"enshrouded" poems
Gaunt in gloom,
The pale stars their torches,
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
Arches on soaring arches,
Night's sindark nave.
Seraphim,
The lost hosts awaken
To service till
In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
Raised when she has and shaken
Her thurible.
And long and loud,
To night's nave upsoaring,
A starknell tolls
As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
Voidward from the adoring
Waste of souls.
7.2k
Enshrouded in mist,
far flung shores requite nothing.
Lonely eyes watch hushed.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
out of the blue you came,
and for that i was the blame.
the house was too crowded,
sweaty bodies and red cups enshrouded.
i looked and looked around,
but you didn't want to be found.
and then in the backyard i saw you,
noticed you right through.
i asked you 'what's the matter',
you said 'i would rather'.
i gave you a questioning look,
you asked, 'are you Brooke'.
i chuckled at you guess,
and straightened my dress.
you got up,
and pushed the red cup.
i opened my mouth to talk,
but further you walked.
you cupped my neck,
and gave me a peck.
i gasped for air,
and ran my hands through your hair.
your lips connected to mine again,
and realization hit me then.
i was too good for you,
and you were too good for me.
we didn't match,
we were a mismatch.
but just so you know,
i loved you all along.
even though we both said no,
we were wrong.
you were such a party destroyer,
you destroyed me, completely,
mind and body.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
These nowhere towns,
Mountain tops snow-capped long through march,
All else,
Enshrouded in brown.
Though people live here,
And seems they aren't broken down.
The paint peels from the motel,
The mother tends to her daze,
The attendant ponders the insects of the sill,
Tumbleweed the only things, un-willing of being still.
Life is good here,
In these hazy,
Background,
Nowhere towns.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 7:54 PM UTC
Oh this feeling of utter alienation
This endless road trip without a destination
Trapped inside this metal monstrosity of a car
I feel like we haven't made it very far
Constantly around the same round about
Enshrouded in fog made of doubt
I'm endlessly confined
Within the labyrinth of my mind
Shifting corridors, dark spaces
Constant bombardment of familiar faces
I gaze out the tinted windows
And try and figure what no one knows
To try and bypass the security of my brain
To do so and remain sane
To see what cannot be seen
To tap into the source of inspiration
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
Moved by the guiding hands of the wind,
While avoiding the living room box's trend.
Although fixate with this generation's iPad,
Or impulse to explore the Xbox's dungeon,
And glimpse the pages of the Forbe, the Facebook, and the likes.
Make time to be in the moment of solace,
A time to dream to explore ideals,
Like floating in nebula avoiding the all powerful black hole.
Navigating the void of the sense of inner torment,
Or charting the boundries of the next voyages of personal task.
One does need to depart from disparity of news,
Or lose sense of humanity by deprived reality TV,
For satirical movies like Idiocracy prophesied seem realized.
One does need to regroup in personal cocoon,
Meld by the silent melodies of beating chest,
Like metronome syncing the keys of the piano to Bach,
While breathing upon the horizon of rebirth,
And find your enshrouded foggy path by beacon of self enlightenment.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
My anomalous trip thus far has been dichotomous.
Harbingers motivate my advent: a chorus.
Acceptance of frolic ventures sent: a quest.
My sneakers meet familiar soil at last.
Designed to be a panacea, yet I fall ill.
Sleets of rain impact my soul: a slight chill.
Hazed trance, awashed clean of all acrimony.
A lurid stroll, downhill, parallel, perfunctory.
I, a stoic mercenary, avenging my ties tonight.
Arcane magic flow through my veins, my sight.
Moisture sparkle, glistens through my mental maze.
Resistance, control: I attempt to regain ablaze.
Synaptics fuse, burn, misfire, discombobulate.
Higher functions remain: calculus, formulate.
Veritas! Visual focus be on 2D layer sharp.
Disintegrated data sung with melodious harp.
Laissez-faire slayed by Communist meritocracy.
Mental hierarchy arise from wayward sorcery.
My affection for her nets only melancholia.
The amity cease... yet reborn by spying cornea.
Upon a hill from sea to sea brings forth diplomacy.
Lively lads, enshrouded in black; they be prodigies.
Persons of worth: one stranger joins their ranks.
If my creed offend, beg you pardon pranks.
Silent drizzle softly sings of night and majesty.
Lament under moonlight, behold gray sanctity.
Ne'er shall dreadful turmoil befall our facilities.
Literature conceals such divine secrecy.
Aug 28, 2010
Aug 28, 2010 at 5:15 AM UTC
Foggy morrows alluding to the rest of day,
a grand mystery of what will be,
enshrouded in mists mans mystery motivates,
it calls upon our curiosity to investigate
and pursue misty shadows lurking and lingering.
What new mysteries shall be in this new day?
What marvels may be obliged to see?
Ah, this fabulous foggy morrow holds such marvellous,
deeply seeded, and enshrouded in curiosity, mysteries.
Oh the Foggy Morrows such relevance to life
I see in you, despite the foggy nature of your being.
Tho’ only temporary, your mystery shall reveal things
later becoming old, that is what you do,
Oh dearest Foggy morrows.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
leave it like this
sign a name then scribble it from existing;
Blood was shed and blindness almost enshrouded in the making,
the blank ink reminds me of the feeling
familiar
With this pen and I swam in lyrics that I tried to climb into, they never seemed to fit - lose weight. ok,
and sweet dreams I injected like heroine into my head; yes they had done the worst to me but alas, that’s addiction:
one never fears the desire because the greed is fuelled in return with the buzz (hope,worth,purpose?something/one).
Gambling; waste my wealths (worth,time) upon it to only taste failure before me each time, but always return slowly because “a time will come” - to win; I haven’t.
slap reality across your right cheek that burns red in naivety.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
I’ve never become low on my graveside attendance,
Victim , victim they call me, the moments I’ve been facing are abysmal,
Your voice, mellifluous, makes my world lucid, just like a blissful carnival
You fade away, so far away, in the shades of grey,
These black petals, merely dead, have witnessed a fray
Victim, an element of my soul, enshrouded in a stack of mud, in a desolated place,
My roots are too feeble to read that case
A fragmented mind, my hampered cognition, pictures you in the pleasing attires,
All I know are just my futile desires
Victim, they call me, when I visit your house, and grab those dispersed roses
A few letters garnished, just to seize my reaction,
Almighty has deceived me with his bitter, yet innocent abduction
Your warm breath, ventures me, like a spellbound,
Snivels, ****** tears, soaked up in the soil, I tend to hound
Victim, I’m a victim of my encapsulated love,
A victim of irrational fears, fallible against my taken vows
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
I know you
like the last step
in a staircase:
enshrouded in darkness.
I slowly stretch a brave leg across
the unknown dimensions;
do I relieve myself
with another familiar step?
Or do I brace myself
for the cold, naked floor?
Do I leave the routine journey
to step into a world extrinsic?
What will happen if I dare be brave;
will my foot sink through the transparent tier
to tumble aimlessly through the void,
screaming curses at my misplaced courage?
I just don't know anymore;
balancing my leg in the still air--
the temptation to pirouette
shakily and ascend anxiously.
To escalate the last step,
I find to be much easier;
My strength carries me forwards
as the light receives me warmly.
But down below,
in the shadows' taunting musings,
I cannot put faces to the voices
that call me into their reckless abandon.
I know you
like the last step
in a staircase,
faceless amorphous Guile;
your voice... indelible.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
As soon as the exams were over, we will be taken over
To a place already familiar to us, as this was ours to be taken over always
The place was like forever before, a two story cubicle
With a small attic attached, the best part of it.
They welcomed us, as usual with some food and sweets
Which made us feel drowsy for the time being
And we will go to bed in the attic, which we will insist
As it was a place full of suspense and thrill
The attic was used as a storage room, with a bedding spread between
The enshrouded variety of storage, which will be our apparatus
In this lab of mystery, sometimes we will find some
Interesting things like, train tickets, military calendars and at other times, great mouth tangling stuff
|AB|
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
I have shut the doors to my mind, I shut myself out
For inside my head there exists
a thick darkness that seeks to engulf me.
Pain – Fear – Rage and Love.
Shapeless monsters hiding – waiting to devour me;
Now to the heavens I look, towards the enchanted skies;
glittering and shimmering with cold- but warm enough
to house my sullen soul.
I will look towards them; and find my solace.
Everlasting and steadfast, I am enthralled by you.
Tales from the surface of my within,
The ones I won't tell no man, I let you hear
In the beauty of the night, you wink and glisten.
I look up at the night sky,
our eyes meet in the appreciation of devotion;
of a love between man and kind.
Enshrouded in the warm embrace of fleecy clouds;
she covers my world with her glorious silver smiles;
Lady Moon, Queen of the nighttime cohort.
I look up at the night sky,
and there he remains like a friendly old man frozen in his seat;
pointing the way to that may need it,
his hand remains steady as he guides.
He is a lone star,
shunning communion with comrades and compatriots;
he shines alone, a jewel in solitude.
I look up at the night sky,
they glide past on the wings of the wind
like gracious phantoms.
They weave and churn showing off their flexibility
and volatile dancing skill;
Teaching me how to survive in a world which loves a few.
The grey clouds flip and flop, they boil and bubble.
Rejoicing in the fellowship of flying embroidery;
they promise the gift of life giving rain.
I look up at the night sky,
my eyes cannot see them, but yes they speak to me.
From places out of the reach of civilization;
intuition and heartwarming reassurance flow;
from matter and energy,
at the bounds of space and time,
from regions further than the confines of the known multiverse;
at the feet of God.
The black of the night and the blue of day – the only barriers shielding them from my sight;
They reignite my spirit and set alight the torches of hope
inside the rooms of my soul;
I know not what they are,
but they watch over me and they watch over you.
Look into the skies
and you too will hear their silent voices.
Stare into the splendor of the night
and commune with your inner beauty.
You will be set ablaze.
WordSmith_Wiz
26/07/2018
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 5:40 PM UTC
The wood room door was opened wide
I closed it firm last night.
I woke at four and felt it's breath
It gave me quite a fright.
I felt it's chilly, gentle breath
Exhaling on my brow
And upright in my skinny bed
Roared "Get thee gone ghost,
**** off now!"
With naked shanks I padded forth
To set and light the fire
Whilst outside in the wilderness
I could hear the specter's ire,
It moved about deliberately,
It stalked outside my room.
I warmed my *** by fires heat
And cursed to dispel doom.
That icy feeling permeates
It reaches to the bone,
It is far to early for a call
Yet there's the ringing phone,
I listen to the vacant hiss,
There's no one there of course
So I bellow forth obscenities
And hang up with a curse.
Old Basil told me of the time
He watched with open mouth
Whilst a faceless man in hounds tooth coat
Glided past him from the south.
The housemaids tell with fear filled eyes
Of depressions on the bed
Where something sat and rested there
Laid down it's weary head.
Except the house was empty then,
Unoccupied by guests.
No cat nor dog nor friendly hog,
Nobody playing jests.
Some nights I walk the corridors
To see what I can see
And I fancy Thomas Dawson's ghost
Is quietly watching me,
For he only shows his bearded face
At the darkest witching hour
And it's usually in the dead of night
To the echo's of the old clock tower
When the mountain looms above the lodge
Enshrouded in the mist,
And the morepork calls its haunting sound
And the snow is moonlight kissed.
Marshalg
Dawson Falls Lodge
TARANAKI,New Zealand.
18th August 2008
- From Watching the Ripples Radiate
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
We hadn’t realised…
That we spoke of love
that was enshrouded
by child-like naïveté.
We had then,
fire in our hearts,
sparks in our eyes
and clouds in our heads
but
marbles in our mouths.
Jul 14, 2022
Jul 14, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
They say we've got to get back to the garden
We got to pull up the roots and wear them on our sleeves
But when you're truly feral, you're somehow still not free
The mud without the lotus, the ***** without desire
A soul asleep too long is born into dirt
Constructed from stale rain and hand-me-down-pain
One flick of the switch and you could have been hallowed
One cruel little trick and here you are hollow
The cosmic sadist and his moral compass
Gets off on selling sanctuary
A painter with the world as his canvas
A scientist with earth as his experiment
A ****** watching a glass-bowl of fish
An Aids avalanche, volcano cancer
Heartbreak earthquake, hurricane mistake
The rolling dice is our degree of pain
A black man's endowed to plant seeds of poverty
A white man's enshrouded with mental instability
Genetic karma makes the whole thing spin
Grandfather was a **** now I'm paying for his sins
The spiritual adulteress, too busy playing cosmic chess
To feel an ounce of our unrest
Are you so smug, being shoved under big bosses rug
A door mat, a poor mouse, a **********
Why did you isolate the mind to breed fear and murky depths
Every second on this spinning plate is another little death
Where is the underground railroad of saints
Who excel in destroying decay
Are they wandering round Nod
Or stuck in some elevated mundane
Do you drink our limbo water, do you prefer aged ***
If perfection's what they aimed for, then the only way is down
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
Aloof you stand, aloof, alone
High moral ground you make your throne,
So sacrosanct as one to be
Despoiled by pride's hypocrisy.
Above the fray that hostile stare
Entrenched, assured to show the care
That others err whilst you yourself
Preen with sanctimonious wealth.
Aloof you stand, aloof, alone
Enshrouded destitute, poor crone.
© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 5:04 AM UTC
I only wanted you to sing to me in the voice of your sweetest destruction, burning my cities to the ground that we may waltz across the ashes of places we’ve never been.
I wanted to sip from your words like a poisonous wine, poured into my mouth from your gilded chalice’s venomous kiss.
For you have become the rose whose thorns rend my palms and the crimson that seeps forth is the seed from which we have cultivated the cruel garden of our pure intentions.
Be wary of the serpents that tarry hence, for the wounds they inflict are grievous.
Meanwhile, I, enshrouded in my self-inflicted intoxication have seen you hide your eyes among the stars of the night sky.
Veiled by the outstretched wings of passerine birds whose songs do bear witness to the echo of our temperate patience.
Was it a dream?
In truth, did you flee from this brittle stage of glass, where our actors spoke the lines in time to our subtle rebellions?
Nay, it must not be so, for you were always there.
As close to the light of day as the night sky, the lovers that never touched, yet you were always there.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
Who am I?
I am love
but I am not love.
I wear love’s coat,
like a blanket
and hold its
sweet, sweet smell
a perfume too expensive to touch.
Those who dare,
always pay the price.
You see
I am not as kind as love.
I do not care.
I do not embrace with loving arms.
The heart rules the mind.
I make
your body the master of your heart.
Your soul is tossed aside.
It is no worth to me.
I am a coward.
I flee at the sight
of pain
and do not help.
It is not my job,
after all.
My job is to leave you enshrouded
intrigued torn upon captivated enthralled clouded
in the mystery that you thought
was love.
I am not love.
never will be
never have.
I am the jealous best friend.
The one always trying to steal the limelight.
Who sometimes comes before love.
Steals love.
With grimy hands,
Covered in jeweled gloves.
I do not feel with the heart,
I feel with the body.
Sensual. Aroused. Intimate. And stimulated.
Who am I?
I am lust.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
His bag of accusing words was opened and ready her heart to fill.
Her swear about playing fairly by being in love was like a bitter pill.
A subject to change himself was his escape from her malefic mess
And all the power she used had the purpose to gain her own success.
She summoned a huntsman asking him to push the little Snow White
Into the woods, to stab her to death just in the middle of the night.
As a proof of the her death, he had to bring back her lungs and her liver.
‘Cause the queen wanted to cook, to eat them and to feel that shiver.
The girl was scared to death, when she saw him taking out his knife.
She convinced him to find, however, a good solution to spare her life.
After promising to run away and never to return from the forest's core,
She asked him to give the queen the liver and the lungs of a young boar.
She admired the accidental depth, with which the oak forest was draped,
She went quietly and very quickly, because from her death she escaped.
She stood for a second, while the breeze was flowing with her breath,
She heard the voice of her mother telling her the secret about life and death.
She heard the birds singing and she wanted to be like a little bird so much
Sitting under a huge mushroom's umbrella, she avoided the light's touch.
Like shining diamonds were the misty clouds above the oak wood's trees.
She stayed there for a while to enjoy the symphony of some honey bees.
However, the cold night time came to hold all her empty unwanted dreams,
While hallucinogenic horror images were there to catch all her bleeding screams.
She woke up, but the fog's confusion enshrouded the whole dawn's entrance.
In that forest, the mystery was cast in some strange fairy shapes by chance.
Dry huge branches hardly hit her and swished in her frightened ears,
She noticed that her wet clothes in the rain were mingled with tears.
Suddenly, she found a very little house in the middle of that forest.
It was well hidden and nicely surrounded by red flowers as a florist.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 6:02 PM UTC
she stands in front of me wailing inside; statuesque, freckled, sad smile, whimsical face, hard to describe. there was a subtle depth in her aura.
says, "i've given up on my life taking any faerie tale turn."
at those words,
i wanted to be everything to her.
i wished for the passion of romeo, the charm of casanova, and the beauty of dorian gray.
if only
to take her on a ride through the back streets of naples,
to traipse about the galleries of the louve,
to sleep on the sands of a riviera,
to love under a thousand magical moons.
but with my heart in my throat, I could say nothing.
in that moment, her eyes gleaming at mine, a sadness unveiled itself.
this doubt enshrouded in her crimson locks;
wanting so much of the unknown, but always staying with what is sure.
sixteen years old-
already bought and sold.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Behold! Enthroned in a tower,
enshrouded in the might of power,
the soul of malice,
the bitter existence,
Foul breath giving life to evil,
and provoking a grim struggle.
Men cannot resist it,
never are they content with it,
but once they obtain this,
they are hopeless to survive the emptiness.
Rua'grain, the usurper,
the master of villainy,
the taker of lives, and destroyer
of all good things.
The lord of Mists,
the keeper of shadows,
the presenter of flames,
and spreader of ash,
how he has the world in his hands.
We are without hope,
no refuge, no noble heroes,
no valiant quests,
we are without hope.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Upon dread and dried soil,
It rained ashes
Every particle swirling in misty
Fogs of hellfire
Sun a burning orb enshrouded
Blazing salmon and sunrise
Stripped and blackened umber
I stood in the falling fractals
As my membranes scorched of smoke
Veiled, ****** light reflecting through the ash
Situated, if only briefly
A particular kind of
Doomed beauty.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
Another night has breezed me by
Too much sleep has gone in haste
Somnolence is what makes me drink coffee sometimes
Oh oh oh,
Instead, take me where the monsters once lurked
In between the crevices of my old crypt that remains inert
I want to take a peek of the catacombs
Where I sometimes visit in my sleep
Oh ** **
Where's that sense of humor I once had?
Couldn't speak now
With the tongue I once had
I'm enshrouded in nostalgia
With silly monsters caught in between
Stuck in my daydreams
I can't help but imagine the past
Oh oh oh,
That was my wonderful life
Little kids on the pave
Laughing and falling on their knees
And flippant little fingers making a scene
If I could only spring back
To the time when my essence was clean
Back to the home where I pestered the words
"Please, please, please"
To the point of my content, when I could no longer protest
When I finally drowned asleep in the summer breeze
Cheers to my childhood days
And to the housebound trance of old school lullabies
Where my loving family of special hearts
Defended the tears I cried
Oh, oh, oh
Provoked by silly monsters I waved goodbye
Never did I think
I would miss so very much
Those glorious days of when my silly monsters
Brought mischief and thrived
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Vast leaped the candle's flame,
Kissing grotesque shadows.
Blinking eye of the holocaust
Enshrouded by shards of night.
Drunken fevers illuminate all secrets.
There is one hour between darkness and dawn,
When the beauty of desperate things eclipses time
And destroys the expectations of reason.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:46 PM UTC