near gardens tall and winding,
whilst i savoured aphotic tea.
appeared that harrowing boy,
stygian herald bringing destiny.
inside, aside! i cried, i cried,
but none there heard my call.
my path was laid out, though four-fold
it was, before i fell the fall
then awakened from my forty-winks,
to a realm so alien and queer.
and O! the p-pain of my forearm,
known only by my good man Lear.
understand, under i stood!
beneath the sky of a shadow land.
brobdingnag could not compare,
nor calormen in the sand.
time and a time and a time again,
i periled through this epic place.
met mighty men and kings of old,
and stuck leviathan in 'er face!
o weary soul, tired tired tis true.
yet to the end did i hold fast.
til i'd learn't that humble shall be first,
and the first shall inded be last.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
against the turbulent wind
and waves that know no end,
i suppose 'tis good to sail.
guided by ephemeral clouds
all the sea-hosts ask how,
"did you expect not to fail"?
at night will i set to dreaming
and restore myself, for good evening
is merely a farewell to the sun.
with pen in my hand
and bruised heel shall i stand,
unaware of from where
the breeze comes.
Oh! my body it breaks,
against words and mistakes,
and i cry out to curse
the day i drew breath.
and yet i draw on...
but from the water
yes i saw you from the water!
the white wake that ripples
from your chest.
swallowed by a sea of glass
are your prowess and your wrath,
as you are mocked
and cast to the ground.
yet onward does it go
now that you have been laid low,
no woodsman comes
to cut us down.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC