The flat pasture was disturbed by a dip A markèd groove in its dark, mossy surface I tipped my head over the hole, inching gradually towards the centre Smooth and immaculate The water served as a perfect mirror; my face against the dusky sky I squinted into its inky eyes, searching for familiarity But curiosity got the better of me And I fell.
The initial contact was the worst: A shock of cold slapped my face and I saw nothing But an ominous blur of dappled green light The heavy water pushed me further – down, down – To uncertain depths Movement stung my skin, so I decided to freeze.
Unconsciously I drifted to the mouth again And shot up Spluttering and gasping; the air was damp and heavy Pathetic and sopping, I crawled out and sat beside the edge The sky had darkened a little Though there were still enough streaks of blue for the pool to reflect back at me Pure as before I tried to emulate this static perfection But drops and tears ran down my body in a restless stream And I couldn’t control it.
I don’t considered this to be finished and would like to edit it further. I want it to flow nicely and I feel the phrasing is a little clunky in parts. All suggestions/comments for improvement welcome.
This feeling I have that drags my spirit And I indulge in its lowly zest out of habit My feet they move in a trudge like manner Shoulders hunched inwards non receptive to splendour.
How heavy it is in my heart I weep For a life been dealt in a single, swift sweep Cards that has been dealt from aeons past Oaths recited loudly so that they would last.
Amidst the crowd of mask-faced happiness Unconvinced, I slipped past unfound lest I be careless. Discomforted in what on this path may lie Discontented as such that my heart whines a cry.
Rigidity of routine when sensibility took over Bruised bad and battered well my heart tumbled after It felt like it's the end of my dream laden days Reality sinks in, picks on my heart and there it stays.
I don't want to leave my coveted dreamscape I don't want to destroy my only means of escape On the ***** of fantasy, forever I want to stay But it's crumbling away alarmingly like sun beaten clay.
I deceive my heart into thinking that there's still hope Truth is I may have come to the end of the rope Heart wants to hear a faint whisper of reassurance Mind chides heart, it judgingly delivers it's sentence.
My cries cannot be heard, a wail of futile pleas Banging on locked doors for which I don't have the keys So weak this spirit for it has thus been broken Morsel by morsel, this hapless soul is being eaten.
This burden I'm carrying seem never to have lightened It is the dark of this period I wish to have brightened Someone, anyone help...please show me a way In this god forsaken pit I do not wish to stay.
However there exists yet a slim little chance Key to courage is somewhere if I could afford a glance Chances are that I may never even find it I'll be trapped in a hole in which I can never truly fit.
Parting the stones ceaselessly barraged by waves – Abyssal fireplaces line my recent dreamscape in overwhelming numbers all hungry & purveying the dirt of my forthright grave – I've had many desperate attempts to climb your Mountain Tower, a fortress encrusted with seashells glowing gates, halls which betray the laws of physics and stir trespassers into madness (ardor)
I'm in the center of indefinite reprieve – a dark and shackled sweat-bath keeps me from ascending
The Farther, my initial cause – defeated & hush ! Slick the oil from exhausted wings – fallen protector/sublimated spirit - as the Dominion I'd once mastered has been overtaken, now tasked at massaging the unwashed swollen limbs of Sisyphus as repentance for my own behavior – but I have a fantastic balcony to be – Sicily, Spring – a date to attend/a death to disarm & appropriately chain until such occasion draws me back to her
I am dark and therefore substantial ! Terrifying ideations have ****** from my vein/The Pilgrim's onerous migration has revealed as much – Dracula thirsts in multitudes
“Life is simply a process of death and devourment -”
Our purification is only lent to the existence of corruption. Neither can exist so long as consciousness – specifically Ego – hasn't yet activated itself in the mind. So long as we are aware, there will be conflict in need of resolution, darkness to be expelled by light. Both are intrinsic to the other. In such a way, all division or conflict could be viewed as positive potential yet to be realized. The dragon yet to be slain
The Gifted ones we turn into The "Wild Ones" to be The Chosen-Ones of the Golden- Gods Wild Oats organically are grown into your younger heart
Like (Cheer)ios Mysterious Honey O's Uniquely-- tied-- unknown Does everybody become ? The Joker playing poker Too many "Billygoats"
Wild card players Playing jeopardy in (January) To be his chosen one Miss (February) True gifts the big ones (March) in wild ones
The Emerald-Green door planet Poems on earth sonnet (April) no fools I'm cool Orangutans wild dolphins Italian vineyards Wildlife Fruit surgeons
(May) I click to tease you Shark bay will bite you Getting burned with a flat iron Walk the talk Sea lions Sea Cortez smartphones Married in (June) candy Pez
So personal in (July) What awaits through the__ door* Mom brightens my August day I pod imaginary dreamscape Cat got your tongue Darkness like Grunge Amazon Jungle-book in the lounge
Got Scrooged no gifts To Google the camel got your back move to the frontline with her "Big Cats" On the Jet gifts and magical hats It pays to be wild "The Man's Pleasure" he is
The most wanted list Oh! Christ The last gift watch out The Brittish are coming to brighten up your bucket list
Saint Nick canary slippery hands tight fist protest The wild ones "Readers Digest" Trees and eyes don't lie Knocking on heavens door Don't be the swagger **** Jaeger
White snow sugar dance the Warm maple brown sugar I hear the Godly caller Writers, all doors welcome
The wild ones the good ones but the bad ones seem to be the News story why are the good ones not the gifted ones stealing or too much dreaming the white lie Christmas the trees don't lie take a piece of her Wild cherry favorite pie