Life of man
Is like a flaming candle b’neath rivers
A ****** paradox
If solitude be joy, it is the hermit’s verdict,
Man could be the beast he wishes to be
And the very angel we yearn to see.
What treaty has man with futile predictions,
Ghost promises, stillborn prophesies?
And if there is a god to presage our destiny
Shouldn’t it be Man’s inner trinity?
Thus; I call faith, courage and fortitude.
Yet, No star, nor deity
kings our fate but wholly Thee;
Who governs the fine empyreal above.
B’hind the bridge of weariness and age
Is death―a boundless tributary
From life each man comes along with a Skiff
For some time in life rents a ferry
B’hind the bridge, each departs in a skiff
Into a wooden jeep, moving nowhere where we must be.
a h e a r t m o u l d o f g l a s s
w h e n p a s s i o n b r o k e f r e e
c l e a r l y my s o u l s h a t t e r e d
a s l o v e s s p e a r t h r u s t
t h r o u g h f i s s u r e s q u a k e d
o n t h e i n s i d e s o f m e
Just because you now use your spear
as a walking stick, doesn't change
your past's sanguinary veneer
men, women, and children, your range.
All for us to sing of your κλέος,
the shades come back to haunt,
your glory, your fame, your albatross.
dreams of slit throats and screams daunt.
You have given up bloodshed,
we no longer sing your praises,
now you can finally rest your head,
and the enemy thanks you for your hiatus.
I’ve chosen fight today,
I’ve been choosing fight every single night and day.
I bear the scars now of victories
And the still dripping wounds of defeats.
I’m a fighter now
I fought for me and you.
If I could I’d lay down this spear.
Just to rest for a day or year,
But battles need to be fought.
So I’ll just keep choosing fight instead of flight
Until it’s no longer needed.
I like the idea of these two poems together, representing a growth of stances. But I'm not sure about the words or how it's put together. Thoughts and ideas welcomed! Part two of two
MONTHS are mature, the moon comes, I pluck you, with a doubtful hand and an abundance of anxiety. Night is ripe, night comes.
Moon hungry, wild moon. You make me a bat, take out. I am from the blind stone cave, hunting you. Night hungry, wild night.
The moon is sharp, the moon is deep. I'm a diver fisherman, long sharpening. Spear, on you I shut my eyes-wounded. Night sharp, deep night.
Why did I fall in love with you?
Our souls couldn’t unite, but still lost in you was I!
You couldn’t be chased away from my dreams,
you couldn’t be sleeping in my arms at night;
still lost in you was I.
With flowers I wooed you every second,
With leaves I chanted your name by minute,
With machines I carved your name,
With knives I killed myself every night;
With envy I even murdered your knight,
With anger I endangered all in blood,
With guns I threatened your being.
My intense enigmatic love broke into pieces by the moonlight, The spear ran through your engraved name.
Words that flowed out my mouth: Sometimes killed my real self for it.
So it came to pass and the battle begun
By the bite of an adder ,
a sword shinning in sun
You pierced Mordred's heart
with the spear you found
He split your head
knocking you to the ground
Return my sword to the Lady of the Lake
I've not long ,
for tomorrow I won't make
Place my body on my shield
Use it as my tier
Let my people see and shed any tears
Bear me away
to the far sacred shore
My eyes are dimming
I can see no more
Seal my dreams in my breast to be
This be my final request
I'll ask of thee
Author died in 537 A D
Don thy best armours
For your heart flies
a lock of her shining hair
betwixt the spear shaft
to pierce the hearts of men
their broken forms lay strewn
across aphrodites battlefields
Beware you glimpse
such grace as ever strode
the folds of firmas breast
— The End —