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Dec 2019 · 59
A New Year
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
Today I conclude
the last chapter of my life
but certainly not the final.
And for a moment
the world stood idle...

Contemplating my new future,
I cross the horizon
where retrospect inspires
forward-looking optimism.

My perspective has changed,
tweaked by others' aspirations.
Something grew inside me
by deep introspections
and as the clock ticked further
my resolve became firmer.

It tickles my soul
at how silly it seems
that I was once just
a clueless little seed.
But now I am planted
in the soil of my dreams,
ready to take root
and spring up with the reeds.

My doubts begin to wan
as I rise with a new dawn.
I pause to tell myself
I've no sins to absolve,
I must believe it to be true
to affirm my resolve.
Was a poem written for a new year's contest a long time ago. I thought it would be befitting to dust it off considering how close the new year is now
Dec 2019 · 38
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
you are a blood stain on my conscience
I cannot clean you out of my head
I have washed this mind
a thousand times

and now the water is dirtied with red
sullied with residue
from the tides of time
covering my thoughts with merlot grime

every passion
every pain
rubbed into my grain
adhering to me like glue to dirt
I had picked at the scars until they hurt
all the while chanting
cursing your name
praying to overwrite these thoughts
begging to be brainwashed
Dec 2019 · 30
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
I've been in the rain
I've given others my time
time lost to the chance that being in the open would make me feel as so
would tan my pale demeanor
give my loneliness something to hold
turn my fear to boon

I now hold that that is not the case
for true nature is always an honest monster
how could I be so naive?
was it not the cruel world's air that sent me into hiding?

I should return to my dark comfort
my cave of paranoia
the only friend that always welcomes me
understands my need to be alone
to be fragile in a safe cell
guarded, protected
a perfect excuse
my reason to be recluse
Dec 2019 · 63
God of the Living Dead
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
thrown to the wolves
in the forrest of thorns
they suffered me
grinding teeth along horns
preparing me
speaking in rhyme
"the feast is upon us
so open your mind wide
you've got no soul left to hide"

a secular cage of hell
burning bars of the felled
leftovers from torture
faith in ultimate fate
into which I eliminate
out of which I cannot escape

any meaning
a yolk to me
a burden to you
any purpose
an illness for me
a disease to you

held at the throat
a bloodshot glance upon my eyes
as my love is purged like sin
only whispers reproach
in defensive nature
before I could speak

stone words block my path
words against which I reflect
stumbling in retreat
I run into my pride
my faults chained to my feet

now reaching for peace
preaching for survival
none should be exempt from wrath
a science of certain revival
ultimate God
for which we will fall far from grace
faces planted in filthy disgrace
wrapped in his cold embrace
for now we walk at Death's pace
I have a fear of death that prompts me to write about it a lot. This is one such poem about it.
Dec 2019 · 69
The Cold
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
I dreamt for this winter's end
to evaporate the heavy veil of dark noons draped over the horizon
and peak me a glance of
lemonade sky
purple aether
and cotton candy clouds
from days past

until then I burrow into myself
into the rabbit hole
that leads deeper within

reminisce of the touch
of that warm glow
one the sun had placed there long ago
a subtle yet permanent remnant of old
as precious as gold
it carries me far from what I suppose
away from this sullen body
holding a heart frozen from the cold
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
Tonight I ponder purpose,
a reason for existance,
the force to my resistance,
and food for my superstitions.

What am I, a producer or consumer?
who am I, the savior or the ender?

I live to wonder why and how to compromise these feelings
deep inside this organic device.

Icll pay the price to my destiny lender
while waiting still for my untimely surrender but first a question to the future:

where is your expectation
under examination?
I need some inclination,
a simple indication,
perspiration of inspiration.

The sun could shine through
yet my space is always shaded.
I'll try to block my eyes
to the half that's always jaded;
make tribulations no longer be berated.

Someone give me the weight
I've waited to feel for so long
because my body aches
for a chance to grow strong.
Meh... I realize this one seems unfinished (it is) but I don't have anything else to add.
Dec 2019 · 36
In the Dragon's Teeth
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
after the sound
preceding the voice of the hounds
falling down
head in the ground
I hate this town
burning my anger all around

caught in the dragon's teeth
can't even feel the bleed
like it was all a dream

watching me...
something behind the scenes
pulling strings
taunting me

something went wrong
what have I done?
if you could help me now
where have I become?
see me over and out
how could I break my vow?
only you could break me out

caught in the dragon's teeth
can't even feel the bleed
like it was all a dream

watching me...
something behind the scenes
pulling strings
taunting me

and I'm wondering
will it come for me?
this unwanted company
it just won't let me be
I've got to meet an end
the only way to be free
Dec 2019 · 136
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
Many opinions become dark clouds
on my day, crying for me to become
saturated in their will.
Still, my humanity begs optimism.
For once that I've learned the sun,
forever I will know the light.
Many opinions people may have can bring about a sombre mood in you, regardless of whether they are true or not. Just remembered what truth you do know to save yourself from falling for dark intention.
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
I make no more assertions the world,
as a whole, will ever adequately define its morality.
People fluctuate in their ideal
too much.
We often try to make them concrete
from a spectrum of principles.
We may even reach an agreement;
a certain stalemate to an issue.
Though I know there will always be
opposition, it is an unavoidable constant.
And so, in the end, every debate is
nothing more than a lasso to a cyclone.
Dec 2019 · 209
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
am I going crazy?
I might be
the world does madden me
just a little but it's growing
like a vine
stretching across my consciousness suffocating my sanity

all the voices become one indecipherable
of painted sound
to the inside of my ears

just noises now
loud obnoxious croaks
and booms

they pour forth from spitting mouths
just jammering
of meaningless subjects
a matter of fact of which I don't care

but it is the nature of this jungle
a fact of life
that I should be this way

my only cure to the chaos is to hide away
behind my veil of isolation
at least that is what I tell myself
as I slowly turn the key
to the lock in my head
Dec 2019 · 35
The Old Tree
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
I sit down near an old tree,
or what could be mistaken as such
a man was planted there like one at least
I gaze in his direction curiously
Looking for answers to questions not yet asked

the lines on his face draw attention
depicted tales
crooked trenches of battle
stubbled stories of history
lessons learned from repetitive struggle


his soul peers out from behind his rugged vessel
revealing images of a hopeful spirit
a softer surface than the rock before me
a kinder presence hidden from all but the studious

though no words need be exchanged
enough had been spoken
I leave him alone in his stead
to continue burning his candle

I wondered afterwards, as I do so often
maybe that light has been shared with me
maybe the man is a reflection somehow
or a messanger of conscious direction

oh, if only one could learn so much from a glance
Imbibe in a moment what took another a lifetime
then all would be fine, all questions with answers found
and I would find peace in my peculiar state
Dec 2019 · 34
Last Summer Drive
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
the smell of smoke
and all is burning
windows melting
gears stop turning

the touch of dirt surrounds me
looking out but can't see
and this fractured place above my shoulders: an empty space...

when did we fly away?
When did we lose ourselves to fate?

I felt your halo burning beside me
you traveled far away
but I am still here drowning in silence
counting away the day

the smell of hope
my love is burning
I'm still melting
world is turning

wish we could turn back time
back to the place where we lived
where we were holding hands
breath in the air once again

wish I could reprimand
bury all of the pain
within in the sand

the smell of smoke
colours melting
wheels still turning

wish I could understand
hold all of your love
in my hands
once again
A song I wrote about losing a Loved one in a car crash.
Dec 2019 · 60
Undead Nomad Dec 2019
floating on a sea of blood
born of our heart's sins
drifting slowly while faced apart
in boats of our own skins

like memories dropped on still waters,
we become cognizant of each other
by the echos of our waves

filled with but an anamnesis of us
this liquid plane;
landless space between,
our forms become intoxicated
as if they were soaked in gin
the taste transmuting
from pungency to bliss

churning tides of rumination,
hurricanes of emotional rot
eddied at our shores
from hair's end to finger's tip

soaked, we are
in the torrents of our yearning
waiting for the maelstrom of appetency
to catch us in remission
Nov 2019 · 63
Broken Sword
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
mine arm grows weak
from carrying this sword
now broken and lame
I've taken stead of confusion
losing my vision, seeing only within
but there's much a contradiction
it spreads through my head
in torrents of attrition

leaving eroded landscapes
of what was once rife with colors
of life observed
only felt now
remnants of what once had sight
it's all bad design
provoking lines of thought
about reasons for naught
becoming empty space
erased, void of purpose
and somewhat displaced

and yet, somewhere thereout
way beyond what could be scoped
lies the answer to the riddle
that occupies my conscious abode
so I look on with perplexed face

maybe my curiosity baits the beast
a living resolution and key to inner peace
it seems logical
to stare into the paradox
that is and always has been
the solution within...
Nov 2019 · 64
The Canary
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
t'was way beyond the pier
that a tune she did hear
serenading her ears
luring sounds that turned gears
she came braving her fears

melodies of folklore
though more than metaphor
pace low beside field crops
hail high over treetops
and between their long legs

words of gradual grace
dance to timbre in jest
to disturb silent rest
with chords as bright as light
and words as dark as night

she walked along the shore
until she stood before
fingers forming a bridge
pulling her deep within
between the broken ridge

calls of the canary
walk the tributary
under the sky's red eye
bathed in its scarlet light
within the black twilight

observing closer now
golden pieces of art
pierced the walls of her heart
luminescent light shows
complete at midnight's close
A personal challenge poem I wrote a while ago that was to tell a story that went with a picture while having 6 blocks of text with 5 lines of 6 syllables each. Why only 5 lines? Because I liked the flow better.
Nov 2019 · 50
The Death of Gnosis
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
Inasmuch I had found confort
within a self unbeknown,
inasmuch I had found peace
within solitude of reality,
I sought objective truth above all
to cure mine ailing curiosity.
Be it I suffer more tomorrow.
Be it mine eyes see darkness
in the light of truth.

I have discovered the device of mine own undoing mayhaps.
For under further introspection,
the reality of the self has become falsified.

The belief of joy as divine?
A mere chemical addiction.
The concept of deity?
A mere pretense of faith.
The mechanics of value dissected,
exposing their arbitrary innards.

For more unwelcome as it may be,
ironic at its purest, the deeper I dig,
the more grave it comes to be.
The more literality I come to accept,
the less literate I come to be.

Washing off all purity
after affirming my sins,
my being becomes one with nature;
realizing the amoral animal within.
Albeit a minor change animate.
Albeit a subtle suggestion of expression,
or so I had thought.

Now stripped internally
of the faulty concepts:
of the subjective meaning,
of the unobtainable purpose,
of the illusionary empathy,
of the misguided sympathy--
Constructs now ****** and broken for their purpose within.
Constructs antagonized for their naughtness without.

Naught of important significance.
Culling of transcendent thought
unto an impulsive materialism.
nothing more than what is observed
shall be of any use to me.
I am enlightened.

And the price of this enlightenment?...

Only my soul.
Nov 2019 · 42
The Tortoise
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
I am the mountainous tortoise
with a shell made of dreams
and tears of falling sands
mine eyes orbit my head
through clouds composed of countless thoughts
teetering to and fro on their paths
in and out of sight

ethereal winds carrying them past
cascading along my back
they lie in trails
leaving wakes of fantastical debris

the impressions of my gait birth canyons
whilst my footsteps impress the ground in craters

water precipitates the land under me
as I crack the sky
rising with my breadth on high

in day the heavens fold under my weight
bending the starlight around me by night
it frames my periphery
like a prismatic halo
as I merge into the the horizon
with colors pulsing to the beat of incandescent waves
Taken from a dream after an afternoon nap.
Nov 2019 · 71
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
I found myself
walking a route
of euphoria
following the trail of rapture
tailing a sentiment
that I had hoped
would last forever

then you hit me;
a phantom vehicle
from the blindspot of my life
out of nowhere,
a hit and run with no warning
but for the quietude before
the impending collision

my body:
flung far from favor,
soaring for its own demise,
falling on its own crown,
turning into the earth

arms swinging forth,
grasping for something
to recompose on

not lying for want
fingers between rocks and pebbles
digging themselves into the dirt between,
grabbling gravel and grave
scratching back at the sharp pain
as I scramble for balance
my eyes,
covered in blood and blur,
are blinded by the truth refulgent overhead

commands reflected by flat faces standing over me-- beside me?
around me...
they turn me 'round myself
I lose my way
as quickly as it was found

precious as love,
come back to me,
hold me now
deliver me from panic
and restore my sanity
from this collision of souls
Nov 2019 · 76
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
my ability to see pattern
the very proof of intention
is wasted on the intimacy of inevitably:
that closely following feeling
of certain failure

it blinds my ascension
as I enter a state of grey
failed ambition

deliriously so, I trip
all to lay pressed to the floor
closer to my new destination

the sound of my chaotic beast
oh, I can hear it scratching
wanting to get in
it eats away the walls of reason
devouring its prey like a glutton
until all that is left is a space of sorrow
what became of today
never made it to morrow
Nov 2019 · 75
The Whitest Storm
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
fickle minded she was of things
things not yet reasoned
reasoned from ruminations of potential
potential scars that may form
form from nightmares that linger after
after ones heart has been torn
torn from the pages of infatuation
infatuation that had taken her will
will to live on with unabridged purpose
purpose that ought have brought serenity
serenity that would soothe her once burning soul
soul and vessel now worn and faded
faded and worn like the print on her favorite shirt
shirt and jeans that she'd worn
worn on the night they chanced
chanced with fancy and departed
departed with naught other words
words nor feelings left behind
behind the trails of footsteps
footsteps left in the snow
snow that carries what remains
remains of memories dear
dear now though losing
losing to the whitest storm
Another personal challenge. A story in pen form where each line begins with the last word of the last. the story is based on a dream of a woman in a cafe in the winter, reminiscing of watching the footsteps of a love interest fade into the snowfall under the streetlights at night.
Nov 2019 · 125
6 Haiku of the Sinner
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
the blue face above
is looking hither with rage
and I stand in pause

waiting in the calm
my garden becomes a stage
for the dancing rain

beautiful lights play
in the darkest shades of grey
enshadowing day

fears have died away
and I've come outside to play
in my bravest way

the dirt of the ground
surrenders and holds me down
I stand now, a rod

reaching arms skyward
waiting for the touch of God
to strike my sins gone
Was attempting a personal challenge to write 6 independent haiku that could tell a story when put together. Also, I tried to make them rhyme, a little further obscuring the difference.
Nov 2019 · 73
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
her image touched the water
like a butterfly fluttering
on the breadth of a breeze

gently melting into the rippled glass

and I look to the sky
searching for the source
of this reflection of beauty
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
charging into combat
with our nearly emptied guns
damaged armor
and honor under the violent sun
holding our hope
the battle can still be won

the souls of bullets ringing in my ears
the smell of smoking powder
filling my lungs
I have unwittingly become
a tried man amongst his peers
the weary looks and leers

artificial clouds and rain dance overhead
dreams of love become the thinnest spread over fields of pride
I'm still hungry
though full of water and bread
shrapnel memories left in stead
as my blood bleeds a trail of red

the inglorious mutter
"it's foolish to have fought this war"
we march on
through the pain and gore
holding thoughts in our heads
and feelings evermore
hearts that never stop beating
though ever sore
Nov 2019 · 42
The Chrysalis
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
The chrysalis that was
locked in a state
hidden from prying eyes
obscured in mystery
unknown to the world at large
yet understood
by the smallest of minds

laying at rest
yet awoken in its dream
standing still amongst petals falling
showing no sign of motion
yet one could tell it unsettled

pondering the notion of revelation
waiting for time to come
and unravel its riddle
to unlock its door
and let it fly on winds high
away from the inner illusion
away from the lie...
Nov 2019 · 39
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
Time is of the essence
not even the hands of fate
could manipulate
all are cast in her glow
all are mortal still before her

how I wonder
with all the spite about her
do they even know who holds the key?
for they change when she passes
and lose her all too often
she stands until forgotten
yet in anticipation
while her tears flow like sand

but still her heart ticks on
unabashed of its own existence
its purpose and will are reason enough
to beat for war or melody
to satisfy its owner's deepest desire
to remain to cherish all that is

for she would not touch
nor acknowledge
nor have capacity to love
nor reasoning for the existence
of that which was not for her

and so I say to you
when you loss track of Time
when you take her for granted
when you waste her for naught
that Time too has a beating heart
Nov 2019 · 49
Undead Nomad Nov 2019
Golden essence shifts through my fingers, spilling on the ground, shifting over my feet.

A gentle breeze passes through, the sands become its body, emulating its spirit and casting its shadow.

The glittering glow sings to the sun a melody pleasing to the eyes.

— The End —