"bittern" poems
I am the broken wing,
The unsong unsung,
That the sky waits for,
In patient days untold,
The words unspoken
From the muted wren,
I am the shy seabird,
Unwinged, let, lamed,
Damaged by heavens,
Indifferent to earthlings,
When I saw lovely you,
Lone on purple heaths,
A bittern was mourning,
In the marshes within,
Me, my drowned heart,
Muffled in blasted wind.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
My feet planted
down
my toes
Like
roots absorbing spiritual minerals.
Wanting to get
closer and closer to the divine.
Exploring and searching other dimensions. But not succeeding.
There is more spiritual minerals I will need.
More of my chakra points I should feed before I proceed
in order to give my life more meaning.
When I walk upon her grounds
I feel that she is dying
when I listen to her sounds
I hear that she is crying
the poker faces on trains, buses and planes
live a life that lies and
all of our natural attributes have run away
from our polluted bodies.
The essence of who we really are now
a fairytale fantasy twisted and manipulated…
man-ipulated…
mans truth has been pushed
into a dark hole in our hearts and minds.
The government is now cunning
and the religious now ignorant
this left-brained
trained
highly deranged society
now dances with the “devil” blinded by his darkness
unwilling to know truth
we have bittern her grounds
and now she is sick
we are her tumor
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 6:12 PM UTC
How long do I have to recite the numbers over, and over,
Hide and seek is over months ago, and years went like a very fast train.
All of you ran far away by me, with school bags full of memories,
I cried because my aspirations were created to live them in our dreams.
We all have experienced our first love, we all have kissed the sweet,
And the bittern lips, and now our love are belong to worthless new friends.
I tried to stay with you all since; we were childhood friends of the past,
But I guess we are all alcoholic to spend nights watching picture albums with tears.
Talking to each photo, kissing to each female lips, and drinking more,
To feel less lonely in my my dark room, with a few empty bottles of killing poisons.
They might see me as a crazy man, who misses his childhood friends,
Whom they never call him, or even come visit me in the graveyard, before death accept
My offer to take my soul, and give my power to my parents, because
They have never felt my pain on the inside, until maybe after my death blows me to hell.
20/10/2014
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
a bittern booming
the vast marsh swallowed it ~
mother calling me
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC