"dispelled" poems
1398
I have no Life but this—
To lead it here—
Nor any Death—but lest
Dispelled from there—
Nor tie to Earths to come—
Nor Action new—
Except through this extent—
The Realm of you—
11.5k
Hurtling along and away,
Approaching the center of the galaxy,
The event horizon becomes visible,
Slowly pulling me inside,
Time and space distorted,
Wave-forms collapsing in on themselves,
Stretching and bending frequencies,
Unrealities become fluid,
then begin collapsing and twisting,
Beyond recognizable form,
Into infinite and immense matter,
Like twist and tears in the fabric of space,
Falling toward nothingness,
That dreaded singularity,
A moment away,
A million moments away,
As time ceases to exist,
And crushing gravity,
Displacing understanding,
Dispelled notions,
Horrific,
And peaceful,
Become the same.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 6:06 AM UTC
421
A Charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld—
The Lady dare not lift her Veil
For fear it be dispelled—
But peers beyond her mesh—
And wishes—and denies—
Lest Interview—annul a want
That Image—satisfies—
4.9k
Tonight I’ll go into the copse of firs
Where I last saw her, and love blossomed
I remember lust, a face plastered on hers
And the love that was then awesome.
But those woods are black and empty
So barren now and without life.
Rocks cut my shoes, once just lumpy.
There’s not a bird that chirps a fife.
The sun sets and frost nips my nose
I still remember the vibrant red rose.
The ice beneath, it chills my toes.
And the little brook, it’s now froze.
Without you, I just can’t exist
I still remember that last kiss.
Without you, I count the hours
And I watch the death of flowers.
Without you, My heart cries out
For sadness to be dispelled--
Without you, Life means nothing
And I ache with lack of loving.
Without you, There’s no catharsis
Why was I then so heartless?
Without you, There’s only blackness
No salvation from this sadness.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
She was a child once.
Eyes wide and sparkling with hopes and dreams untarnished.
An entire future stretching out before her.
She saw the world through a kaleidoscope,
A beautiful mess of endless neon colors,
Untouched by darkness and disappointment.
Pain was temporary; A scraped knee, a paper-cut.
Band-aids could heal every injury.
Her smile was a permanent fixture of sincerity,
Radiating happiness. A gaze full of inquisitive wonder.
When she lay her head down at night,
Her chest was not heavy with worries and cares.
Her mind was not filled with the ghosts of her past.
Sleep came easily, a quilt of comforting warmth enveloping her,
Sweeping her away to the land of dreams.
Blissful in her ignorance she lived, unaware that one day,
The monsters under her bed would make a home inside her head.
That her heart would fracture and die.
That the world she had known was a lie.
She wasted all her wishes wanting to be older,
Age was overrated, but nobody told her.
At 8 she was so innocent, at 10 she was just fine,
13 was disillusionment, the start of her decline.
At 15 she was in High School, they told her, "be mature".
Society screamed conformity, now she was insecure.
At 16 she was lonely, desperation took its hold.
Love slipped through her fingers like drops of liquid gold.
Now, at 17, she's stuck in a recession.
She thought the therapy had dispelled her depression.
She looks in the mirror and despises her reflection,
She is bent, bruised and broken, a mess of imperfection.
Past mistakes, her tormenters, they tear her apart.
Her body, a cage, imprisons her heart.
Each breath is a burden as she lay in bed.
She can't sleep at night, theres a war inside her head.
No one ever told her the price of growing older.
They never said she'd have
A crushing weight put on her shoulders.
Suffocating in this life, poisoned at her core,
Once she was a child,
A child she is no more.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
Stars, brilliant, yellow and white, they pierce the total black dome arching over the trees.
Campfires spew sparks, dragons fly and jump to meet the stars,
Miniature electric lights; a spritely accent around the RVs.
Night choristers, peeping, honking voices dispelled by dawn
Morning light creeps up
Dew
Dripped, rivulets ran down the side of the tent
Campfires, lit anew
Pancakes, sausage, oatmeal.
Noon
the heat of the sun bakes the ground, dew dispelled.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Taffeta dress.
Pink bows and ribbons,
Plaited elegantly through her shiny hair.
Shoes made of crystal glass.
Azure eyes that allure.
Princes and spinsters.
All vying for love.
In ball gowns.
Feel the frowns.
The pauper descends.
Out of place, amid friends.
Pretences of sisters who whisper and moan.
Two sisters and mother that clamour the throne.
They're trying for love.
Met on the staircase.
We really don't really care case.
Sisters on ladders of heels,as they stagger .
Their mouths filthy as bladders and bowels.
Nasty creatures.
Vile in lust.
Lustful greed.
Maternal demon seed.
Stepmother, toxically crumbles to dust.
Crone godmother.
A quick sip of milk.
Cinderella my lovely became but a sylph.
Dispelled stepmother and daughter's that cussed.
Transport to the princes ball.
In a pumpkin, should maybe have been made into a sickly sweet pie.
Lizards as footmen, stood fast on the back on the coach pulled by white mice.
The creatures were shocked.
By the changes, all the rearrangements.
Built up with Cinderella before, a creature comfort kind of rapport.
Be back by midnight said the fairy godmother, she knew he'd really grow to love her.
Midnight came midnight went.
A glorious evening only lent.
She tripped on the stair,
Nobody cared, except the prince and cute cinders.
She lost her shoe, in a hurry to flee.
Prince himself picked it up, unable to believe in lady luck was meant to be.
He searched his dominions far and wide, just to find his princess bride.
All the best things found in fairy tales.
What do I find?
Just slugs and snails.
Yep, you guessed it I'm a bit of a cynic.
(c)Livvi MMCV
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Thunderstorms is that deep anger inside me. Its rather rare and it doesnt happen very often, but when it does, i just get very miserable and take it out on the people around me. I dont mean to hurt them, i just need to let it out. But since its so rare, there's a sort of beauty in that passionate anger.
Volcanoes. My anxiety lays low and simmers steadily for long periods of time and then it gradually rises and the pressure increases until it explodes, and then it just covers every single surrounding aspect of life, temporarily consuming everything else. Then theres a period of silence and nothingness after. Then I begin to rebuild.
Gentle and persistent rain is just that gloom that hangs around, and you can never quite shake. Its not necessarily painful or harmful, its just dreary and more draining than one would expect. It can be dispelled by strong bursts of sunlight.
Wind is for those times when I rapidly shift, going from gentle and lovable on a hot day to a violent gale which pushes back outside influence.
And the ocean is because im constantly exploring myself constantly trying to map out every section of my brain and my body and my limitations but no matter how deep i ever dive, the pressure is too overwhelming, and ill never know everything, and so theres this.. Mysterious aspect to the deeper parts of the ocean, similar to the deeper parts of my brain.
For those times when my emotions cycle rapidly, I am as destructive as a hurricane. The emotions whip around just as fast as any gust of wind, but truly, they are all just as deadly as each other. Nothing can stop the trio of emotions, they just go until they don't have enough energy to fuel themselves any more.
Forgive me if I am a blizzard. From time to time I become scathingly cold. I become icy, unrelenting and unbearable. Getting caught within the blizzard will leave those so unfortunate with a bad case of frostbite which can only be amputated if you hope to survive. The cold will linger, but the regretful sun will try its hardest to warm you back up.
Then in turn, I will become too confident in myself. The sun will get too hot. It will be too sure of itself, and it will scorch and burn.
As a result, the clouds will roll in and humility will take over, masking the arrogance which was so offensive. On a cloudy day, forgive me, I just wish I could be better.
Be wary of earthquakes. Fear will be felt throughout my body, and it will rock me down to the core, and it will rumble through my mind until I tear apart. Beware of falling objects.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC
She lost her heart inside his soul..in the words his mind composed...inside the myriad memories of this emerald eyes...that shone with a light she had never know...a longing she thought was hers alone...
She loved him more than life itself..
But feared that even the shadow of her
scared, wounded heart would cast
an evil that could not be dispelled.
The proof of her love was in her eyes..she loved him each moment...knowing well that even the sight of him killed her a thousand times over...
She wanted the best for him...even if it meant being without her.
His future, his dreams meant more to her than that ache deep down to see him behold her with a longing she saw in his eyes alone....none ever looked at her like that...ever
Lust was all she got....disgust if at all.
He made her feel beautiful, feel complete..seem ageless...almost magically as if his love alone could transform her demons into ashes....
He was all she ever wanted..hoped for..he was the answer to her aching heart!
She loved him like she would die every day just to be held in his transcendental embrace...
But then she ran away...frightened at the plethora of emotions that coursed through her hopeless body..afraid of her own shadow...afraid of what it meant...a reality she couldn't dream of..cudnt imagine..
worlds colliding.. hopes shattering...
she dare not love again...she dare not love again..she promised herself.."Not this time...not again"
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:51 AM UTC
In the silence and misunderstandings that separate us
I need to believe there is a place where we can meet
a place of mottled light where the only shadows
are painted by ancient firs who conspiratorially lean
open, welcoming hands down to greet us.
It is a place where all thoughts of judgment and jealousy
are simply too petty for consideration
love being implicit in the moisture of the air
words are unnecessary for our eyes reveal
everything we ever want to say.
Fear and resentment are unknown here
we refuse to recognize them if they slither
into this haven while we are sleeping
restful, innocent, unworried
history does not exist, the moment held is enough.
If this vision were dispelled, my soul could not sustain
reality’s weight. I would be battered, fragile
as a spiraled whelk on deceptively smooth rocks
splintered by hate and unwillingness
to be as the sea, fluid and graceful, all encompassing.
Will you come with me here?
Or is the hour too late?
We can meet in this hollow sacred space
and begin again, let loose misconceptions
clouding the life we share.
The path is faint
trust your weary heart
it will lead us to each other.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
It's quite odd how the average man will not commit to run
With any issues challenging his personal smoking gun.
With issues that confound in discomfort’s naked face
Or adopt a stance of reticence when confronted here apace.
Won’t lend a ready helping hand for fear of being held
Accountable for consequence imagined or dispelled,
Distrustful of the outcome in involvement’s disrepair
Would much prefer retreat to accountability there.
A quotient disappointment to the greater human race
Are the spineless who refuse to look directly to my face.
Marshalg
9 October 2013
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
In the heart of my dream place,
where I'd always yearned to be,
there's an inexplicable melancholy
that wraps around me like a heavy shroud.
It's curious, you see,
how one can stand in the very midst of their dreams
and still feel so profoundly distant from happiness.
It's as though my emotions have been muted,
rendered numb
by the overwhelming weight of this place.
The vibrant colors of my aspirations seem dulled,
the laughter I'd imagined echoes
only faintly in the recesses of my mind.
Here, amidst the fulfillment of my desires,
a shadow lingers—
a persistent ache that refuses to be dispelled.
I thought I'd soar in this dreamland,
but instead, I find myself
tethered to the ground,
my spirit heavy with an unexplained sorrow.
Sep 15, 2023
Sep 15, 2023 at 12:43 PM UTC
Ah, you ask
what the origin is of the word pharaoh
Let me assure you first
such questions need to be asked
and you have come to the right person
for I am an antimologist
one specialized in the study of the origin of words
1
Let us consider....pharaoh...pharaoh...pharaoh...
Ah, I have it...the answer retrieved
from the safe confines and treasuries
in the deepest recesses of my mind....
The pharaoh
was so called
for these rulers were,
in spite of the scorching heat and unforgiving sun,
these rulers were always fair
and never became dark
and so that clears the mystery of the first half of pharaoh
2
And moreover, it is revealed in the papyri
and graffiti in the tombs
these Pharaohs could row -
even as Rulers these Pharaohs could row -
you know
row, row, row your boat
and they could row
the full length and breadth of the Nile
And thus from the 2 Divine attributes
of FAIR and ROW
came the title: PHARAOH
3
But....but...but! you say
Ah, I know, I know - you are about to ask
why then is the word spelt as PHARAOH
and not as FAIRROW?
Ah, such questions you have this morning -
what are you on?
Too much sugar and candy floss last night?
Well, you are lucky as I’m not only an antimologist
but also an IsDorian
and so I shall dispel your doubts at once:
It’s simple - remember they were Ancient Egyptians
and these Ancient Egyptians did not know their English well
and so instead of the proper English FAIRROW
they gave us the mangled PHARAOH -
and let us not be too hard on them
as you also recall this was all in the infancy of human civilization
and we shall be graceful enough in our maturity to accept these errors,
for after all, these Ancient Egyptians were but as children
in the History of Human Motion
And I hope I have now dispelled your morning perturbations
as I rowed you over
the rivers of knowledge of antimology, IsDory
and the secret knowledge of FAIRROW and the PHARAOH
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 5:12 AM UTC
(pop pills
like you used to pop balloons as a child
eyes closed
tentative hands
face turned away
scared
of the explosion that follows)
they say you used to be so pretty
healthy, thick red hair with gold hightlights
bright blue eyes with brown around the pupil
lips that dispelled depression
with their curves
now they ask you why your hair
feels dead like a barbie doll's
why your eyes don't smile
why your lips curve
in a different direction
they ask you why you're alone
where's the boyfriend?
like that's some sort of
validation
so many different answers to one question
"so what're you up to this semester?"
i'm
trying to figure things out
hoping to transfer
taking a gap year
...again
hell i don't know
i'm just
******* around
are you ok
they keep asking
i laugh it off
"i'm awesome
how's the boyfriend
girlfriend
semester?"
(the ache in my head has made me mean
my birth was my validation
i don't need you)
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
*I close my eyes and in the darkness
I see you, my enchanting ecstasy, walking
Down a cobblestone street in silhouette.
Carefully placed footsteps echoing the
The pavement - without the slightest of regret.
Through the faint gas lit corridor
Vintage smells and a whispering wind
Accompany my meandering thoughts.
No matter where I go -
No matter when I go –
Footsteps going forward
Revealing the past.
In a cumbersome transom blended
With a tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap
Of a horse drawn carriage –
Therein a song is revealed.
Where else but in silent music do dreams
Blend reality with one’s emotions?
Aye - there in my mind’s eye -
Tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap.
Do I have any life but this? Tap -
If not - let me lead it from here. Ta -
No death there be ‘lest - Tap -
Dispelled from there. Tap -
Nor any ties to earths to come. Ta -
Nor any action in any effort of new. Tap -
Except in the blessed extent - Ta -
Of this other realm of loving you. - Tap -
And in my mind’s eye –
The music,
Tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap -
Of cobblestone and hoof –
Ta-tap
Returns me to ....
*
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
Bathtub music and drums played on the surface
of Davy Jones's mirror: the ceramic holds
the sea, the sea, and all within it: ***** me.
Scrubbed you off my skin again for
the umpteenth night in a row. Row
row row our boat away from the constant,
constant rows. Stormy arguments and
weathered mistrust. You'll break me,
won't you? I'll break you, won't I? Won't you
come drown with me Ariel? Won't you
come up with me to the kitchen and lock up
the door then lock up the oven then lock up
ourselves in carbon-monoxide poetry?
But then how does cooking gas end up as sass
in a library? How did sustenance turn into
asphyxiation? Why are our hands on
each other's throats instead of being binded
by the absoluteness, the certainty, the assuredness
of palms within palms and fingers interlocked
and question marks dispelled.
Splash! as way in and over my head
is the bathtub music
and my absorbent curls are
drinking, drinking, drinking, thinking
about the why you only call me when
you're drinking, drinking, drinking; thinking
about the way I cannot suppress you when
the cellphone has long gone quiet and
your Hughes of blue are still loud but
your red is dead.
Ariel, Ariel,
I want to be your dark-haired prince.
Ariel, Ariel,
my country is landlocked but I still see you in the sink.
Ariel, Ariel,
gurgling away as the bathtub music fades
into ugly brown rings around the ceramic
pause button
that shows no hope of continuation
Ariel, Ariel, you are the final splash!
as the false sea drifts away, the final splash!
that scatters bathtub music past the drain
and into the air. Ariel, Ariel,
you are the false rain
that my landlocked country never prayed for.
Ariel, Ariel, toneless, begotten and forgotten
Ariel, Ariel. I cannot sing for you. I cannot.
You will not sing for me. You will not.
The final splash! past the drain and into the air
is you Ariel. The false rain.
The rain song of our endless games.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
A love so deep, it rips apart your unhealed skull.
A mystery of illusions, inclusivity is dared to be dispelled.
May I hold you?
Or am I too far away.
Can I feel you?
Just a touch to make me beg of your despair.
Unwritten poetry, a querulent secrecy of written misery and longing.
I want to love, may I love?
Whom can be loved more than the love of thyself?
I fall to my aching pits.
I feel you...
But you are not here.
Sep 3, 2021
Sep 3, 2021 at 2:17 PM UTC
Four friends set out, all young and free,
Faith, Hope, Selfless Love and me.
Coasts, river banks we found by stream
To first set foot on country green,
Through the meadows’ flowery plain,
Downs, fragrant woodlands soon we gained,
Till in a dark and wretched time
Foul smirched us with night-black grime
The stinking noisy city of towers,
Stretched over us its binding powers.
Our friend Faith with her smile so sweet
Took a bullet in the street.
Where wealth’s gold temples over steeple
Men with guns who aim at people,
Our constant Faith lay cold and dead
Who friends us three had always led:
The thorns of life had ragged our flesh,
She lifted us each time afresh
To chase our aims so dearly sworn
Before her gaze, so clear up borne.
Shame to the creature, not saying man,
For hate or for money who laid her down.
From the city to a lair
Hid remote mid mountains bare
Selfless Love and Hope and me
Crept, far from that press to be,
In a crack a mile down
Close controlling her domain
Reigned absolute a gross old girl
The wicked witch of all the world.
Hope and Selfless Love and me
Abject subjects we took her fee.
Our mothers’ love, our fathers’ guidance
Wasted on our evil living.
Slaves of her cruel strict enforcing
But Selfless Love himself abhorring
Loved her, and upon the altar
Stripped and bare he wore her halter,
Tight restrained his naked chest
Awaited the blade her claim must test.
As she took him, Hope and me
Had our chance away to flee;
A blessed isle lies still afloat,
There we went in one small boat.
In the morning may both be
My strong companion Hope and me.
Who us three friends had always held,
Despair with tireless arms dispelled.
If the waters of the isle
Take him from me as we sail
If the little boat shall knock
On the island’s jutting rock
And we swim and he should drown
Let us both to death go down,
Not upon a beach set me
From the danger of the sea,
Paradise is Erebon
With Faith, Hope, Love gone; all alone.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
Delightful visions of this bright morning,
Pray awaken to joys arrival;
Put to bed your nightmares of death and darkness
And allow these words to repair your cracked heart.
Ah! What is a nightmare before the dawns brilliance?
But an illusion cast before your eyes,
Only to be shattered by the suns clear rays,
Dispelled, before this immaculate future.
Such fleeting horrors, let them fade,
Do not let the chiding of scoundrels impair you,
Let the lovely beams fill you with cheer,
Together in spirit, we shall journey towards heaven.
Though storms may sour the azure sky,
If you and I walk together, the clouds will obey our command,
The black and menacing, shall be fluff, and white beneath our touch.
And If we wish to dance in the rain, it shall be so.
Together, we shall seize the day, with both hands,
And never let it go, even as night arrives, we shall dwell in brilliance.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
Purring, the big cat, prowls though the city,
Her grace resonating in the words of youth,
The rhythm of life beating within her heart,
Pulsing in the melting *** of cultural truth.
Unwholesome disenchantments; dispelled,
Crushing obsolete views of old generations,
One World, concepts, sweeping all before,
Welcoming the progress of mixed relations.
A Bohemian feline of change, so constant,
Wisdom, truth, acceptance, riot in her roars,
New wave embracing, all colours, all creeds,
Bigoted ignorance fearing sharpened claws.
The multi-faceted face, of free London now,
Don’t hate those who sneer, offer them pity,
Their time disperses on Thames ebbing tide,
Purring, the big cat, prowls through the city.
©Paul M Chafer 2016
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Confusing messages of misadventured youths
"The best mistake ever made" to her
A carefully played plan to another her
Yet always surrounded by unfailing encouragement, the labour government and an inherent love for royalty.
A red, velvet curtain opened on a child growing from seedling to tree
And in turn took from that tree its very leaves,
But only through inquistiveness,
No malice, despite the lies.
Truth prevailed when the bird was caught which demonstrates a sense of good, I thought.
Renegaded, so rebelled,
Parental issues yet to be dispelled become increasingly difficult through distance.
Dance daddy: a fabricated memory seen through a sister's eyes.
Close but not so close that we touch because after this long that'd probably be a little much.
First love,
LOOK LOVE!
Next love,
**** LOVE!
**** love hard in the *** **** them to make them love you and hope it'll pass
**** FOREVER!
Stop.
Breathe.
Explore.
Open your mind and look inside.
Try not to hide from the eyes that want to see you,
Be You!
Try to understand you!
Peel your bleeding fingers from your sodden face and let you in.
Incessant chatting in a circle of moon-eyed 'lovers'.
Mutinies, epiphanies, breakfast with balloon families,
Lest we forget the lies,
Ducking,
Diving,
More *******
Skiving,
Writhing,
Without Guilt,
Much to everyone else's dismay!
He loves you, they'll say
But it didn't work out that way.
That one, he wasn't strong
And when things went wrong, he'd hit a ****
And I'd disappear with the smoke
A nice bloke, just not for me.
And so, love number three
A write, a poet,
Inner turmoil, didn't show it.
Left home and ran but this one he took my hand,
And I'd open up his windows with the curtains closed.
Retrieve this wondrous creature from his pit of self-doubt.
And that inner-turmoil?
I think it came out.
The story doesn't end there,
But right now that's all I'm willing to share!
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 7:33 AM UTC
~
here our gathered shadows,
in this hallowed place,
'neath its high hewn beams,
within its vacuous space;
to these storied walls,
we add our sighs of suffering;
to these earthly halls
for you in love we bring
our ties of heart and this,
for you a proxied offering,
for you a plea for peace,
on your behalf entreat,
a prayer for hope, for rest.
as earthly labors cease,
as in the distance,
earthly mem’ry fades,
may all its toil,
its daily rage,
dispelled as vapor be,
and in its place
may love remain,
as you ever rest in peace.
~
*post script.
for those lost from these halls,
taken from us ’fore their time
for Ernest, the Seeker, the Dreamer!*
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
A glimpse is seen beyond the black
enough to know that life exists
in the presence of company
displaying more than a well wish
a passing hope with that breach
opportunity to view kindness
however tricky it may be
to stop the fall none wish to see
a strong desire lurks within
walking high on a tightrope
to cut the ties that hold them here
plunge the soul into the pit
with small concern for what’s next
when the present is only pain
eschewing views of other folk
struggling on the high wire
this view that few would admit
even as the path is packed
by the quiet inside their shells
wearing masks for normal kin
‘move along’ is the request
lest the secret is spoken of
then replied with saccharine
or harsh regard to buck on up
turn away from this tone
instead embrace with kind regard
allowing for the sadness found
a lifetime’s worth to be dispelled
all’s not lost while breath moves
this requires the brave friends
to light the candle against the dark
encourage shift beyond the black.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180719.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC