Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Apr 4 BobbyJMoss
Bryan
The ground
Is coming fast now.
I can see it
Looming over me.

Maybe if it hits hard enough
I'll be buried
And I can stay there.
 Apr 4 BobbyJMoss
Helen
fabric

became mutual agreement

enough to make us silently lie.
connection begins,
where fear ends.
don't be afraid to put your creativity out there!
Nature, nature, dear sleek, bland nature;
Thou art the very love I seek,
The very art when my soil's weak,
The lifeless grass that clearly speaks,

Nature, nature, my feverish, sweet bland pasture;
Look at but the greasy grass around thee,
And take a glimpse of the soul in me,
Console my tears through my poetry,

Nature, nature, the witness of joys and sorrows;
With thou gone, life matters no more,
All shalt be dead like ever before,
Dead before the sight of lonely hours,

Nature, nature, my sweet grand nature;
This idyll, like my undying past love,
More promising than the Unseen above,
A love and a hate, a tear and a smile,
Whose charms made me giggle for a while,

Nature, nature, canst but thou see the poet in me;
Buried deep down in my febrile sanctuary;
A silent place my love shan't ever know;
A delight only to me, and my wordless tomorrow.

Nature, nature, I am dying in my delirium;
Looks like I'm daydreaming again,
That the whole world is but a small poem,
That looms and grows over today's rain.

Nature, nature, but that's the daydreams of a poet;
That the world's skin is covered in soot,
And so is its arrogant roots,
That once severed and soaked my foot.

And so I hate it with all might;
Long for it to fly off my sight;
During the tremblings of the nights;
And the fury of our tight winds.

Oh nature, once my sweet old friend;
I hath lost my conscience again,
And thou, once handed to me a blanket,
Ah, that doth thou remembereth?

Nature, nature, my darling old candle;
Who awoke me with handfuls of sweet kisses;
But hath now died and is not smiling again;
A rival that was ostentatiously a friend.

Nature, nature, my ceremonious old light;
Thou shalt steal me at the end of the night;
There is a shade behind the fruits of yon twilight;
Thou shalt hide there, and astound me with fright.

Nature, nature, words and blandishments down the line;
This diabolical and conscious soul of mine,
I hath been lifted into a turbulent state,
Where all is unfair and against such fate.

Nature, nature, beyond thee I cannot see;
Beyond whose all seems brown and futile;
Despite their tremendous originality;
All is bland to such physical rigidity;

Nature, nature, ah, why all tranquil hath gone;
I travel in agony by myself alone,
I, a poet, in whose heart are scars,
From parting with my love's nuptial stars,

And on whose departure, nothing was to stay genial;
At whose goodbyes I couldst not stand cordial;
Him, whose laughter had been kind pleasantry,
And poetry, whom I'd wanted to wander here with me.

Nature, nature, in t'is whose bloodied sight I set off alone;
By my ears playing a deformed old song;
Into the world my poet's soul shan't ever be married;
To whose souls I'm just a myth, a wicked soul intoxicated;

Nature, nature, to whom I am just a pile of debris;
That be torn by one easy leap,
A breathless snap and clouded mutiny,
And none be left, of me and my poor poems.

Nature, nature, beyond these waning northern gales;
Still there is no more than the pale,
Perhaps our past is like those of untold tales,
Like that of Wayne, a dear from cold Wales.

Nature, nature, but I shall be back;
A ship journey's awaiting me by the red sack,
And I shan't be prone to their hatred,
I shan't be deterred, nor get hurt,

Nature, nature, these storms grow insolent outside;
Mocking my indolent soul and black hair;
Streaming down my warm yellow skin;
Surging up my generous pink spleen;

Nature, nature, and the suns shield me no more;
'Tis the cold and white that matter,
Not even an umbrella for my frost,
All of us here are shattered and lost,

Nature, nature, I am roaming like a foul ghost;
With all the dirt of humanity on my face,
And all their sins I hath vastly borne,
But they are gone, and I screech in cold, alone,

Ah, nature, and now that thou hath deleted me too;
Like a pianist rejected by his own songs,
Which he hath, and hath been doing for long,
With a violin that knows not what true fame looks like;

Nature, nature, it loves only those insincere;
Who are too hard and dark on their own hearts;
With congested hate loathed by calm scripture;
A music that they shan't notably dance.

Nature, nature, and listen to once more;
All is dark and I hath only thee have left,
I am suffered by t'is sleepless haze,
Entranced only by whose sightless grace,

But ah, if thou hath disgraced me too;
If to thee that no inspiration a poet canst give,
I may divorce thee and soon shall leave;
I shalt again embrace my long-lost oppositions;

For I shalt be hurt should thou disgrace me too;
Like a long corpse plainly dismembered,
Like a painting whose colours hath waned,
Like a spirit that hath fainted;

Like a touch of grey, bitter oblivion;
Like an angry pompous heart and vision;
Like a severely wounded wisdom;
Like a battered rainbow in its gloom;

And after dusk I shalt emerge again;
With a vain anger, as cruel as crystals;
Being reborn as an immortal star;
I shalt tear thee and thy hearts apart;

Ah, nature, and with the whole world too fishy and foul;
Where but I seek to find the poet of my soul,
And as all embrace turns to grow cold,
Whilst dawn is the hate of my enemy,

Nature, nature, and with a plain laughter so clear,
Still they speak of me with hate;
Like thou wert once unjust to me,
Unlike the very God I could see,

Nature, nature, once my friend nature;
Thou too loathe me for evermore,
For I must go, and calm my self alone,
Treat my ill by the summer's murdered song.

— The End —