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A legion of children enveloped us that day, /
Their presence transparent beneath rays of sun baptismal. /
As the chirp of laughter infiltrated the air, /
There enclaved in their omnipresent mist, /
Passion blossomed in this juvenescent heart. /

Gleaming these eyes sauntered your luminescent skin, /
Pining for that rapture that lay betwixt your arms. /
Although roving within for clarity in words, /
This burgeoning vessel trembled in loss, /
For fugitive they stood in my subconscious. /

Yearning for more than the caress of your voice, /
Its musicality enough to serenade for all time, /
And the flawless rhythm of this heartbeat /
Whispered intently of something divine /
For this keepsake of yours -is immortal.- /

Even now nostalgia cleaves as an arrow, /
-Piercing to the soul- /
And it screams to be nurtured. /
Blooming in reminiscence I conjure dreams immemorial, /
Returning to that hallowed sanctuary. /

Your countenance is a distant glint, now untraceable; /
Marred by elapsed time, that insidious decay. /
My agony has become a vast sea, /
Besieged by the maelstrom of lament /
For my undying piety is all that remains./

A language too grand to be deciphered /
By such an infantile mind, /
Yet now I pensively ponder, "Will you ever return?" /
I would relinquish my soul to gaze once more /
Upon your grace my Materialista. /

Life has become a heavy haze, /
Occupied by a discordant melisma of pain. /
And this memento -without you- is my torture stake, /
For the moment we held hands has bound me forevermore; /
And I stand here everlastingly, yearning for your arms. /
This is an old piece that I composed for critique in my college level Creative Writing course. This is a manifestation of my previous style of amalgamating or combining deep sentimentality, nostalgia, and passion-infused as well as spontaneous expressions to convey my thoughts and emotions. The assignment was to write about a childhood memory. I don't want to spoil it for you, the one hint I will provide is that is pertains to love during my years of juvenility. I hope you enjoy! God bless!
Everything I once knew has been stilled:

I fathomed my mother’s voice whispering
In my juvenescence,
She weaved a tapestry of tales
Whilst her pearlescent eyes
They glistened,
Enveloped by downy lashes
Ebony and yet unassuming
For
The night domineered.
Unblemished enough to
Garner the praise
In the clarity of
My reverential heart,
As I lay there
Tucked in,
Once peacefully,
Yet now shaken
By
The disquietude
Of the restless twilight,
Upon an azure king-sized mattress
Primped in creaseless Space Jam sheets.


They were set by
The grace of her manicured hands
However slightly,
Chestnut and replete
That longed to,
By the Blessed Oracle
Speaking with a God,
Summon the Salvation
Of my long lost rest
That Raged Leviathan
Where,
To be cocooned in The Sea of Shadows
The thew of dreams would be born.

She sanctified my fears
Like coal oppressed for aeons
By
That Treasured Sphere
(Terraqueous Gaia)
Until by
The Womb of the Mountainous Mother,
Were reborn
As the Children of Diamonds.

Or perhaps
Like a baptismal kiss
That floweth from an ivory chalice
By which
The soil of my life flowered,
For a quaked youth was
Bestowed
With a fading taste
Of the transcendence at dawn
Poured upon my palate
Until
The Garden of the Valiant
Bursted into bloom.
(Tis where the Behemoth lay nestled
Under the Age Old Tree of Life
And Sylphs soar beneath iridescent twilit skies
Illuminated by Providence
Of the Half-Faced Crimson Moon).


If I so chose
I could
Be anything
That
I imagined, even
Today.

Ephemeral though
Those moments were
My reminiscence
Doth memorialize in crystal stasis
My infantile longing,
Tis ceaseless in its yearning
To be comforted
When
Pangs overtake me:

But what fable is my weapon
Now?
The Hallowed Excalibur,
Or perhaps even The Ultima Weapon
With the Impenetrable Aegis
Imparted by
The Mighty Crystal
Bestowing might to its Anointed
The ones who war with their own iniquity,
Until their paths align
Like celestial bodies
And they’ve arisen triumphant,
Eclipsed the fictitious light
Of a false deity
Who besmirched the truths
That upheld The Cosmos
Since its genesis?

There is one tale,
(Lean in, listen closely,
This is my Susurrus in the Night)
Tis no figment
And one I found most favorable,
One of a man
Simple,
Strong,
Stunning,
Sound,
Sapient,
And high over all but
The Desideratum of the Holy,
The one to whom
Even the angels, seraphs, and cherubs bow.

He was scourged
In flesh and spirit
Till his pulse was silenced,
His inestimable blood
Prophesied to vanquish
Chaos and
The Futile Wind
Of life
That by
By the disobedience of
Our
Tarnished Father,
Is now
An accursed child

She
Is effaced by
Time
(For Sorrow has no end)
And
Tormented by Space.
(Height,
Breadth,
And depth,
O that Existential Fabric)
His caverns
Condemned Her
Without
Compassion.

The thought of solitude
Looming in mortality
Were the dreadful horns
Of an Auroch that
Pierced
Her consciousness
Until by
Proud Oppression
Hope
In its frailty
Was a dandelion
Strewn by skinless hands
Against the immaterial
Brush of the breeze.

To flourish then
Wither,
Wax and
Wane;
Never
Was a fate
That our God intended.
For eternity shines and
Is a supernova
In the galaxy of our hearts
And though undiscerned
By many
Has always been
And
Will always be
The Cherished Wish of the Stars,
For though we are an exhalation
By contradistinction,
Even they become nebulous
Fading into dust.

We shall
Become
Exalted and ennobled
Even to these who are
Of the luminaries,
Lowly
Brothers and sisters
Without Ears,
Eyes,
Hearts,
Or minds.

Yes,
(These vibrations resonate from the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
Soon enough they say,
Soon enough.
Hey guys, this poem is written as a thematic embodiment of a religious-based autobiographical piece I am in the process of assembling (It will be a metaphorical interlude if you will in between two segments of the piece and thus act as a segue). It was written as a free-verse piece. I have not written in about a month which has given me time to reflect and introspectively examine the Universe around me; consequently, I hope that you guys can perceive my metamorphosis in my month long cocooning as a writer. I wanted to encapsulate the whimsicality, fancifulness, and innocence of youth by incorporating myth, imagery, and imagination (almost reminiscent of a fairy-tale whispered to a child before bed, hence the title "A Susurrus in the Night"). I kind of rushed putting this out because I was so eager to share with you guys, so forgive me if it's not as refined as my usual writings. *Since posting I have edited it on this website* I this does not convolute and thus make it less understandable! I have so much to say through this piece! Thank you so much for your support and God bless!
He is
My Azure Dreambird,
(The Sovereign of Songbirds)
That soars upon
Skies of Resonance.
His sapphire wings
Weightless by valor,
Hallowed every doubt
That
Cursed my shadow
Until credence reigned.

He is
The Musicality of my Soul,
That I climbed as
A stairway
Into
Gates of Aether
Upon
Porcelain keys
Of an impearled
Grand Piano.

His sound emittance
Ascended in frequency until
Pitch became subliminal
For height
ceased to be
Height,
And depth,
Ceased to be
Depth,
It was
Ineffable harmony
And resolution became effortless
With
The touch of his hand.

He is
The Wings of the Dawn,
A Sweeping Rapture
That raised
Me
Beyond the stratosphere
Until graced by
Untarnished embrace
Of the Baptistery of the Sun.

I burst
From Light’s Intemerate Womb,
Renewed and
Gazed upon Terraqueous Gaia
Then for once,
(Yes, for all eternity)
Succumbed to
Faith in the Transcendence
Of his tender affections.

Woe was existence
Before His lightwaves radiated
Within my heart,
For when I purged my pulse
Of that quaking rhythm
And
Hollow cries
Upon his ears,
He stood moved
And remained
Doughty in his devotion
To me.

In that moment
I fathomed his soul
Glistened
O, for he had not forsook me.

I bear a pilgrimage.
One sought to be
Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Breathed,
And
Divined
By my
Once
Somnolent spirit
Been
Roused
By the incendiary thew of
His ardor.

My revenant soul
Hath emerged from
The Chrysalis of Time as
The Apotheosis of Astral Flame
(A Reverberation of the Cosmo-Plexus of Love)
That since
The Days of Time Immemorial
Guided by the
Whisper of the stars,
I now cleave
To that celestial susurrus:

To the solace buried beneath
The Soil of Afflicition
(For anguish was all I knew)
In repose
Yet yearning to be
Resurrected
In The Dream of Acquisition,
To for eternity behold
The timeless fervor
That doth layeth
In His heart
Hey guys!! So basically this poem in it's quintessence is an incarnation. Of what? The transcendence I have acquired by means of the love of another (For whom I carry romantic sentiments towards). The inspiration was the moment in which he placed his hand upon my shoulder. His touch etherealized me. I felt as though I became a new creation forged of crystal and yet as light as air. I saw life with mystical eyes that were fascinated with things that had been of no consequence before. The stars became more resplendent, the wind became a benevolent caress, each breath was rejuvenating, and so on.
      
So basically, as cliche' as it sounds... *Braces himself, coughing to clear his throat and announcing his cliche' with a British accent* I have been transformed from a life of black and white, to one of manifold colors by the thew of love! *cringes in pain lollllllll* I hope you guys enjoy. I also hope that somehow, this piece inspires you to forge a creative diamond from your own experiences (as well as display the valor to adorn the world with your diamonds). Thank you all so much for your support! God bless!
 Aug 2016
Free Bird
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Money in the pocket of the biggest shareholder

Day by day, we grow older
Love is lost, hearts grow colder

So while you still can, you should hold her
Say what you feel, before you wish you'd told her

Don't stash your dreams away, in that folder
As you care less what they think, you'll get bolder

Listen to those, who need a shoulder
Let her live, don't try to mold her

Don't sell your soul, for something golder
 Aug 2016
Vanessa Grace
Sometimes I'll read great literature and think:
that perhaps, poetry is a theatrical
(but necessary) byproduct
of our excess emotion—
created by broken people
who simply feel too much,
in too little of a space.
From the largest and grandest of stanzas
to the petite one-liners,
we pour our feelings into words
and our words into emotion,
and give them the context
to take on a brand new meaning.
We  adorn our anguish in sweet, silken lines,
our passion in soft, breathy rhymes;
our anger shows in scribbles
and taut similes,
our joy in the personification
of the very things we wish
could come alive.
From all corners of all nations we grow
knowing, quite profoundly,
that our feelings are meant to mean something:
Poetry is not tissue in our lives
to be used and tossed away;
rather, poems mark the seasons of ourselves
that are to be remembered and enjoyed.
Written on notepads and parchment,
from wide open spaces to
that dingy apartment,
our words lie in wait for us
so that at our lowest point,
our words may help remind us
to be *human
v.g
 Aug 2016
Claire Marie
I spied you in the library
Laying on the glossy wooden floor
Surrounded by a sea of dusty old books.
Your rough hands gently leafed through the delicate pages
Of her most admired novel.

Worn down edges and dog-eared pages
Betrayed the love she and the little book shared.
Laying there, a tender smile crept up and the sorrow in your eyes disappeared as you discovered the blotchy black stain on the back corner,
Remembering your clumsiness in years past
And her quick temper and dismay
At seeing her little, loved book in such disarray.

Your eager eyes somberly read her little discoveries, her quiet conversations with Wisdom
That she penned down in the margins.
Here, in this moment, she seemed close.
The truth seemed to fade away
And here in this moment
Little Lottie was curled up in the library nook,
Quietly reading her most admired novel.
 Aug 2016
Rose L
Fourteen years ago, I planted a rose in my garden.
It grows twisted, against the fence, and bursts into bloom come June -
From my window I feel it glowing
soft pink in the light of the waxing and waning moon
It is my August nymph. And stuns me in brimming scarlet.
But the moon rises like the tide in wet ochre
And my body reeks of iron and emptiness -
The end of the lunar cycle draws closer
And petals fall apart, loose from the bud -
I must learn to accept that my body yearns to spit back blood.
Like crimson. Velvet crimson roses.

I've come to recognize the scent of dying flowers
almost to the hours - Sweet honeyed rotting from within
The decay of rosy innards and floral resin
God punishes all things beautiful with transience.
What a thing to leave a rose to chance...
But all flowers must die in order to grow again!

You would not think that porcelain could rot
But girls and roses share a lot;
And for summer flowers to be sweet and fresh
Blossoms bleed more than you thought.
I wish I could have used any other flower than a Rose as it carries too much linkage to my name but theres nothing quite like a rose is there?
 May 2016
Sourodeep
Till waist deep I stand
in the middle of the river
where the eloquent music flows.
I scoop some of its melody
with my bare soft hands,
its clarity makes me shiver
like dancing notes sun glows
and nature sings a brilliant parody
for me to smile and understand.
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