Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
117 · May 31
Hold On
Rosarlei May 31
Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to deavor or become

The gatekeepers are gone
No one left to man the doors

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to kneel or bestow

In the ritual lies the secret
For endearment to impel

Hold on to your ideas
Hold on to your thoughts
It's not the time yet
For them to flesh out and be burned.
Check out the original multimedia piece here: https://commaful.com/play/rosarlei/untitled-3/
Rosarlei May 31
A Dance of Bliss and Sorrow*

In the beginning there was expectation,
And a curious gaze on the unsuspecting pray.
As the mercurial snake dives into a tickle,
All points are plastered on the firmament, with
A promise of redemption on each and every reflection.

The first inbreath catches the Red Thread
Forever binding you to impress.
Now amidst sworn enemies an emerging stage,
May the meek bow under, be hailed by roses;
Let the nails fly through, build that castle in the sky.

An innocent relief delivers into darkness.
Click, tick, flick of the tongue lights the torch,
And forgotten dreams are fleshed out onto walls.
A dance of bliss and sorrow leaves a story to tell,
By the blind with hope, able to give, willing to see.

Eyes battle the blur as lungs are rescued.
Senses venture beyond known territory.
A voice from the past raises the guard.
What was once cramped is now ready to be honored.
Now in place of threat, nothing but respect.

The primatic eye lies on you as it,
Splits reality into an altar for two.
A restoring gaze carrying dust remains
From across the line of recklessness
Innocence is blazed back on the page.

The unruffled woodland in brimming with life
and yet, no critter in sight.
As the back and forth teasing
Lulls you back into the nigh,
Your life is not yours to ****,
No matter how hard you try.
More often than not you'll give it your best,
Only to realize you left a ****** mess.
But fear not, for with this word
I dub you thee master of swords

Now raise to the fierceful elegance
Who makes weakness barely consequential,
And your gifts only providential.
Be made into the secret
Of the skilled, the persistent,
Who's uncommon kindness,
Brings euphoria to the heartness.
But don't forget to keep me a gentleman,
I would not want to end up wrecked by the shore.
Genesis, Innocence

— The End —