Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sorin Lascu Apr 2019
Eponymous to an eternal spring,
Cranes cry and spread their wings,
In the lake's reflection that freezes time,
My reflection gets ever older, like wine.

As their wings flutter and flutter,
My knees have become soft as butter.
When they come to drink its water,
The lake blesses them with youth again
And as they leave and build their nests,
My reflection ages with unrest.

As I lay my pained back to a willow,
And I sit on the soft ground,
The lake begins to whisper:
"My gift is not for you, my friend
For you are a stranger,
And all my friends that come to visit,
Perhaps once, every year,
They let me know that man is not yet initiated
In the beauty of the song of the wind ."

Enlightened, I lift myself from the ground,
There is only silence. I think I have become deaf,
The wind gently touches my face, in regret,
Again, I stare at my reflection, forever still,
And again, it's getting older, only this time,
It is also getting ill.
This time, under the graceful muse of inspiration, I decided to have an extra character.
Sorin Lascu Jan 2019
All my life I searched for someone to follow,
Which left me feeling a bit hollow.

I long searched for a leader,
One who will not throw away life that is eager,
But like ever-growing  weeds,
Those who know of me, will change their creeds,
And they will give me a taste of power,
Then my ****** mind will be overpowered.

Sooner or later, a partisan I will become,
A small token,  ready to be thrown,
At a poker table of those with power,
Am I brave, or am I a coward?

I share no such ideal,
Nor any desire of power.
As long as wine will be made,
And I have a mouth to drink it,
I want to listen to the birds sing,
And observe as the world is baptized in fire.
A poem about false creeds and false leaders.
Sorin Lascu Aug 2018
Chest pains are starting,
The signs are here again,
Oh dear pain, how I missed you,
You love me in spite of my disdain.

Lead becomes my blood,
My sight becomes a little hazy,
The sun is burning my skin,
But the creek water still feels amazing.
Birds are singing my certain defeat,
Winds accompany the leaven choir,
The stone steps are revigorating,
But my condition remains dire.

Have no mercy, my dear conductor,
I'm not going anywhere.
Running away, after all, seems useless,
If you're in the middle of nowhere.

So let me die,
And let me die some more,
And let my body feed your children,
And sate the thirst of doves.
Sorin Lascu Feb 2018
Snowflakes drawn the curtain,
The wind mutes everything in sight,
I shiver, knowing what is coming,
Whips of frost begin to strike.

My eyes have become mute,
Everything twists in a whirling haze,
The pain does not echo in my heart,
For it has become a burning blaze.

There is no such thing as a phoenix of ice,
Waiting to splendidly be reborn,
As this frozen flame inside of me,
Simply cannot burn.

All that is left to do,
Is to wait for an end to come trough,
Thoughts of light, hopes of fire,
Let them guide my last desire:
Let me die, as many times as needed,
My next life has already been seeded.
Sorin Lascu Jan 2018
In this pleasant, drunken haze,
My senses have sharpened,
I can smell the sandalwood,
And the falling cherry blossoms.

I can hear the water falling,
Under the passage of time,
Too majestic to care or feel,
About the rot in my mind.

I can see the birds are here,
Sparrows, cranes and swallowtails,
They are here, like me as well,
To enjoy this beautiful spectacle.

My wine is almost over,
So I begin to meditate,
Over which path I will walk,
One leads to self-destruction,
The other leads in the dark.
Sorin Lascu Dec 2017
The cold winter wind,
Put you and me together,
Staring at the same bonfire,
With hearts burning like embers.

The landscape is still,
Only you and me animate it,
The grey sky smells like paint,
Tainted by the setting sun,
The bonfire, ever burning...

A wolf howls in the distance,
Of this beautiful, still, painting,
He dares not approach,
Your beauty must not be tainted.

I can go or I can rest,
The choice matters not,
As long as youre here, with me,
The bonfire shall shine on.
Sorin Lascu Dec 2017
The cold cobblestone reminds me,
Of these shackles to which I'm chained,
I was a simple, naive child,
That chose to be in pain.

My back is hurting,
And Im looking forward to the end,
This moss on which I'm sitting,
Is my best and only friend.

A spider rests on my face,
With mercy, he wants to end me,
His bite is warm, merciful and small,
The venom embraces.

Alas, there is no hope in sight,
I let the pain embrace me.
Slowly, eroding my sanity,
I'm waiting, waiting, waiting...
Next page