"fainter" poems
315
He fumbles at your Soul
As Players at the Keys
Before they drop full Music on—
He stuns you by degrees—
Prepares your brittle Nature
For the Ethereal Blow
By fainter Hammers—further heard—
Then nearer—Then so slow
Your Breath has time to straighten—
Your Brain—to bubble Cool—
Deals—One—imperial—Thunderbolt—
That scalps your naked Soul—
When Winds take Forests in the Paws—
The Universe—is still—
10.6k
The gentle hum of the airplane passing by
Is loud at the beginning
But then it gets so faint that I have to strain myself to hear it.
It's there for a while and then it gets fainter and fainter,
Until it just disappears.
And when I look up at the sky,
It just looks perfectly normal and clear with no trace of the airplane
Like the airplane never flew through it,
Like it never existed,
Like the gentle hum was all just an illusion.
And that faded away plane reminds me of you,
How the sound was gentle and loud in the beginning,
Like our conversation when we first started talking,
And then it was gentle and started to fade away,
Getting fainter and fainter with every passing moment,
Exactly how you slipped away from me.
Until there was nothing left except memories.
And then I start to question whether they even existed, and
Did we really used to talk or did I just dream about that?
And now the memories are like the airplane.
Gentle and loud,
And then they get fainter,
Harder to remember,
Slipping away slowly,
Until there's nothing left.
And then you just remember the airplane vaguely but any other memories of it have faded away into nothing.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
959
A loss of something ever felt I—
The first that I could recollect
Bereft I was—of what I knew not
Too young that any should suspect
A Mourner walked among the children
I notwithstanding went about
As one bemoaning a Dominion
Itself the only Prince cast out—
Elder, Today, a session wiser
And fainter, too, as Wiseness is—
I find myself still softly searching
For my Delinguent Palaces—
And a Suspicion, like a Finger
Touches my Forehead now and then
That I am looking oppositely
For the site of the Kingdom of Heaven—
3.4k
i laid my eyes in the light
my irises burned as bright
shadows dance and swayed
the air still as it played
then slowly it turned to red
as tears in my eyes bled
down, it all started to blur
but the fire never seemed fainter
i'm a rose burning in the candle light
petals glowing so bright
scarlet as the flame devouring me
turning into browned ashes slowly...
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
314
Nature—sometimes sears a Sapling—
Sometimes—scalps a Tree—
Her Green People recollect it
When they do not die—
Fainter Leaves—to Further Seasons—
Dumbly testify—
We—who have the Souls—
Die oftener—Not so vitally—
2.7k
Yesterday’s thoughts like white-water crashing
These are fainter today, like a babbling brook
Not quite abated but more still.
Allowing thought and deed to harmonise,
Even for an hour, I’ll take it.
The image of my loved ones etched,
My child, now a woman, forefront always
The absolute best of us personified
Love is the unbreakable bond between us
Come feel, hear the quiet and smile with me.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
Struggling, and faint, and fainter didst thou wane,
O Moon! and round thee all thy starry train
Came forth to help thee, with half-open eyes,
And trembled every one with still surprise,
That the black Spectre should have dared assail
Their beauteous queen and seize her sacred veil.
2.3k
Thin are the night-skirts left behind
By daybreak hours that onward creep,
And thin, alas! the shred of sleep
That wavers with the spirit’s wind:
But in half-dreams that shift and roll
And still remember and forget,
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
A little nearer yet.
Our lives, most dear, are never near,
Our thoughts are never far apart,
Though all that draws us heart to heart
Seems fainter now and now more clear.
To-night Love claims his full control,
And with desire and with regret
My soul this hour has drawn your soul
A little nearer yet.
Is there a home where heavy earth
Melts to bright air that breathes no pain,
Where water leaves no thirst again
And springing fire is Love’s new birth?
If faith long bound to one true goal
May there at length its hope beget,
My soul that hour shall draw your soul
For ever nearer yet.
2.3k
The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow--
'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!
Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,
My Mary!
For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!
But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!
Thy indistinct expressions seem
Like language utter'd in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!
For, could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,
My Mary!
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently press'd, press gently mine,
My Mary!
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
That now at ev'ry step thou mov'st
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st,
My Mary!
And still to love, though press'd with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,
My Mary!
But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!
And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!
2k
A purple liquid drips
and with each drop the sound of discontent grows louder.
Forming a puddle on the the carpet that grows and grows and grows
and soon I will drown in it, soon I will drown in her.
Soon, her green eyes will be all I see and not just all I yearn to see.
The purple liquid
creates an audible thump as it splashes down on the carpet which is now covered with an inch and a half of the stuff.
The thump makes it easier to sleep at night; it slows my heartbeat.
Her lips whisper to me as I sleep and I long for them to be upon my neck.
My fingers grasp the sheet but in my mind they are running through her hair and down her back.
Now, my bedroom is filled with the purple liquid, only two feet of air separating the ceiling and the top of the purple swimming pool.
As I sleep, she sleeps with me and as our fingers touch
she exhales a blast of the cool purple liquid.
Without cease it fills my lungs and her whispers grow fainter
and her touch sweeter.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge ***** rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!
I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
In long reverberations reach our own.
On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman’s song,
And loud, amid the universal clamor,
O’er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
I hear the Florentine, who from his palace
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din,
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis
Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent’s skin;
The tumult of each sacked and burning village;
The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;
The soldiers’ revels in the midst of pillage;
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;
The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder
The diapason of the cannonade.
Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature’s sweet and kindly voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies?
Were half the power, that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals or forts:
The warrior’s name would be a name abhorred!
And every nation, that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain!
Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, “Peace!”
Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of War’s great ***** shakes the skies!
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.
1.9k
I die every single day. It comes slowly, gas leaking out of a tank; a river drying up to a trickle. It has taken years to notice, but here I am: On empty. In a muddy riverbed.
Standing on the short timeline of my life, I look back at the man of the past. The man is not myself, and yet he is more complete than me. He is younger – yes – but brimming with delight. He knows nothing of Walls and Comments and Likes, and yet he is whole. He has no outlet for his happiness other than his own physical canvas. His sadness is absolute and crushing, but it belongs to him.
I am not he.
I am the autumn of his soul.
There is an emptiness inside me.
It has not grown like the lines on my face nor the aches in my bones. It is something immeasurable.
I want to step out of my own identity.
I want to live in a construct that is more unique than my own.
We talk of living vicariously through others, but I live vicariously through myself. I live ten feet behind and thirty seconds after my own person. I watch the man in front of me go through every motion, and I feel nothing. I notate the changes, categorize the achievements, collate the emotions, and I feel nothing. On paper, I look quite good. Great things make headlines. Pictures show unforgettable memories, laughter, joy, and contentment.
And every feeling of inadequacy, vulnerability, shame, doubt, and fear is greeted with a blind eye.
The more my construct grows, the more I diminish.
I am the Portrait of Dorian Gray, reversed.
Each day the picture is more successful, happy, wealthy, and loved.
And the man weakens and decays.
I am frightened of what I’ve become.
If there is a way to halt this, I spend every day searching for it. Perhaps, in moments of looking into another’s eyes, I can hide from nothing. At those times, the construct falls away, and the man on the timeline comes crashing into the present.
I wonder who will greet me in the morning. Will the Man diminish, or will the Portrait grow fainter instead?
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
When time is running out
Do you hear the ticking?
Maybe you don't; so bored are you
That you resort to pen-lid clicking
In a class full of students,
Can you hear the clock tick-tock?
It comes from our hearts
It enters without a knock
Can you hear the life fade from others?
Concentrate hard enough, and I think you can
Chance and fate will have their ways
They've already drawn up your lifetime plan
The louder it is, the longer you will live
Your inner clock hasn't wound down
The fainter it is, like little claw clicks,
And you haven't long until your one with the sound
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 5:51 AM UTC
Listen,
It beats,
Steady,
Controlled,
But,
Irregular,
It goes.
Listen,
My heart,
Changes,
Pattern,
Stopped,
Fainter; softer,
It slows.
Listen,
It beats,
Even,
Controlled,
Yet,
Irregular,
It knows.
Listen,
My heart,
Changes,
Pattern,
Stopped,
My world; my life,
It slows.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:38 AM UTC
her afternoon daydream
done for the day is now folded
as the sun slips behind the trees
the lush green leaves burn with golden light
as afternoon gives way to night
clouds once fat with rain from the sea
now race to the west
seeking the mountains where
ground touches sky
her afternoon daydream wiped away
by her lips a neon red gloss movement
these two dreadlock angels
sunbathing ******* in our backyard
on the verges of my mind
no words to her glances
just checking on a tapping old crow
tapping the inky surface of a tablet
tapping tapping
her afternoon face appears suddenly
at my shoulder as she slips me a kiss
tapping at the portals of my soul
the sun having set
the trees now only rustling shapes framed
against the stars
the lush green leaves
burn with the fainter glow of distant suns
as my heart burns faintly for distant loves
but it is my woman
her dreadlocked patchouli scented body
wrapped around me
its her in my heart
its her who burns brightly in me
who ignites me
to burn with the golden glow of
a setting sun
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
255
To die—takes just a little while—
They say it doesn’t hurt—
It’s only fainter—by degrees—
And then—it’s out of sight—
A darker Ribbon—for a Day—
A Crape upon the Hat—
And then the pretty sunshine comes—
And helps us to forget—
The absent—mystic—creature—
That but for love of us—
Had gone to sleep—that soundest time—
Without the weariness—
1.6k
White, grey, then black
In and out, now all blurring together
Fading, ever so gradual the display
Fainter the colors become,
Dreary and mellow, no longer
The darkness pervades, grief
Sadness and regret, intertwined
The goddess of the sea mourns
Her wail echoing in the winds
Stormy seas and choppy waters
Boats tossed upon the rocks
Mangled bits of driftwood
Glass and seashells scattered
Neither close nor far
Simply everywhere and nowhere
A sudden crack, a slice of hope
Golden hues prevail at last
But the damage is done
The pieces scattered and broken
Only time will truly tell
Whether the broken can be made whole.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
You were my beacon
as I was yours
You were my guide
in this endless tunnel
this engulfing darkness
And I was yours
But farther and farther, you moved
fainter and fainter, you became
And as I follow you
I grew dimmer
Dimmer until
I was a beacon no more
I kept still and watched
Watched you til you were
a beacon no more
Just a small patch of
A small patch of light
A fading light
A faded light
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
I stand up and feel myself grow
faint
so I just sit there and wait for it to
pass.
But as I sit there, I feel
fainter.
My ability to comprehend and think
vanishes.
I sit, accepting what will happen,
Until
I
Faint
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
the *** needs stirring,
the stitches have been
removed, or melted,
and the scars fainter,
daily…but, my words
have been clogged,
swallowing difficult,
and heartbreak is
non-curable and
the sad songs
combine the exercise
of crying and dying,
you can feel it piecemeal,
chips of you breakaway,
and you are just lessened…
all the variations of less,
redound cross my lips, but
there is no one here, no one
in my life…and yes he’s gone,
the one who lived faraway
but was intrepid in his love,
and solid in his affection,
but ardor cooled, distance
intervened, but I still have
that short skirt he adored
and close eyed images in
my cerebral cortex, and how
I wish someone would write
a poem
exclusively for me, selfishly,
and my mom calls less frequently,
she,
doesn’t know new words
to instigate healing, to break
me open and let positivity
return…butI having learned
much,
and my selective mode
is different, crap it’s true,
been made over into a sad sack,
incurable romantic…and that
part tarnished is the only part
of me that is growing by leaps
and winks and sighs and…
makes
the sadbad move aside…perhaps,
you’ll write me a poem, soothing,
gel cooling, and… no mas…
Jul 27, 2024
Jul 27, 2024 at 7:27 AM UTC
There she lay
figure just beyond the rising turquoise spray
spooning sugar right out the jar.
******* her fingers like a babe, woe be to her, far.
Much akin to the salt in the pools by her bay
only so better loved upon the tongue.
So loved better, so tender and young.
There she was - pale feet to sand
in an even fainter dress, lace to be flung.
Sugar, between the creases of my hand,
press her closer
flavor, the monotony of man.
Curls, red, like hills of strawberry blush
lips wide to such wolfish song.
Sweet fingers, mine to touch,
from still night to golden dawn.
And constellations, in her eyes, between her bones,
upon her nose,
sprinkling her thighs.
Anew with confiture was I, filled with her breath
to lose her would be cruelty, to lose her would be death.
Why - do I love her more than what I know to be?
I'm sorry I could only write of heaven,
and not of what she sees.
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 11:13 AM UTC
She looks at mirror
Cannot understand
What she’s become
Never queen her entire life
She glances out alley window
Into 4am darkness
Feeling tragic ending
To accidental romance
Premeditated ******
In Chicago in bitter winter
In rundown diner kitchen
Haphazardly displayed
Sharp shiny axe
Above doorway
White lit sign with red lettering
That spells TIXE
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 11:17 PM UTC
It was obvious how to do it
Yet I couldn’t figure it out
Until I saw it in a movie
Then it became a question,
Was I wicked enough
To pull it off?
Was I strong enough
To see it through?
In one instant, you’re alive,
Eyes darting, heart pounding,
Gushing love, throwing temper tantrums,
Collapsing under weight of existence.
In next instant, you’re dead,
Cold and lifeless, end of story.
Leaving arriving escaping
The perspiration ***** smell of fear
People tell me how smart I am,
But I’m not really smart,
More like lucky, and fast runner.
I run from everything.
Did I ever tell you about the times
I’ve run straight into death’s grip,
And that son-of-a-bitch
Keeps spitting me out
One more day, year, decade.
Ok, I say, and make more drawings,
More paintings, more poems,
More stories, more lies.
Live long enough, everything you know collapses.
I know I can be a terrible *****
I apologize.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Dreaming of moving away
Packing only bare bones of love
And commitment to never betray
Leaving arriving escaping
I wish I were married to one woman
And we lived quiet life sustaining passion
Is sustaining passion possible?
Under weight of existence?
One more moment, hour, night,
Eyes darting, heart pounding,
Gushing love, emotional insecurities,
Making more drawings, more paintings,
More poems, more stories, more lies.
People tell me how smart I am.
I can’t figure it out.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC