"darksome" poems
Throned in splendor, immortal Aphrodite!
Child of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee
Slay me not in this distress and anguish,
Lady of beauty.
Hither come as once before thou camest,
When from afar thou heard'st my voice lamenting,
Heard'st and camest, leaving thy glorious father's Palace golden,
Yoking thy chariot. Fair the doves that bore thee;
Swift to the darksome earth their course directing,
Waving their thick wings from the highest heaven
Down through the ether.
Quickly they came. Then thou, O blessed goddess,
All in smiling wreathed thy face immortal,
Bade me tell thee the cause of all my suffering,
Why now I called thee;
What for my maddened heart I most was longing.
"Whom," thou criest, "dost wish that sweet Persuasion
Now win over and lead to thy love, my Sappho?
Who is it wrongs thee?
"For, though now he flies, he soon shall follow,
Soon shall be giving gifts who now rejects them.
Even though now he love not, soon shall he love thee
Even though thou wouldst not."
Come then now, dear goddess, and release me
From my anguish. All my heart's desiring
Grant thou now. Now too again as aforetime,
Be thou my ally.
6.1k
MESSENGER
Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!
ETEOCLES
O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
4.8k
Seven stars in the still water,
And seven in the sky;
Seven sins on the King’s daughter,
Deep in her soul to lie.
Red roses are at her feet,
(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)
And O where her ***** and girdle meet
Red roses are hidden there.
Fair is the knight who lieth slain
Amid the rush and reed,
See the lean fishes that are fain
Upon dead men to feed.
Sweet is the page that lieth there,
(Cloth of gold is goodly prey,)
See the black ravens in the air,
Black, O black as the night are they.
What do they there so stark and dead?
(There is blood upon her hand)
Why are the lilies flecked with red?
(There is blood on the river sand.)
There are two that ride from the south and east,
And two from the north and west,
For the black raven a goodly feast,
For the King’s daughter rest.
There is one man who loves her true,
(Red, O red, is the stain of gore!)
He hath duggen a grave by the darksome yew,
(One grave will do for four.)
No moon in the still heaven,
In the black water none,
The sins on her soul are seven,
The sin upon his is one.
2.7k
CHEERFUL voices by the sea-side
Echoed through the summer air,
Happy children, fresh and rosy,
Sang and sported freely there,
Often turning friendly glances,
Where, neglectful of them all,
On his bed among the gray rocks,
Mused the pale child, little Paul.
For he never joined their pastimes,
Never danced upon the sand,
Only smiled upon them kindly,
Only waved his wasted hand.
Many a treasured gift they bore him,
Best beloved among them all.
Many a childish heart grieved sadly,
Thinking of poor little Paul.
But while Florence was beside him,
While her face above him bent,
While her dear voice sounded near him,
He was happy and content;
Watching ever the great billows,
Listening to their ceaseless fall,
For they brought a pleasant music
To the ear of little Paul.
'Sister Floy,' the pale child whispered,
'What is that the blue waves say?
What strange message are they bringing
From that shore so far away?
Who is dwelling in that country
Whence a low voice seems to call
Softly, through the dash of waters,
'Come away, my little Paul'?'
But sad Florence could not answer,
Though her dim eyes tenderly
Watched the wistful face, that ever
Gazed across the restless sea,
While the sunshine like a blessing
On his bright hair seemed to fall,
And the winds grew more caressing,
As they kissed frail little Paul.
Ere long, paler and more wasted,
On another bed he lay,
Where the city's din and discord
Echoed round him day by day;
While the voice that to his spirit
By the sea-side seemed to call,
Sounded with its tender music
Very near to little Paul.
As the deep tones of the ocean
Linger in the frailest shell,
So the lonely sea-side musings
In his memory seemed to dwell.
And he talked of golden waters
Rippling on his chamber wall,
While their melody in fancy
Cheered the heart of little Paul.
Clinging fast to faithful Florence,
Murmuring faintly night and day,
Of the swift and darksome river
Bearing him so far away,
Toward a shore whose blessed sunshine
Seemed most radiantly to fall
On a beautiful mild spirit,
Waiting there for little Paul.
So the tide of life ebbed slowly,
Till the last wave died away,
And nothing but the fragile wreck
On the sister's ***** lay.
And from out death's solemn waters,
Lifted high above them all,
In her arms the spirit mother
Bore the soul of little Paul.
2.5k
There were three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
An’ they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and ploughed him down,
Put clods upon his head;
An’ they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerfu’ spring came kindly on,
And show’rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surprised them all.
The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel armed wi’ pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.
The sober autumn entered mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Showed he began to fail.
His colour sickened more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They’ve ta’en a weapon long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgelled him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o’er and o’er.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe,
And still, as signs of life appeared,
They tossed him to and fro.
They wasted, o’er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller used him worst of all,
For he crushed him ‘tween two stones.
And they hae ta’en his very heart’s blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
’Twill make your courage rise;
’Twill make a man forget his woe;
’Twill heighten all his joy:
’Twill make the widow’s heart to sing,
Tho’ the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne’er fail in old Scotland!
2.1k
poets possess
dreamy romantic hearts
with notions enough to
stitch a quilt of love
to blanket the world
poets possessed
of cracking wit
and sharp tongue,
by darksome reveal,
spur us on towards
a bold new frontier
poet's possession
immeasurable wealth,
freely distributed.
the mighty pen sways
hearts and minds.
treasures inherent,
readily bestowed.
poet's possessor
the world own's her heart
and she, the world's
through words, none new
arranged fresh for you:
delight and beguile,
awaken again the senses,
as morning dew strewn
on Kentucky bluegrass
or creep up behind
and steal a kiss,
bringing pure bliss
to dry, parched lips
or rush and attack,
leave you flat on your back,
wind knocked from your chest,
in a state of unrest
words own her heart,
they always have,
right from the start
--bruised orange
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 11:59 PM UTC
Somewhere within the silence of sound...
Somewhere within the distance of eternity...
Somewhere beyond the borders of the next universe...
lies a darksome note.
A darksome note laced with supernatural black ice.
A note hidden in a darkroom.
A sacred cryptex gaurded by ancient entities...
the same ancient entities that witnessed the inception of illumination.
We are all doomed.
Gene
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
of cracking wit
and sharp tongue,
by darksome reveal,
spur us on, towards
a bold new frontier
--bruised orange
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 6:50 PM UTC
Black diamond
Between two globes,
(A long lost map
Of forgotten spheres)
A darksome heaven
That has never seen
The sun.
And the ***** of your
Feet are the most beautiful
Things I’ve seen in years,
Declawed through
This year of purrs,
And all the miles
Of smiles
They’ve run.
(I prop you up with
The Dictionary Of Angels,
You look *******
Gorgeous on
Your back.
You’re so shy about
This effeminate pose
But love,
It doesn’t make you
Any less –
You don’t have to join
The circus
Or wax your crack)
I press my mouth
To feathers of tawny birds,
Fighting back the urge
To spell out words,
****
Cherub
***
Spit
Come
Pray
And instead just ram my tongue
Through the middle of everything
I want to say.
With one on you
And one on myself -
My hands are clockwork
Turning hard with the
Efforts of play.
You’re telling me
That if I stop
You’ll **** me,
And that’s fine -
I have never been so sure
Of my indestructability.
I won’t stop,
Not even when I’m
Right up there with God
Picking bits of our bomb-blown
Love affair from my hair,
I won’t stop
Even when my
Arm is aching
And my tongue is a
Tired red snail
(Your fingers bounce
Off the bed
And claw nothing,
As though the very air around
You is a jail)
I wanted you to
**** me
But that's not
Going to happen now,
So I move myself up
To the razzle dazzle
Of a dying candle
And milk marbles
Strike my eyebrow
(So I'm a fraction too late)
No matter,
I just **** down
Your perfect column
Of skin
And drink long and deep
Of the white,
And my head
And my heart
And your breathing
Are as slow
And as drunk
And as ageless
As gin.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
Tawny days hanging from the sweet autumn breeze are sheltered in corners of my mind I just can’t dare to go to. I hide from them, never closing my eyes—never looking inward. I open them into another haze, though. The dimmest streetlight in the most darksome alley. But between blinks, my eyes burn in golden, and images of remote places flicker in.
Patches of brown leaves on the ground, fragments of Shakespearean poetry carved on trees, a lonely grove between mountains, and a magic lake by my hiding place…
“You would never understand,” I had said to him after weeks of sleeping under willows and sneaking in the cottage through the window. “You don’t know what’s it like to be chased for crimes you didn’t do!” The soldiers had been drawing nearer to the towns about, and I had been left with no choice but to flee from the fate that being an outsider threw at me. “Don’t go,” he had said before my fears revived in my head, killing all peace.....
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
The candle flickers against the wall
and darkly lights the cracks, hidden
in the yellowed plaster, while the light
dances with the shadows, and licks the
darksome panes, with an ember orange
glow. The moon is lifting pale face to the
welcome of the stars, and the sun is riding
low, soon to fall beneath the world, to
rest to shine again. A woman stands there,
watching, lovely in a crimson gown, and
a rose in her right hand lifted to her face,
while her other graces the window ledge,
As she gazes at the rising darkness, and the
fall of the weary sun, letting its rays kiss her,
hesitantly, before the the chill night rises slowly,
and the moon shines down again.
Ah, the pale moon! How lovely she is, white
daughter of the night, rising from the East
I'm her timeless dance, to glide over the heavens,
and retire in the west, yielding to the fiery sun,
as he comes to rise again. The woman closes her
eyes, and sighs, a fragrant breath, scents of
pomegranates, and oranges, and the stately
pear, ride within it, and so enrich the flawless night,
with a second quiet beauty, an echo to the first.
There is Jasmine in the air, wafting with the gentle breeze,
of a summers gentle night. Carried on that midnight wind,
It sighs about the womans face, and ruffles her night black hair.
The dawn is coming, pale light in the eastern sky, while all is dark
before. The woman steps from graceful window, arched with
fluid curves, and closes the window fast, the curtains rustle shut.
she lays her down to gentle sleep, upon a bed of straw. Her eyelids
flutter softly closed to rest, as the sun lifts his morning head,
and bathes the sleeping world, in light and laughing youth.
And so she sleeps, as dawn does rise, and men begin to stir,
for she is born of gentle night, and to night she does return,
but fearing the strong and burning light, she hides within her
little room, and sleeps the day away. For she is Jasmine, subtle
sweet, no lilly or blazing poppy. And she is happy. Content with
the night and the starry sky, and the softly watching moon. Content,
and lost, and all alone.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
The dissolution of days
Acquiring the malison of knowledge
Mollifying the darksome house
of mortal clay supprest in
The rack of night,
The punishment of the
tree of prohibition
Commissioned from up high,
Beer-barrel dust the souls alms!
Whilst the Maker's orbs mourn
In earnest whom he
Hast vanquished as the
Seraphic Hymn, Heaven's
sacred song hews
the blue-blankets ingress
Before the gates of the
irrefrangibility of faith;
Agaze, an angeliferous black-job-
Edifications beatific vision
Held in the nest of Abraham's *****
peeling the bells of heaven
ricocheting throughout Hell
nigh the lands of time.
ELEETE J MUIR
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Doubt may serve the quiet one
who reads the deepest tomes
that languish in the hallowed halls
where learned men are known
the one without a master
may seek mastery, of the self -
scanning ancient leather bindings
brooding darksome
on the shelves.
He may comb the beach for pearls
and **** the oysters in the sea
or dive beneath the tide
to pry them open
with his teeth.
he may doubtless have to surface
from his labors in the deep
with nothing more than silt
as fine as motes of dust
to keep.
or treasures that contain the whole
his grain of doubt
conceived -
as lesser to the sum he knew
but now he cannot
see.
This one may surpass us all
and leave us to the beach.
Or scrawl the sort of question
that an answer
only dreamed.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
I weep to wonder why we were chosen
for such a time so near to closing —
a time that's dark and dreary indeed
with valiant heroes whose hearts do bleed
when evil dreads arise again
to do battle 'til the end.
Thunder rumbles with malicious glee
at these people who hope to flee;
ere the tides of good are turned
and those who died are too soon burned
and those who died afore they fought
are torn asunder without thought.
But unto this troublesome time
a little light must surely shine?
Though dark shadows rub their hands with joy
for the machinations they employ
to wring the land of all that's dear
and leave us yet with days unclear?
Thus knights in armor ever-white
shall go forth to fight the fight;
Lo! Our triumph (though for a time)
shall blow the gates and the mind
shall clear the lands for those who bled
and leave us be to bury the dead.
For a time enjoy the peace
and always 'member that darksome beast:
all he wrought upon the land
the very land that we once ******
and do not forget that we did fight
side by side and might by might.
Thus this world would ever quake
should its evils lie awake —
but as prophecies are spake on high
we will sound the Battle's Cry
should evil dreads arise again
Take heart! We will do battle 'til the end.
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 10:16 AM UTC
man emerges from this
darksome ether.
this: time suspended
in the ballpark, without fetters.
i have dreamt the truth
of my vicarious call.
is it not that my measures secure
these constitutions
of ineffable fruitions?
it is likened to our heartland's
acrimonies: dreaming in the
misty vale of sleep is the word
and its insistent void,
riddled by amorous intent
of barefaced realisms.
there is nothing here but
subservience of fantasy's burlesque fanfare
on broad vaudeville.
man sinks into the bottom
of this, rests in the
soft hands of this earth-woven
word - a poem's importunate nativity where all supremacies
are born ceaselessly!
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
When you left,
you made me feel like
a fish being hooked
through the gills,
dragged on deck,
left bleeding,
gasping for air.
and yet,
here i am,
longing for your darksome ways,
even though i know its wrong;
that you're wrong;
that i don't need you...
and that i shouldn't want you.
-T.L.D
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
The awkward jutting out of spiny branches,
And a monotonous tone bellowing through the chasm,
The reverberation of sound an incomprehensible spasm,
And the shaking of rock with threats of avalanches.
Something’s happening in my mind’s eye.
Something weird, darksome and ambiguous.
As the shattered memory flew through us,
Ransacked the minds metaphors with a dusty cry.
Whale song and bird song mixing together.
Entwined like two lovers twanging in their movement.
A blast of brilliant light in the cave of thoughts, an improvement,
And singing in a strange tongue relishing forever.
The misshapen figure of my spirit guide,
Blurry in the distance and emerging from the light.
Images of my soul a riding black knight.
The two come together walking in stride.
Leading through corridors and passages bleak,
To a landscape thwarting the concepts placed within it.
And striding through its swerving scene ideas bound and tight knit.
And set fire to itself with plumes that reek.
Choose a word, I choose access,
Hear that word ring out growing in its beauty and elegance.
Then ****** violently from one place to another, the relevance?
Not understanding the situational nexus.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
There once came a tale that didn’t want to be told.
It shuddered in the light of the voices decrepit and old,
That tried to conjure it at the peripheries of its boundaries.
But it fought back lingering in its formation in the foundries.
It would not be cast so easily like metal,
It would not be set so willingly in stone,
It would float on the tip of the tongue a fragranced petal,
It would bounce on the edge of the mind an ineffable tone.
Never drifting too close to anyone’s ear,
It remained in the distance away from the sages and scribes,
Always aware of its greatest fear,
To be misinterpreted by the way a human describes.
For who in all of creation has the ability to tell a story such as this?
With all the glory and irreverence so subtly intertwined,
The colour so luminous, and texture beating with bliss,
With no earthly writer could this yarn be aligned.
The muses who birthed this defiant prose did weep,
When they saw their child miss its chance for eternity again and again,
They beseeched their progeny to take the leap,
But over and over it would say no and cause them such pain.
And in the absence of this story the world fell in disarray,
Chaos ran wild and fear grew rife,
Without the stories guidance, the part it was supposed to play,
Soon it came to the end of its life.
For the humans had lost their ability to imagine such a story,
And it was lost in obscurity, unconceived glory.
It was then it saw the errors of its foolish way,
It tried to enter their thoughts but could never stay.
It was now far too late,
It had created its fate.
And everything turned grim, in a darksome pit
When it realised no one would remember it.
And the moral of the story is this,
Take this token a gentle kiss.
Play your part and play it bold,
Let your story be one that’s told.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC
"A Scene"
A Man Long have I sought answers
Yet now, seeing her, I stand mute.
What glories, what honors shall be mine
When I ask of the Goddess Future
And She tells me what lies ahead.
Goddess
Future Ask of me what you will
It is mine to answer plainly.
Man Future, what shall be my greatest glory
In times to come?
Fut Happiness is the greatest treasure
And is sought by all
Through many and various means.
Happiness may be a part of all futures.
Man Yes, 'tis true
Happiness is a worthy crown.
How shall I find my happiness?
Through wealth, fame, power?
If this glory is to be mine
From whence shall it come?
Fut From love. True happiness
Comes only through love.
Not love of money
Or of clattering applause
Nor love of deeds greatly done
Or wars bravely fought
But simple love.
To love oneself
Freely, and daily, and imperfectly
As in all the affairs of man
This brings the greatest of all treasures
Happiness.
Man Love? Love??
My greatest glory in all my days
Shall come through love?!
By the power that has put us here
In this darksome void of emptiness
You are bound to answer all
And answer plain!
Yet you stand before me
Spouting riddles and ancient stories
Told to fresh weaned children.
Tell me! Tell me true! Tell me plain!!
Where and how and when
Shall I find happiness!!?
Fut I tell you true and I tell you plain
As I have always done
And never were these words hidden
From anyone's heart.
They have been lying amongst your feet
Crowding you and tripping you
As you travel your daily lives.
Yet you kick them aside
Daring not to look down
Through fear of being devoured
By life's pains while caring
Or lest some vain comfort of man
Pass you by.
Truly I say
The ones who find happiness
Are those open to change.
For all mankind yearns
For the missing part
And accepts what is before them
To fill the emptiness.
But only those who recognize
The ill-fitting lies of
Worldly miss-pleasures
And frail human vanities
Only they are free to continue the search
And eventually gain, happiness.
Man Words, hollow words.
Long have I lived.
Many are my tales
Of wearisome toil and effort
And again all that is found
Are simple words.
You, Future
Who's power it is to know
The fates of all men
Answer me with uncertainties.
Go, go back to where you came from
Leave me alone.
I shall rest,
And tend to my pains and sorrows.
Fut NO!! There are no uncertainties
Or riddles in my speech.
Only to those who love themselves
And others
Is given the boon of happiness.
You, who's ears are small
And filled with worldly echoes
Distorting all,
You stand before a Goddess
And dismiss Her words
Rather than admit your error.
And yet,
It is the honor and privilege
Of all free willed man to do so.
Therefore I shall be silent,
And leave you,
At your own bidding.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 9:04 PM UTC
_Woe to the world, the sun is in a cloud,
And darksome mists do overrun the day;
In high conceit, is not content allowed;
Favour must die and fancies wear away.
O heavens, what hell! The bands of love are broken,
Nor must a thought of such a thing be spoken._
-Robert Devereaux
Goodbye, mockingbird -
I must leave you now.
I have often watched you
hash across the yard
from your holly station,
chop chop chop with such vim,
from the leaf to the post
to the high-lidded lamp
that surveys the night dispassionately.
In return, how ungrateful I have been -
what terrible things
I have offered your shining bead
of an eye. In your tenure
on the gray-green sill
you have listened to the sharp salt
of my many difficulties
with perfect equanimity.
But now I must go.
Perhaps you will find me,
across the living ruins
of this capital city,
in the raining triangle
that corners down to Dupont.
Or perhaps you will stay sentinel
over this nest, deep in the green.
I will miss you, little bird.
My two brightest years
passed under your wing.
Jun 2, 2021
Jun 2, 2021 at 3:47 PM UTC
Darksome urban night,
Is there danger lurking near?
Industrial sounds.
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
Not man enough for me, Adam
Your garden brings me grief
He opened up his darksome gates
And granted me sweet relief
Poison apple sits heavy
From lush tree to teeth
To caught in your throat
But alas Eve was the thief
My children are set free
Roaming in the shadows
I am not a grieving woman
But I am a widow
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 12:20 AM UTC
"A Scene"
A Man Long have I sought answers
Yet now, seeing her, I stand mute.
What glories, what honours shall be mine
When I ask of the Goddess Future
And She tells me what lies ahead.
Goddess
Future Ask of me what you will
It is mine to answer plainly.
Man Future, what shall be my greatest glory
In times to come?
Fut Happiness is the greatest treasure
And is sought by all
Through many and various means.
Happiness may be a part of all futures.
Man Yes, 'tis true
Happiness is a worthy crown.
How shall I find my happiness?
Through wealth, fame, power?
If this glory is to be mine
From whence shall it come?
Fut From love. True happiness
Comes only through love.
Not love of money
Or of clattering applause
Nor love of deeds greatly done
Or wars bravely fought
But simple love.
To love oneself
Freely, and daily, and imperfectly
As in all the affairs of man
This brings the greatest of all treasures
Happiness.
Man Love? Love??
My greatest glory in all my days
Shall come through love?!
By the power that has put us here
In this darksome void of emptiness
You are bound to answer all
And answer plain!
Yet you stand before me
Spouting riddles and ancient stories
Told to fresh weaned children.
Tell me! Tell me true! Tell me plain!!
Where and how and when
Shall I find happiness!!?
Fut I tell you true and I tell you plain
As I have always done
And never were these words hidden
From anyone's heart.
They have been lying amongst your feet
Crowding you and tripping you
As you travel your daily lives.
Yet you kick them aside
Daring not to look down
Through fear of being devoured
By life's pains while caring
Or lest some vain comfort of man
Pass you by.
Truly I say
The ones who find happiness
Are those open to change.
For all mankind yearns
For the missing part
And accepts what is before them
To fill the emptiness.
But only those who recognize
The ill-fitting lies of
Worldly miss-pleasures
And frail human vanities
Only they are free to continue the search
And eventually gain, happiness.
Man Words, hollow words.
Long have I lived.
Many are my tales
Of wearisome toil and effort
And again all that is found
Are simple words.
You, Future
Who's power it is to know
The fates of all men
Answer me with uncertainties.
Go, go back to where you came from
Leave me alone.
I shall rest,
And tend to my pains and sorrows.
Fut NO!! There are no uncertainties
Or riddles in my speech.
Only to those who love themselves
And others
Is given the boon of happiness.
You, who's ears are small
And filled with worldly echoes
Distorting all,
You stand before a Goddess
And dismiss Her words
Rather than admit your error.
And yet,
It is the honour and privilege
Of all free willed man to do so.
Therefore I shall be silent,
And leave you,
At your own bidding.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 2:56 PM UTC