Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ma Cherie Jan 2017
Up ahead past frozen trees,
lies a timeless crystal valley,
while some still stand unfrozen here,
in rows of wooden alley,

I step in past behemoth guards,
who protect a prism palace,
as cleanest waters pure and clear,
rush down on earthly ballast,
a chance to sip of sacred wine,
inside a holy chalice,

Roots run deepest in this spot,
away from light,
below,
while tallest branches touch the sky,
all blanketed insnow,
as orchestra's of crystal chimes,
prepare another show,

When one should gaze upon it,
this ancient wooded sight,
as steam is rising steadily,
as daylight moves to night,
night draws down it's curtain,
as stars now shine a lovely light,

Your breath is taken with it,
& frozen there in time,
as daylight changes scenery,
angelic voices chime,
when telling of the beauty here,
I'd say this place sublime,

A wooded lucent heaven,
it's hard to put in words,
I close my eyes to dream again,
and listen to the birds,
and for every other lovely sound,
I hope my ears have heard,

My breath & I,
just cannot linger,
in beauty's frozen place,
where every branch is laden white,
on gaurded trees of ancient grace,
where all adorned with icicles,
& brilliant snowy patterned lace,

The atmosphere is full of vapor,
as the dew point has been hit,
condensing incandescent tears,
low flying clouds now sit,
so near the ground in steamy fog,
translucently still lit,

It captivates my every sense,
as frozen gates unlock,
I do my best to look away,
though all I do is gawk,
I peer inside to check the time,
...if any on the clock,

Sadly here,
not time for me,
inside this sleepy glen,
where birds & death,
they wait assured,
a thorny crown,
in safest den,
boreal a chickadee,
the livest a tiny wren,

Perhaps to come another day,
I stay inside past frozen gates,
I cannot know the how and when,
my thread of life is cut by Fates,
the three Keres I see in there,
it seems I can't manipulate,

I do not know the way to here,
amidst the wafting fog,
when all again will seem anew,
in Spring & newborn frog,
where lovely woodland creatures,
come out from mossy log,

I so wish I could stay here too,
where now the only sound,
is one of snowflakes softly falling,
upon this hallowed ground,
I do not know where I am going,
or where I'm finally bound,

Though I will try again in Spring,
to see my way back here,
I came here with a fear of death,
but left inside that fear,
as little Winter fairies whisper,
of hope into my ear,

I am grateful for today,
with new hope for tomorrow,
I'm walking out of here tonight,
relieved of all my earthly sorrow,
I walk ahead,
now unconcerned,
if no more time...
at all to borrow.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Hey everyone I've been away but I'm doing alright...sorry not here so much,
I'll check in when I can today, and catch up as much as possible. I think being grateful is so important...to live from a place of gratitude. This is full of metaphors for life and death, acceptance of our time, breathing in the beauty it was a mystical spiritual walk as I pondered the fear of death. I carefully thought with this...it felt inspired idk... while at the most beautiful, breathtaking place here I know to go in Winter.... sigh...
Influences of Greek mythology (the fates) and some of my other beliefs. Many thanks poets for always kind words and love - hugs VERMONT ❤ ❤❤
Gabriella Nov 2016
i knew from the moment i saw you that we would be grand.
it took you 12 years to realize this.

now we're happy.
and of course, it's only temporary.

why would the fates ever allow someone like me to be happy?
was i selfish in a past life?
am i paying for something that i don't know about?

well fates, hate me today or hate me tomorrow.
i'm going to love this man as much as i can while he's still here.
and perhaps we won't last since you're pulling him away.

but i can live happily knowing i experienced something so beautiful.
the wait was worth it.
you won't bring me down.
ghost Oct 2016
I gaze upon this poison
Held within my slender hand
All the fates needth do
Is cut a single strand.
By: Gretchen
Cerasium Aug 2016
The fates be among us
The eternal seers of destiny
Bringers of pain and misfortune
Foretelling of destruction and mayhem

Bringing together torture and pleasure
Combine fates they come alive
To see eternal suffering
Among Gods and mortals alike
Cerasium Aug 2016
Fair thee well for thy fates are cruel
Casting out thy lonely fool
Forever lost in a bitter realm
Cursed to feel thy overwhelm

Fear thy life for thee is next
To taste the fates bitter hex
Sorrow and ruin knock at the door
Pleading to enter as the poor
Pauline Morris May 2016
The atoms around me are exploding
My body is eroding
Every particle of me is floating
It's all in my DNA coding
Starting my ascent
This I will not circumvent
Now I'm out in outerspace
Up to the great fates
The vibrant colors around me swirl
I'm no longer a person, no longer a girl
I am particals, I am pieces, I am atoms
Floating around like a phantom
Ground down so much I am star dust
Pushed along by the cosmic gust
Destined to land in another galaxy
Far away from all the inhumanity
ConnectHook Apr 2016
Dumpy semi-feminine somethings,
ambling rotund wrecks of time –
wraiths of increased girth and grayness;
womanhood unsublime…

Where the dignity in aging ?
Where a minimal decorum?
Could you not yet bear some vestige
presentable in public forum?

All I see are jowly short-hairs:
Dressed to dullness, clipped-face mean.
Form subsumed by frumpy function;
drab routine.

Surely God has taken vengeance
stealing thus your womanhood.
Is this sloth? Or liberation
…misunderstood.

Other cultures guard some glory,
seem to age with more élan:
picture nomads, desert queens
of Mythistan.

Chiseled faces, sculpted hard
by time and faith and fate and God
lines unsoftened by abundance
I applaud.

The Godless West lays waste to glory.
Is our ease of life to blame?
Casual geriatric matrons
bring us shame.

Is it North American only?
Is this just genetic traits?
All such mortal non-description
insults the fates.
∅ ☯ ✰ ☠
a  poem a day for NaPoWriMo2016
            ✿
www.connecthook.wordpress.com
            ☮
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2015
Man sets courses clear
Child of windy gods' steerage
Toy boats without oars
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
She wanted a child  .  .  .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
  .  .  .  Clock set to maybe.

— The End —