth one assigns to it.
So where does honor reside?
Where does that unconquerable and objective
Nobility rest its tired limbs?
Is it found in the ****** of lawlessness?
Or in the temperance of our betters?
Is all certainty lost to them?
With abandoned streets and crowded fears,
The evolved, so different from the beasts,
Look nervously for that that unseen hand.
That hand aided with a pen.
And still,
Safe amid the outer rim,
The beasts look on.
And the proud and evolved accept their blindfolds.
An existence where truth and falsehood ...
Where good and evil ...
Where freedom and imprisonment ...
... Are all just words written by an unseen hand.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 8:14 PM UTC
No one notices the sky's perpetual gray, until you are
covered in ash and gunpowder.
Light is not welcome here, and yet the flames of
burning cities blaze a welcoming path.
Shallow graves and even
shallower hearts. . . .
You were only seventeen
when your role in this battle began.
Dec 31, 2010
Dec 31, 2010 at 5:13 PM UTC
We care for her, brushing her tangled locks, soothing her calloused feet.
And yet, an empty gaze never falters, never flinches.
She remains a stone that never cracks.
To see our deeds firsthand is to peer into a void none could bear to imagine.
We moisten her lips with raindrops. We flex her bones with thunder.
A palm to her chest reveals a faint heartbeat. But what can we do?
There are things a soul cannot unsee.
Things forever etched across the mind's lucid eye.
The cries of ghosts and the laughter of someone else,
As there will always be another.
Another to smile when we frown. Another to rejoice when we fall.
A balance is maintained, and we all struggle for release.
If only her eyes could see that.
She swallows once, quenching her throat with dew from a leaf.
At last, a tear forms as she accepts Fate's design.
The chair fades away, and the canopy is pulled taut.
... Those pinholes twinkle unusual.
We each take a hand, and her eyes gleam with life.
"Follow us, sister. These stars shine for you."
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 6:07 PM UTC
So celebrate with bread and wine,
With meat and lager,
With laughter and song,
And the slippery kiss of that woman,
Eyeing you from over there.
Outside your door ... another awaits.
One who has always been near,
Persuading you with stars.
Promising nothing, yet granting everything.
It is inconceivable,
So I won't even bother.
But with each passing day,
You step closer to that revelation,
Whether by choice or by fate.
And when the door opens for you,
You may find yourself holding a cold hand.
Her skin is stone, unforgiving, and rigid.
Her silent steps follow close behind.
Your shadow. Your mistress.
Regret
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
Wisdom across dried skin, none are remorseful.
Their cries and mine have fallen on deaf ears.
Empires are built by slaves,
And words only endure through flesh.
It seems even knowledge preys upon the weak,
And the suffered are long forgotten.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC