"delphian" poems
Do you know what makes us great!?
Do you know the delphian feeling!?
I have walked on the sun and slept on the moon
Letting out my own flares
Creating my own current
We have been burnt and suffocated
Leaving ash in our wake
Multitude, overflowing; adrift, washing away
Do you know what makes us great!?
The ability the see the lights potential and make it shine seen through all the sky’s as a dying star
We are capable
Yet we long for more
Do you know the delphian feeling!?
Our ability to achieve and go beyond, encouraging greed, deception, betrayal
The Light!!
A two headed sword
Cementing history
Creating mystery
Certify Victory
The light beautiful and bright
Yet dark and mysterious.
Rex Verum Regem
TFK
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
Dissappeared as if a dark cloud decayed the body in a matter of miliseconds and disposed of it somewhere unknown. Never did I see a single sign of being psychologically sick. Not one piece of evidence to prove her existence. Multiple memories of her wither away slowly. No discernment to the delphian disappearance. Very vague memories of her, perhaps she was a vision. Maybe, just maybe my imagination had gone too far with my mind. No! Her disappearance was real; but due to her irrelevance, and exodus she was forgotten in the conscious mind of others. Maybe its time that I finally forget about the phantom that haunts my memories, and makes me question my sanity. Gone she is, and gone she will be. So the acknowledgment of her existence is Irrelevant. She is now, and forever has and will be nonexistent. -V.H.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
She abides in her circular chamber,
prophet to the oracular God.
Perched delicately a top a three-legged mount,
engulfed in a haze,
an hallucinogenic cloak.
A mystic figure,
clutching branches of laurel in her Delphian hands,
a bronze bowl of water cradled consciously in her lap.
Her hair as dark as the fates she acquaints.
A cape of red flows like the blood
of those who perished from her
manic counsels.
Aberration is evident in her dazed eyes.
At times her body thrashes
with apparent anger and confusion.
Her limbs then go limp.
A painted smile bleeding across her face,
delirium manifested.
A warning set in stone:
“Know thy self.”
Pay no attention to the opinion of the masses:
advice to be heeded.
The hollow-horned shivers
from head to hoof.
Sacrificed for knowledge of the future
yet unknown.
Her hysterical beauty sanctions
the nonsensical prophecies.
“My wife is with child,
if I contend with the enemy,
will I return to my family?”
She stares into the water,
her face distorted,
for the reflection she sees is not her own.
"You will go,
you will return,
not in the battle you will perish."
Her red cape became
more prominent in colour.
Her ambiguity brought a child
into the world
without a father.
"You will go,
you will return not,
in the battle you will perish."
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
Thoughts inflame as feelings stir
Words simmering yet to boil
Unspoken sparks drift through the night
A pyre still to burn
Delphian in its natural form
The smoke a treacherous friend
As ink rekindles and lies cremate
The mind, its woods on fire
As heat restores the human soul
All prodigals return
With hope to melt the frozen dawn,
—and free the poet’s hand
The verses stacked and dried of doubt
Their ignition up to you
As dark they wait for your next breath
To light the spoken air
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
Thoughts inflame as feelings stir
Words simmering yet to boil
Unspoken sparks drift through the night
A pyre still to burn
Delphian in its natural form
The smoke a treacherous friend
Ink rekindles and lies cremate
The mind, its woods on fire
As heat restores the human soul
All prodigals return
With hope to melt the frozen dawn,
—and free the poet’s hand
The verses stack and dry of doubt
Their ignition up to you
As dark they wait for your next breath
To light the spoken air
(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 11:18 AM UTC