"forefather" poems
Her presence cannot be denied,
She stands tall and strong with pride;
You cannot overlook her magnitude,
Because she has beauty with attitude;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
For her just even be.
She defines the essence of perfection,
In each notable fashion without exception;
Highly cognizant of her forefather and mothers,
Therefore she paves paths for so many others,
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Even for a crazy world to see.
Her smile is like heaven's gate open,
Bringing joy to all who are chosen;
A lady of strength beyond any measure,
And a heart too big for one person for treasure;
What a woman,
What a woman indeed,
What a strong Black woman,
Who wound up inspiring me.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
gurgle, gurgle,
groundcurrent unsettled,
moon unseen like stars
fever dreamed,
dissonance for the melody maker,
dissonance for the retired risk-taker,
dissonance for the hips of homewreckers.
civil, civil,
no minutes can afford the divide,
aside, to the crystal buildings and
the sky's sputtering cries,
compliments to your forehead's ****
compliments to your forefather's rash,
compliments to your aforementioned crash.
the current, the current
rides hot and merciless along thigh,
dribbles down chins and nightgowns,
dries--a permanent badge of scattered life,
electroshock seeps from self-made holes,
electroshock seeps from smoldering bowls,
electroshock seeps from typecast roles.
volcano, volcano,
grumble and moan.
volcano, volcano,
clear cord and stroke.
volcano, volcano,
grieve me in ash.
volcano, volcano,
I've been awful bad. I've been awful bad. I've been awful bad.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 11:19 AM UTC
Our town was to have a rail-line
Circa the mid eighteen nineties
This story has surprised my ears
A local amateur historian apprised me just recently
Documents to support this claim are archived in Sydney
Not far out of our town
On a well know property in the district
Two surveyor pegs are still in existence
Marking the route the rail-line was to track
Though the Forefather's rail-line was never bedded down
The powers that be government leaders of the day
Shelved these impressive plans
They never saw the light of day
Ribbons of steel not coming to fruition
Leading to our town
Other town went ahead rail-lines were established to them
Out town alas and alack missed out
Look where Tamworth and Armidale are to-day
Rail being in their favor
Our town was left to languish and to be dispirited
Going no-where no-where to go
Our Forefather's now lay in their graves
Not quite resting in peace
Their rail proposal for our town unrealized
Good ideas die along with good intentions
Hence their unsettled repose
Our town could have been a regional town
Industry and population dotting the landscape
Rail would have assured our place
The Forefather's rail proposal long since shelved
Consigned into the passing vapor of time
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
*M:Million lives were lost
A:And families were torn apart but
S:Still our courageous forefather pressed on,their
H:Hearts set on a goal freedom at all cost
U:Undaunted they fought to regain independence or die attempting
J:Justice evaded them and they were subjected to inhuman
A:Atrocities,captured fighters were tortured and women *****
A:A sacrifice was made so we could enjoy fruits of liberty
selflessly they watered this tree with their blood
some we never knew made sure we have Kenya today
patriotism was their heartbeat as they endured all
to ensure that our generation live in peace in this land
their dream we never hide our faces behind mask
of slavery again*
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Opa,
It is a word,
But more of a sound,
The sound of
Thrown plates
Hitting the ground,
The sound of
God's cheer
At human accomplishment,
The sound of
Friends together
Stealing away the night.
Opa is expression,
Is happiness in life.
Opa in a name
Of an excellent resturaunt
Nestled in the land
Between dream
And reality
Where the tastes
Of the old
Blend with new
In the seamless style
Of the modern world.
Opa brings hope.
Hope is at
The doorstep
Of my doubtful heart.
Hope for redemption
In forefather's eyes.
That a connection
Can be still made
To my ancient world;
To my own blood,
Soul and flesh.
That I can
Learn to dance
In my own skin.
Opa is possibility
For my motherland
To hold on to life
By the slippery reins
And keep up
With the world,
But not lose tradition.
There is possibility
For me
To reclaim herritage;
To learn my history;
To live proudly Greek
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 11:24 AM UTC
Now, “When it shower leads to torrent
And when it glow leads to draught “
They call it Climate Change!
But for us, it is result of felony of our works!
Stop to devour mother’s resources!
Let her go in her own pace!
Cope with it, akin to our forefather and tag along the same path!
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
.
1. Big Brother
Big Brother's protecting his mice
with a secret eavesdropping device.
If you hang up the phone
he'll just send in a drone
when a warrant won't really suffice.
2. Neutrality
The internet's meant to be free,
yes for all, such as you, such as me.
But now there's some doubt -
will it lose all its clout
with the death of neutrality's spree?
3. Privacy
'twas surely our forefather's dread
all our emails would someday be read.
Now that push comes to shove
by the powers above,
private thoughts must now stay in our head.
4. Guantanamo
Guantanamo bay's a resort
where the fishing's a fabulous sport -
with your back on a board
tepid water is poured
spawning tales for a kangaroo court.
5. Banks
To bountiful bailouts give thanks
for there's nothing much richer than banks -
making money galore
taking homes from the poor
while they're managing mortgaging pranks.
6. Health
If you live in the States don't get sick
(lest a cut of the upper class clique).
Whether injured or ill
all they'll give you's a pill -
if you're lucky you'll surely die quick.
7. Economy
Our economy's doing just fine
lying dead with a slug in the spine.
So come follow the call
where there's money for all
and pure profit's the bottom-most line.
8. Safety
Vigilantes and cops are wide spread -
as for justice… not even a shred.
The avengers of right
score when stalking the night
so beware of a cap in the head.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
I have to say the canvas has been painted over yet again.
Can you not decide as to what is pretty?
Skulls bashing for a piece of flesh is not a picture worth painting.
Sir,
If you were to paint with the fire of the sky, people will still find reason to hate you and your art.
For you see people are selfish and believe what they want to believe.
A painting of blood looks beautiful to a lover of bloodshed.
A painting of flowers looks beautiful to lovers of serenity.
Fine art is dead; people look at the Sky and laugh at him despite his beauty.
Meanwhile, those who don’t find humour in the sky, laugh at the ground because they do not see any beauty in dirt.
Be in love with the dirt, appreciate both the dirt and the sky.
For a true artist makes the dirt beautiful and the black of oil he cherishes; for you see:
Both at one time were your forefather and your fore father's father.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
it won't be easy
to follow the footsteps
of our forefather's dreams
their faith,
their dreams
and hopes.
Yet, the pains taking hours
it make the time well spend
So as the falcon's soar above
their winsome ways inspired.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
When the titles turn to grey
Each bitter ash a story untold
A breaking mold on the fray
Your a big girl all the way
But what do I need that I don't have?
Each breath a sin, each exhale a salutation
We are God's unwanted children
There on the horizon is our unholy pollution
When I knew my mind I knew myself
But the press of the matter is not there where it starts
I have a room and it is mine, but the key
Is nowhere in a place that I can rightly see
Listen to the blows of the wind without your ears
A children's scream echoes, so rightly near
Poe danced in the asylum's of madness and its prayers
But whose to say that love also doesn't Fear?
I can hear the whip of the way
The way our forefather's used to play
And of course our skin tingles as we mingle
With the one's we used to enslave
I wear the cloak of eternity
You see my eyes but lo', they are not mine
I dance beneath your very veins
And the pen is where I hold my flaming reins
I ask only for bread
I ask only for butter and
Water that tastes like the tears of mother
All others should be left by the door, unbothered.
Take me for what I am
A mule with only a man's mind
A body that one day will break,
A recognition that I - not myself - keep in repression
For the sunset keeps me amused
The tools of my own body screams
And as I watch the cream of the scheme rise
To the tip top, I inhale to make time stop
I've got my hat on, but where's my love?
I see a bed, but the sheets are made of lead
I need a road, a story untold
A life whose line will never run cold
I see where the line is supposed to end
When the words end n' you've got nothing else to send
But whose words are these if I've got nothing to lend?
My rose bushes are fine, I've got nothing in this world to tend
Each lonesome note
Across this valley of tears
Is what is just too hard to bear
A turn in the tide
Time in my own memory
Too tough to tear and throw away
A thorn I'm forced to hold near
One day I'll see clear
Why it was even there
Minutes on minutes of minute time
In pendulum we justify each step
Our heart beat is our unrest
The beat of our neighbor's walls our anxiety
There are no more blankets to cover the world
We are out of detergent to keep ourselves clean
The lines of the supermarket are too long and
Were out of cream to keep our girls rightly esteemed
I'm headed out of this place
But no time soon
As for the weather
Ask for the flapper's in the smoky ballroom
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
It’s been quite
Some time
Since someone
Noticed
Do you see me?
I am Here
My beautiful
Warm
Genuine smile
Smiling at
The world
Beside me
Don’t you
See my
Chiseled calves
And voluptuous
Thighs
A mile high
I may be over
Forty
But my *****
Swings
And Skips
To a
Funky beat
With a tip-toe
Skip, Hop & dance
That only I know
My eyes
Liquid blue
Stare
At magic
In the
Air
My skin
Fair
Freckled
With
An Irish
Pigment
From my
Grandmother’s
Lair
My limbs
Covered from
Head to toe
With Wisps
Of Blond hair
From my
Mother’s
Hair
Like my
Italian
And French
Forefather’s
My heart
Pumps
By Wine
My Blood
And
Endless
Passion for
Tradition
My fingertips
Reminiscent of
God’s great earth
The Goddess
Nature
Aglow
Laced with
Permanent
Calluses
From my
Writing pen
A kaleidoscope
Into my
Soul within
My voice
An accent
Slung with
Kindness
Compassion
And love
So if you
See me
Dancing
Down the
Street
On just
An ordinary
Day
Stop to
Smell the
Roses
May the
Aroma
Sweet
And lulling
Pass your
Way
Making
Your day
Do a little
Hop, skip & jump
And feel
Freedom
In your
Steps
Make sure
To Smile
My way
Don’t forget
For I am
Here
Watching
Dancing
Waiting
For someone
To see me
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 7:16 AM UTC
People treat them as the ‘symbol of prosperity’,
Everyone is concerned with their habitat and dictate.
Their forefather told them,
“they are our old friend;
they nurture our land and trees
and help us to get bits and pieces for our endurance!”
They treat them as the symbol of opulence and
take care for their subsistence,
Share their terrain with the harbinger of lustre hope!
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
In account of extreme conditions
The biographical sketching of
A Father spending all for the family
I fear the unknown & embrace
Essential to fail for the risk in
The end is the only true thing
That matters more than the world
Hold my hands dear child - Jump!
Inheritance of a soul
The body left behind
An entrance made of coal
On the horizon rests the stayed' line
A tending breath
Upon a supple breast
Where the young tests its best
Only to see history squirm
In its placid need for unrest
A night is only known
When the sun sets for its own atone
A breath for the naked
For the weary know no love
I press a kiss upon foggy
And see my mother's ancient face
She is young - no - she is old
She is everything that mother before
Her needed and wanted
Have I gone mad in these invisible words?
Do I press my own peoples lodged' souls
Within the caverns of my made body?
Are we in control anymore?
Have we ever been?
Are the questions of the age to Frank to
Be answered, for the youth is to young?
And the pressing of the wicked witch
Makes the toes of the frogs of centuries lore
In forgotten mythology of Crumbs masterpiece
Accept all that was forgotten from a mailbox of scrutiny
In turns we take the sisters we did not want
For mormonism is for the buyers of sires
The horn of the forgotten taxi driver
Whistles as they hear the virgins weep
The bottles bash against the dead of the street
And the neat clink their deadliest China
So all in all we are the same in the eyes God
And the only thing I need
Is a one way ticket to the bar
And the thing I see isn't too far
I gotta' keep on moving baby
I'll get there, it won't be very long
So take my heart, you see it there?
It's the one with the whiskers and
The eyes of pearly blue
And you know my mother? Her
Name ends with the sound of Sue
In the wind is the way of the forefather's
I make what you want if you got the price
We argue and we swear
In a world of injustice, we strive to be fair
Take a dollar from my pocket, see if I care
I'm alone now and without voice
Bear a child and see if you have choice
I'm no veteran, the bullets doth not know me
When the sun rises, assign my heart to flee
The night rests upon my weary shoulders
And the Parisian night falters in mine own view
It's majesty flickers upon my tongue like a lightning bug
Poetry is a dangerous dance where the God's lead with left feet.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
After Amadioha went into sweet nightmares,
he made us to breath through the chest of the sea. from the celestial bodies of the shrine,
We shone our forefather's smile with a mirage,
a little littered mirage spelling words in ellipsis.
these were the rose crumbs tailored in the sand castle of our glassful laughter, we're the Palmful morning in the eyes of our home in the abyss.
when a child cries, he forgets that the route to
his home is written on his body as a tattoo.
when a girl thinks of gathering firewood in the heart of the forest, she thinks of her thigh &
the bushes surrounding it, nature made it so.
We do not think of our skin as a poetic of agony,
We do not think of our eyes as poetry letters
but we draw lines and currents of imaginations describing how rituals made men insane.
We carried out those prilgrim for the boys,
our forebearers made us cracked our head up,
they carved pumpkins traces for this generation; for this humble journey mixed with fire & water.
Our souls, our dreams were the Shakespearean places you never had the chance to see physical.
they are the rituals of nature, a side Sithoulte,
a wonder land created like a paradise you don't stay often but in your dreams & imageries.
We are birthed here as debris & plump scars,
a tortured lips holding the past & the present.
We are the foundation of everything evil spirits,
We were born in the ritual of a grievous war.
to say a human is a benchmark of his own,
to say a man is a mango dropping without a choice of where and how to touch the sand,
to say a man is everything fretwork of agony;
to say a men are slaughtered memories...
but to this edges of rites & repeated steps,
We'll remain the gospel from every mouth.
Our ancestral hands shall still set a table,
to tell the girlchild how to sit in a public hall
to hand over the shrine to the boychild
to tell man that he owns a woman as head.
to keep birthing good and ugly children.
our hope will always depict heavens glory
and, our darkest fears as the skin of hell.
And it must be passed down to the next
genes to tell the next & sand keep multiplying.
This is the ritual of mankind to remain alive.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustrations.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
THIS IS WHAT AMERICA IS TO ME (copyright) TXu1-367-253
BY IRWIN M. DRESNER (A KOREAN WAR VET.) [email protected]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WHAT IS AMERICA TO ME?
A LAND OF LIBERTY, FREEDOM, AND DEMOCRACY,
THAT IS WHAT AMERICA IS TO ME.
YOU ARE AN AMERICAN,
I AM AN AMERICAN.
WE ALL ARE AMERICANS,
FROM THE HEART AND THE SOUL
OF US ALL YOUNG AND OLD.
SOME OF US ARE TO YOUNG TO FIGHT,
SOME OF US ARE TOO OLD TO FIGHT,
BUT WE ALL DO OUR PART,
FROM THE VERY BOTTOM OF OUR HEART.
OUR FOREFATHER’S FOUGHT TO KEEP US FREE,
AND NOW IT’S UP TO YOU AND ME.
LET’S TEACH OTHER COUNTRY’S ABOUT DEMOCRACY,
SO THEY WOULD NOT HAVE TO LIVE IN TYRANNY.
LET US ALL WORK FOR A WORLD AT PEACE BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE,
OR WE WILL ALL SUFFER A HORRIBLE FATE.
LET US ALL WORK TO FIND THE SOLUTION,
TO A PLANET THAT’S FULL OF POLLUTION
OUR FUTURE GENERATIONS DESERVES A GOOD EARTH,
LIKE THEIR ANCESTORS HAD AT BIRTH.
WOULDN’T IT BE A DELIGHT,
IF ALL THE WORLD’S CHILDREN UNITE,
MAKING THIS PLANET ALL RIGHT.
LET ALL THE WORLD SCIENTIST’S GET TOGETHER,
SO THEY CAN WIPE OUT MOST ILLNESSES ALTOGETHER.
LET PEOPLE OF ALL RELIGIONS UNITE,
MAKING THIS TROUBLED WORLD ALL RIGHT
LET ALL PEOPLE TREAT ONE ANOTHER,
AS IF THEY WERE SISTER AND BROTHER
LET COLOR NOT BE CRITERIA FOR FRIENDSHIP,
BY SHOWING EVERYONE OUR FELLOWSHIP
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
Please do not challenge me less I will make the line straight
I may not be of that caliber but my forefathers were great
Anxious by my nature I can neither tolerate nor can I wait
I know how to change situation, how fortune to get from fate
My forefather were emblem of sheer hard work to celebrate
And we are following their footprints to be their soul mate
Whenever we feel dejected we look up and just reinvigorate
We do not have very many qualities but we do reinvigorate
Hence I am ready to take any action being prudent for wrong
You must to which clan , tribe of warriors me my sons belong
With clear eyes , clean hearts what set of values to take along
Being from mountains and properly trained we are fit,strong
If you want to test our veracity and fortitude to extend prolong
We are ready to be in the field to curb all vice to fight lifelong
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 4:56 AM UTC
Sipping hot drink
from a silver mug
he feels immensely pleased,
so smug! Oh! he feels great,
what makes it so special?
not just the hot drink in the mug,
the mug,being sliver, takes him
to a new height
of well being,
why this,
he puts his thinking cap on
just a thought
with a coating of silver,
makes him feel
the golden glow
of being
bliss from a mere thought!
****** off by a mere thought!!
the one that creates thoughts
has the bridle power to decide,
the state of being.
between one thought
and the next,
there is a swing,
he sits there, as mind
-a thought created by a thought,
of a forefather of yore,
right there in the beginning,
passed over to generations,
with a bit of genetic material,
DNA to be precise,
activated again by a thought.
If only he could still
his recurring waves of thoughts,
stop throwing stones
in to the tranquil pond,
inside the meditative mind,
the waves will sleep,
the bubbles will dissolve,
for ever in to its origin,
the first wave of creation,
the primordial hum
Om sweet Om
making him aware that
he is bliss itself.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
I’ve already done my ten-thousand hours
Under the light of the moon and the sun.
”Self-made” contains its own divine power
In the minds of the Americana.
My bootstraps, I’ve pulled
Until they tore off.
I admit, I’ve been fooled
In this Land of the Lost.
And still yet they shout, at Forefather’s behest:
“Give it your all! And then give me the rest!”
Apr 18, 2024
Apr 18, 2024 at 11:36 AM UTC
There's a gap between what
I fear and what I think
to fear; there's a night, sure,
between those tiny things
Because to fear is to live,
as the leaf
in the burning forest
still breathing, fearing
not the death, but leaving the living
I do not fear the death
I just fear the night falling over
my sholder, my head; my integrity
what it means being me
I fear those things I'm not certain of
(as the rest of living things I think)
But scarier is to know
that we truely do not know
the certainty of all
the things we say we know
And of all those nocturnal dreads
there are a few that keep me awake
waiting for an answer that will never come
as the lost remembrance of an ancient love
as the farther forefather of a forgotten folk
as the man watching through my window
in a windy storm passing by the city
There's a lot of dreads at the midnight
that keep me awake thinking
about things that I should not
but I think all the condamned
are bound to write about nightmares
and imaginariums that does not belong to us
but yet, they're ours to transform
And maybe one day the dreads will go
far away from our city, as the storm
maybe one day we will burn as the leaf
and then we will stop fearing
what we do not really know
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 2:19 AM UTC
We've taken our breaks
Yet we see we need our
Hearts to even speak
The medallions glow
As the naked pines shiver
Winter leaves us now
Crying through midnight
But were learning to care more
Hear that hard rain pour
Dark eyed skinny frantic you
Bitter for no one
But your worthy self
When we are apart
Nights fall the sun still rises
Love's hard everyday
Petals of rose halo
Angels echo out-of-tune
You smile so true
Saying that to pray
Is to say hello to voice
Unknown shadows glow
Growing never was
So hard, but do not mind pain
All's said can be done
Brushing up at night
Dreams are never as good as
When I am with you
For you are what's real
My dove in the burned' sky
So please do not cry
Life is hard for you
Other pains will be hard too
But smile through the blue
Mist on blue refrain
Setting moon ritual croon
Pouring soul for you
Dear feelings too true
That come in the cracked leaves of
Autumns boring death
How embarrassed I
Am to love you like I do
I hide within you
Feed me the hatred
Engulf me in betrayal
Father I am not
God! What a namely
Name that works informally
Lingering blank names
Do you like to be told
What to do in this free world?
NO NO NO NO NO
Scientific farts
That cannot help themselves from
Being Animal
Struggle over rocks
Of resembling forefather's
Their faces old numb
Too dumb to tell scotch
From water and two fingers
Joining wine for brunch
But back to present
To New York through telescope
Orleans, if so?
And our range has
No horizon if we will
It so in a wish
We will part for now
But we are always meeting
Spring our armor
I am forever
Falling through space heaven cloud
With you only you
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
We are hated
Impetuous, reckless
For our bodies so out of sync with our minds
Our minds which cry to be numbed
But we are told we must face our world
Raw and unaltered
We are told we are dangerous to ourselves and others
So
We are told we must swallow our spoonfuls
Of seething vitriol
But we do not heed these naysayings
And though we are faced with righteous constriction
We cannot bear the concept of this empty red iron life
So we escape the sub-real by fleeing to the surreal, the anesthetized anti reality
And burn away our tortured, sober, senses
Until we hold no fear of our forefather’s submissary world
And we may repress our heinous dreams
And our uncomfortable thoughts of a greater reality
Drowned in a caustic flood
Of shameless hedonism, glorious temporary satisfaction, and amorous alcohol
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 10:25 PM UTC
I'm looking for something else, you call it negitive
I call that reflection of self, why you make it out to be so devilish. If I shall perish I envision consumption of wealth. True wealth, the kind I once faced, embraced in darkness, a mothers womb, peace my soul did consume, forced into this world n told to bloom. No one knew they were sending us to our own perceptive doom.
We create it then debate it, because collective reality is to real to face it. Drop bombs n schedule cases, god **** it I hate it but I love what made it. Our own creations n we stand to em. What are we but all the same faces created at different paces. Humanity is our sanity, n we destroy it with vanity. How has it come to be that we no longer see, hate is enough to separate our forces that be. Sun Tzu's divide and conquer, history from a forefather but why bother? They never birthed what resembles your master, direct questions to your pastor. Who's the real parent, at times its no longer apparent. No lessons in direction, off to school cos no time to bother. A system not meant for blessing. Ancestors we fester out of regret of what we neglect, truth in our own history, it truely stays a mystery. Science made humanity defiant. It all Resembles truth in the message, if we could only make each other get it. Stop the ******** and teach the lesson. Its all the same message, only changing to keep us guessing, U'd get it after a smokin session.
If shame was an issue, making momentary thought an issue maybe we wouldnt have to tell our brothers we'll miss you. Send em off to battle, with out facts to go through. They're souls get burnt too. Blood for corporate greed, the same creed that feeds you your feed, controlling the source but ofcourse the conspirators make it out to be worse. All motivated to keep ignorance in our health. Feels like its programmed in fate to prorate hate to make you un equal to a few, who couldn't care if you be Christian, Muslim, or Jew. Buddah never asked to be praised but the love from his words made him more than he was. Spiritually enlightened to a perception, and that's my personal lesson. No judgment only my own interpretation, of what I am and we all are. People created equal.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
A ancient man of up to date, in search for his rugous body to expire. Very sapient, in a low spoken tone. Blackening, lusterless, tone of green eyes hazed behind his glass dome to in which seeks a luminous view. Thus being no longer youthful, such man twas engraved as my forefather.
Tis of thy ancestor hair a majestic, ash, of none of thee less than one inch grown out of his marble shaped, sphere, crown. Scars are thee faded memories, thus he shall not keep them in mined nor heart.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
Only a fool would e'r fall for you dear,
You who blaze at ten thousand degrees.
And he was a great fool who flew up much too near,
Just to fall to his death in the deepest of seas.
You must be so proud to have been the one,
To have caused him to plummet so fast.
Did the look on his face make you wish it undone,
Arms out grasping for you and his eyes all aghast.
Daedalus' child, O why did you fly
Where your father bid never to go?
Did you hear the soft call of the bright azure sky,
Though with sweet honeyed words it foretold only woe?
Crete far behind you with wings on your backs,
You grew prideful in freedom's warm gaze.
Trusting only in wings made of feathers and wax,
And your heart deep in love with the sun's deadly rays.
This be the lesson to those who have ears,
Heed your forefather's unceasing call.
The loud call which first came afore Daedalus' tears,
Warns that pride always goeth before the downfall.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC