#antiquity
I walk alone
Purposefully,
I rest afar
From home.
These aching bones,
Debride me of such woes
And deliver restitution
Of with what I was born.
Painless, happiness,
Life without sorrow
Free from fortune.
To live as I was young
But with the benefits of growing old.
Bless me with that gift of insight
And provide me with good experience,
That I might grow & blossom.
Into the butterfly & not the buzzard,
Into the dove & not the eagle.
From the deserts & the mountains,
From mediterranean to peninsula.
Let me walk away
From the affairs of the needy,
Who have their fill
And are even fat because of it.
Let me walk away
From the affairs of the greedy,
Who can't stomach more
But make room by vomiting.
Let me walk away
From the affairs of the seedy,
Who have good families
But can't keep to themselves.
Let me walk away
From the affairs of the piety,
Who possess nice quarter
But must room in others'.
Let me walk away
From the affairs of the ******
Who know what is wrong
But still freely engage in it.
I walk alone
Afar from home,
I rest purposefully.
Painless, happiness,
Life without sorrow
Free from fortune.
For the sake of wisdom, virtuously.
For the sake of virtue, wisdomously.
Modest & humble.
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 12:19 AM UTC
Avid or lead
Salt in the way
Summation to verify our, vanity ahead...
Succor and hints of whether, a sermon of place...
The course of a new ship?
Set to sail, with suicide as a destination
Sour liberty has shown us, the boding of unity, asking wit...
The voice, of wealth and remorse is an oddity, to intimation?
Spare futures, in the eyes of the land...
Somehow, and with aged forces to avow...
Life here, is a poignant sulk, of what was chaos in hand
Toward the somber horizon, the life of seriousness, now...?
Has a marvel in times way...
Since borrowed timidity is to be a challenge, of ecstasy?
Will we sit for a nightmare, or is that a question to stay
Stronger than a half sighed, half worthy pace of choice...
Is this horse dead, or running for its life?
Such a small price to pay, for the answer of privilege?
Sweeter by decency, decorum is a new wish for strife...
Antiquity shown, or the method to a wager of sincerity's, least?
Aches, chills, glares and pains
Best served by sleep? a host of vicinity to a futures blanket
Seemingly meant and let, with a proper smile, come plane
Where the tow of vice and its vision of home, is a sick lover's face met?
Jul 19, 2024
Jul 19, 2024 at 8:57 PM UTC
A knife cuts clean the jugular of Greece,
Sun-shattered Autumn spurts in breezes,
Her face falls like crumpled sails of the trireme
~This is the sound of sinking clouds, mammatus~
The slow tottering head sinks into itself,
The arm of once-command lies lengthwise
Next to the sea, as waves erase all her form,
And the drear and maddened moon in its cage of stars.
Oct 27, 2022
Oct 27, 2022 at 7:10 PM UTC
Politer to fruit
In the name, of a toil's box
Sat by order's river, the irony we suit
To possess a stilled eye, which has savored not
Run, fool, run
Sown notice, of a quiet in the din
Of the jungle, we notice the hope of cunning
To save a charging guidance to what we have, for sin
Win, tool, win
Lead since, fed genius
Is a harboring cold, the driven nature of meant?
In the dim eye's I forgave, many tears come to season
Sun, who'll, sun
Avid in heat we prophecy, is a need's shame
Poised to entail all, the voice of method's begun
To make a wish in open seem, the order to a name
Sin, cool, sin
Token treasure, thunder in the east
So willed, for a moment to understand again
Looking for a chosen one, that we lost at a feast
Gun, soul, gun
Driven by horror and the beauty of childhood
Where a blind friendship with only a smile sung
Has come and gone anew, like a heart of would...
Halt and salt, why do you insist?
Savage as a paradise with a missing child can be...
A sign of the times, a sovereignty to ask, is a glue this...?
Miracles in a guilty eye, are we that we are, kindred's anarchy?
Jul 4, 2022
Jul 4, 2022 at 7:11 PM UTC
I feel like an antiquity
some relic from the past
crumbling at the edges
eroded over time
aging has arrived
There are fissures in my proud steel plated armor
once invincible
reality is bringing with it a heavy blow
it creeps upon you
like a stealth thief in the night
now you berate yourself
for being caught unaware
new words slip into your vocabulary
things like “possible stroke”
a litany of tests are conducted
let’s begin with a blood test
maybe a ***** sample
we can schedule an MRI
is this a heart attack
there is a CAT or CT scan as it is known
what about the C word, cancer
let’s do an ultrasound
ff that doesn’t find it there is always
an endoscopy or colonoscopy complete with biopsy
the realization that life’s destiny is prevailing
is the end nigh
the relic you have become
looking at you in the mirror of life
Andreas Simic©
Apr 26, 2022
Apr 26, 2022 at 6:12 AM UTC
Walls of antiquity covered in green plants,
while hidden treasures are waiting to be found.
Rocky road leads every interested person
to uncover this mystery of history.
That's the Green castle,
sculpted by talented architects
millenniums ago will still remain stunning
in the eyes of the passer by for the rest to come.
With fields of tulips and a golden sunset,
piercing the flags of grass of the sunny gate
and solid foundations clung to the bowels of earth,
the castle changes its shades through the seasons.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 6:55 AM UTC
Five red haired maidens / resting symmetry
Draped in bluest sky / arranged peacefully
Interwined pink flowers / chaining togetherly
One composition / from Antiquity
Arms wilt with leisure / classically painted
Their wild thoughts blooming / a pale recreation
Seated in judgment / of time untainted
By modernity / By degradation
in eternal youth / in a single row
They sit and they watch / seasons come and go
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 2:09 PM UTC
The ancient way across this world lies like sunset over black pearls,
The treetops are marble-made that the riffler of wind deforms,
To know all mother tongues from the quarry of rough stones,
To speak everything at once, Bride of Unbecoming,
The moldering walls of lips, the kiss of vacant streets
And the quiet, wet solitude bespoken by back roads,
The whispered origami of the Forum, paper gods in folds,
Smothered in the false pillows of their own repose,
The wolf’s beard dipped in the fresh pant of dewfall,
While lovers have placed on the stones of the Appian Way
Their perfect hearts like votive candles, cupping the flames,
Looking down the swift arrow of loneliness, Sagittarius its same
Heaven-glow and besprinkled guidepost of a starlit Sacred Way.
Mother of Rome, your powdered face has been made ashen by those
Unreturned home, your far-off travels lead only to the graves of sons.
The ancient way across this world lies like sunset over black pearls.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 11:32 AM UTC
Bring forth the rite of war
But of self sacrifice
I'd throw myself on his blade
If it brought you a mite of love for me.
I'd sacrifice myself in field of battle,
Enraging my brawny, tawny ways,
And sacrifice myself to he,
Who makes me wish I hadn't messed up
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 1:41 PM UTC
She walked out of the watercolor storm of a fresco
Like a cowl-bound form in a light drizzle of rain,
Her mosaic tiles of ancient lovers’ eyes, ceramic-borne,
Just as her hips held the curves of the urn, kiln-fired,
The coiled heat of Greece still stinging through her flesh.
For her, the treetops had been the summoners of storm,
In kind, she poured down the wet grove of her hair, electral,
Pantheress of humid breath and fanged flair of lightning,
Tamed once in the cloudy cage of Pentelic marble of the Parthenon.
But the world piled dust before her, baiting with its groveled roads,
For her black mullings, much-tasted rain, and heaven’s leaves to fall.
If only the Michelango-to-come had carved the clouds of her
For the light to remain, shining its centuries,
Then maybe the thunder would have been left undone.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
Some days you wish you were a vengeful god
Rising from your sorrow, stormy-eyed and
Silver-plated.
See who I am, you would say. Look how I
Swell at the hardships of my adversaries.
But you are too naked.
Sprung from the earth-
Mortal -
soft as soil worked by worms.
Yet a fantasy is planted there
Seedless though it is.
Sacrificing demons should be a ritual
By now
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
In some lost, moss covered grove, lifeless, she layed…
Then Green Venus tipped her basin, showering
streams of endless water thrashing and splashing
atop her ***** then rushing down her bronzen brae.
Flushed in feminine essence, she opened
her great shell to fill with sumptuous water
‘till it spilled and gushed the ribbed edges over
and onto the soil did Spring’s milk descend.
Drenched and dripping she bursts from dormancy
to embrace her first morning of animation
through misty flurries and fluid gyration
leaving slushy trails of puddles and pollen
and, through dew soaked skies, dawn’s first amber light
Illuminates Spring, fully wakened and alive.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
'The Sibyl, with frenzied mouth
uttering things not to be laughed at,
unadorned and unperfumed, yet
reaches to a thousand years with her
voice by aid of the god.' (Heraclitus, fragment 12)
She curves into touches like neurosis
beyond the threshold of insanity
breeding desire into a lovely oddity
She mends the lie in facades to
empty them into our secrecy
With a banshee's throat
she splinters time's agonies
into the likeness of what
we ordered and
brings solitude to morning's arms.
She is of Sibyls.
Bold women who once dreamt
in ambiguous shadows and
lucent prophecies.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
A reproof of scarlet riviera
darken its seance that acclaim unforetold entrance
of lactose hence virtual lecture,
edifice with preponderance in guidance if hesitation
ready hinders them entertained by inordinate *** and
whether garish is gruesome for glutenesque and
intricately hard to maintain as their distraction is subliminal
that pain is debilitating and overwhelming in modern lifestyle.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
She was this silver moon
alight her seldom seen swing
or virtually then
as time in a bottle
and in this antiquity
on Saturday night
she grew the orchard
by the cloverleaf
when her bridge opened wide
and she felt so granted
that it was her ambiance or garth
near a point then
she went combing a ride
the bus did go that way
and her muggy wantonness
burst inside her chest every moment
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC