"humbler" poems
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time,
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;
And tonight I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have a power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And comes like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
2.7k
283
A Mien to move a Queen—
Half Child—Half Heroine—
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear—
Its frequent Visitor—
A Bonnet like a Duke—
And yet a Wren’s Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by—
And Hands—so slight—
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment—
A Voice that Alters—Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow—
Or shift supreme—
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem—
Too small—to fear—
Too distant—to endear—
And so Men Compromise
And just—revere—
2.6k
I am just your average sinner,
sly glances say, I am second chance, time around .
I spin mediocre wildest-dreams
in rundown hope hotels
I am just a pretty sinner with a
dusty trail of lust
like green pollen in my wake.
A vehicle of possibility
to all the places we can drive our devils,
with cocktails and vague musician
who lean back on wooden chairs, against walls of fading paint.
with tables for sins
to be laid out like Thanksgiving.
My sins are neon signs in yellowed rooms,
My sins are rusted cans kicked in old beach towns.
My sins are hot pavement under cracked rubber tires rumbling above.
My back arched in a prayer to the sky.
The rise of my hipbones like majestic mountains.
My sins leak from my eyes. First one, then another.
Down, Down they fall
I fall to my knees.
They fall and I curse them for leaving me too.
I fall to my knees like the traveler who has journeyed too long,
On my knees and I kiss the dirt of home.
I am humbled and groveling...within my sinning.
And I pray a much louder prayer. I am a much humbler servant, with much to forgive.
I wear my sins like a raincoat to keep me dry from all the
good intention and 'well-deserved!' that might be coming my way.
I twist my sin into a paper flower and wear it in my sinful hair next to my sinful eyes by my sinful mind.
I am just your average sinner
Dreaming of living a better life someday.
Praying to be a better me, someday.
Someday is a funny place to live
With towering hopes
and skyscraping desires scratching at its sterile walls.
No, not for me.
I am just your average sinner...
with extraordinary sins.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
I am truer than my lies,
Louder than my doubts,
Surer than my insecurities;
I am fairer than my flaws,
Heavier than my airs,
Quieter than my anxieties;
I am stronger than my failures,
Calmer than my rages,
Happier than my tears;
I am humbler than my vanities,
Wiser than my mistakes,
Bigger than my fears.
(c) emeraldine087
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim
(Seneca, Letters 130.10)
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
2.4k
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;
With those who, scatter’d far, perchance deplore,
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before:
Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,
Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still,
Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay,
And frequent mus’d the twilight hours away;
Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline,
But, ah! without the thoughts which then were mine:
How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,
Invite the ***** to recall the past,
And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,
“Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!”
When Fate shall chill, at length, this fever’d breast,
And calm its cares and passions into rest,
Oft have I thought, ’twould soothe my dying hour,—
If aught may soothe, when Life resigns her power,—
To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell,
Would hide my ***** where it lov’d to dwell;
With this fond dream, methinks ’twere sweet to die—
And here it linger’d, here my heart might lie;
Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose,
Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose;
For ever stretch’d beneath this mantling shade,
Press’d by the turf where once my childhood play’d;
Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I lov’d,
Mix’d with the earth o’er which my footsteps mov’d;
Blest by the tongues that charm’d my youthful ear,
Mourn’d by the few my soul acknowledged here;
Deplor’d by those in early days allied,
And unremember’d by the world beside.
2.2k
For Denis Joe
Alas, poor Pluto
I knew him slightly
Dangling out there
On the sun system's edge
Unsung by Holst
Who knew him not at all.
Furl browed tribunes smack their gavels
And in a nano - second
Planetary glory dashed to asteroids.
Mighty Pluto busted to dwarfhood!
[Brief moment of silence]
Well, the dwarves will have to have
Their own music now -
Nothing Earth shattering
like THE PLANETS.
A humbler essay, say a trio
For tuba, autoharp and cello.
Modest but catchy tunes
For little orbiters and shakers:
XENA (warrior princess)
CERES (goddess of grain)
PLUTO (mythical silver smith)
CHARON (underworld boat jockey)
Oops, almost missed the big send off.
There he goes now with Charon at the oars.
Arrivederci
little
fellow.
SNIFF!
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
Fools may pine, and sots may swill,
Cynics gibe, and prophets rail,
Moralists may scourge and drill,
Preachers prose, and fainthearts quail.
Let them whine, or threat, or wail!
Till the touch of Circumstance
Down to darkness sink the scale,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
What if skies be wan and chill?
What if winds be harsh and stale?
Presently the east will thrill,
And the sad and shrunken sail,
Bellying with a kindly gale,
Bear you sunwards, while your chance
Sends you back the hopeful hail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Idle shot or coming bill,
Hapless love or broken bail,
Gulp it (never chew your pill!),
And, if Burgundy should fail,
Try the humbler *** of ale!
Over all is heaven's expanse.
Gold's to find among the shale.
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Dull Sir Joskin sleeps his fill,
Good Sir Galahad seeks the Grail,
Proud Sir Pertinax flaunts his frill,
Hard Sir AEger dints his mail;
And the while by hill and dale
Tristram's braveries gleam and glance,
And his blithe horn tells its tale:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Araminta's grand and shrill,
Delia's passionate and frail,
Doris drives an earnest quill,
Athanasia takes the veil:
Wiser Phyllis o'er her pail,
At the heart of all romance
Reading, sings to Strephon's flail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Every Jack must have his Jill
(Even Johnson had his Thrale!):
Forward, couples--with a will!
This, the world, is not a jail.
Hear the music, sprat and whale!
Hands across, retire, advance!
Though the doomsman's on your trail,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Envoy
Boys and girls, at slug and snail
And their kindred look askance.
Pay your footing on the nail:
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
1.6k
Not from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;
Nor earth, within her ***** locks
Thy dark unfathomed wells below.
Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream
Begins to move and murmur first
Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,
Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.
Born where the thunder and the blast,
And morning's earliest light are born,
Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,
By these low homes, as if in scorn:
Yet humbler springs yield purer waves;
And brighter, glassier streams than thine,
Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,
With heaven's own beam and image shine.
Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;
Warm rays on cottage roofs are here,
And laugh of girls, and hum of bees--
Here linger till thy waves are clear.
Thou heedest not--thou hastest on;
From steep to steep thy torrent falls,
Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,
It rests beneath Geneva's walls.
Rush on--but were there one with me
That loved me, I would light my hearth
Here, where with God's own majesty
Are touched the features of the earth.
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,
Still rising as the tempests beat,
Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,
Among the blossoms at their feet.
1.4k
Age ain’t nuthin' but a number, they said.
Only each of those numbers
means you’re one step closer to being dead.
Sure, I can still wear a short dress.
But why would I—
there’s no need to impress.
The hormones have fled, and in their stead
I have wisdom and serenity. I’ve said goodbye
to the burning desire to coax someone into bed.
Yes, I could hike the Himalayas, if I try;
but my arthritis means
every step of the way, I’d cry.
I play the guitar, but don’t get too far,
before I feel it in my elbow.
Didja notice Jimmy Page
rubs his arm?I guess he didn’t get the memo--
the one that says it’s just a number, your age.
I’m here to tell you age makes you humbler.
NO ONE my age says “age is nothing but a number.”
Numbers mean something, they add and subtract;
by the time you’re my age, you’re in your second act.
In fact the second act is closing, I’m moving on to the third—
the final act--where you’ve got to sum it all up, but, rest assured:
I’m not pining for my lost youth,
when I had better health,
but less truth.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
In the Beginning there was Nothing.
Then Matter appeared.
Movement Mothered Time.
Our Universe Expands.
But wait!
How could there be a “beginning” if there was nothing?
For if there was nothing there would be no time.
And if there was no time there could be no beginning, or “end” for that matter (excuse the pun).
So, the “Beginning” came about only when Time began.
And Time began only when Matter appeared and Moved.
The moment when Matter appeared and when Existence began we have termed “Creation” or “The Big Bang”.
The latter implies some “Accident”, some cataclysm that just happened “out of the blue”.
Or rather, The Big Bang occurred from Nothing.
“Creation” implies that some “Intelligence” made the Big Bang happen or otherwise designed our Universe (or Multiverse or Whatever).
Some would call this Intelligence “God”.
But who Created God???
Surely we have to Begin with An “Accident”.
Could we really Start with God?
Start with an Intelligent, Omnipresent, Omniscient, Omnipotent, Immortal, Sentient Being?
Out of Nothing?
From Nowhere.
Nowhen?
It would seem unlikely.
Humbler beginnings seem more feasible.
An Accident indeed.
A tiny accident that leads to greater things: much, much Greater.
To the Evolution of God perhaps.
(It is possible that God hasn’t even Evolved into existence yet.
Maybe We are taking part in that very Evolution).
But then we arrive back where we started.
Back to the same problem.
How was there a Beginning without any Time.
How was there a Nothing without a Something (indeed without Existence)?
How did Matter just Appear from a Nothing which couldn’t Exist because there wasn’t an Existence, wasn’t a Something?
I just Don’t Know.
Seems the Universe is expanding into Space.
For there to be space there must be Something that defines that space, something surrounding that space!
Is our Universe in a test tube?
Or perhaps space is created once matter appears, such as that which constitutes our universe.
Space must be infinite.
I cannot imagine matter being infinite, even containing spaces.
Space must be more than “Nothing”.
Space has to be infinite,
Otherwise we would have to ask,
What is beyond space?
Infinity.
Eternity.
In short,
Existence,
Life and Everything:
It’s Impossible.
Paul Butters
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Between the rocks beneath a mountain
the calmest dark upon her chest
where eyes don't stare or fingers grasp
the sleeping queen, she rests.
"Oh, to be found in the shadows
by a prince of unknown grace.
To be taken to his castle
with the sun upon my face.
"Perhaps a farmer or a youth
then cleaned by ***** hands
and brought as a gift of wonder and awe
to a love in humbler lands.
"Perhaps an artist, -a troubled one
whose craft is life and duty.
Whose heart is filled with heavy burdens
and art is filled with beauty".
Tectonic plates, they rumble
she gives a lazy yawn
as a glimpse of light now reaches in
to reveal the naked dawn.
And with the dawn an arm extends
to lift her from her bed.
The bony fingers carry gently
the queen that never wed.
"Perhaps an unlucky homeless man
whose clothes are rags and tatters.
Whose sole possession is me, a diamond,
and I'll be all that matter".
In a village in the deepest jungle
a travler finds a treasure
in the hand of a homeless man
beyond all Earthly meassure.
He says: "Do you know what that rock is worth?"
The homeless says: "I can't,
I lost my sight in the war, you see
but she feels good in my hand".
And he worshipped her all his days
untill he passed away
and in his humble will he asked
she be placed in his grave.
Still she dreams, that sleeping queen
of princes, farmers and artisans.
But she always shines her brightest
when she dreams of the homeless man.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
Ready am I, to make sacrifices for true love
For as long as I live
Spend less money, I can
Reduce my screen time, I can
Travel less, I can
Eat less sweet items, I can
Sleep less, maybe I can
Write less, maybe I can
However, there are certain things
On which I cannot compromise
Because I hate breaking promises
For me, is keeping my word everything!
For example, never can I change my character
After all, my principles are my anchors
Change my world views, I cannot
Show less love or affection, I cannot
Give up meat, I cannot
Stop travelling by train, I cannot
Compromise on my relationships with family or friends, I cannot
Irrespective of the gender
Because they are my bread and butter!!
Ready am I, to make sacrifices for true love
A lot, am I ready to give
My precious time, yes
My precious money, yes
My precious energy, yes
More confident, can I be
More assertive, can I be
More courageous, can I be
Smarter, can I be
Fitter, can I be
Humbler, can I be
More forgiving, can I be
Less hot-headed, can I be
Less stubborn, can I be
Less insecure, can I be
Less shy, can I be
However, the most important thing is to strike a balance
Find that middle path
Avoid extremes as far as possible
And last but not the least
It needs to be worth it!!
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 1:11 PM UTC
To fire and dust, ran my Father’s veins-
His sudden tempers, fast to wain,
Considered judgments, swift but sure;
Against stray pathos, well immured.
Fire and dust, through all his days-
Meanings strict as he would say;
Toward logic, reasoning flowed his mind,
With love, the tension to unwind.
How I miss the fire and dust of him,
And miss the years, now memory’s dim;
As diamonds hide their humbler sides,
Their closed channels, to abide.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 5:05 PM UTC
your choices narrow since the gate's not wide
but yet is ample once you choose your way
all you must do is set apart your pride
not just in honour but in the best allied
arts you have studied since your first calm day
your choices narrow since the gate's not wide
enough for coaches in which large folk ride
but humbler folk might still that path essay
all you must do is set apart your pride
from hope and anguish both yet never hide
your expectation of what we might say
your choices narrow since the gate's not wide
yet little matters since we will not collide
with foolish beings who will not obey
all you must do is set apart your pride
and just be ready to confront the tide
that still treats us as objects of its play
your choices narrow since the gate's not wide
all you must do is set apart your pride
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 5:59 PM UTC
So many boxes.
Of temporal treasures.
I pack them.
I wrap item after item.
To place in.
Box after box.
Of temporal treasures.
To be relocated.
To a new, temporal palace.
A smaller palace.
A humbler palace.
A palace where I will boldly confess...
"As for me and my house,
we will serve the Lord." (Joshua 24:15)
So many boxes.
Of temporal treasures.
Which cannot satisfy.
But leave the heart empty.
Box after brown box.
Small, medium, large.
To be relocated.
To a new, temporal palace.
A house for His glory.
For I am finished.
With setting my affections upon...
Box after box.
Of temporal treasures.
Which cannot satisfy.
But leave the heart empty.
I will seek my treasure in eternity.
In things above.
Which will never pass away.
So many boxes.
Of temporal treasures.
To be relocated.
To a new, temporal palace.
While awaiting me stands.
A mansion in glory.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 12:42 AM UTC
O Piety! O enlightenment true!
O humbler of the haughty heart! The head
Of prideful man bows low in awe when you
Address him to the Giver of the Bread
Which is called daily; true Reverence is shed
Like light upon the soul, and darkness flees
When poor man your humble majesty sees!
O Piety! You teach the timid to
Rise and cry “Father!” When rebels arise
With clamorous shouts to overthrow, you
Teach them to fall, not daring to raise eyes
To Heaven, and pay homage with great sighs
Of contrition to their Lord and King! It
Is by thine aid for prayer man is made fit!
O Piety! Come, devotion inspire,
Let fall down our faces sweet holy tears,
Fan into a furnace our inner fire!
Fill us with that love which casts out all fears,
Attune to the voice of the Lord our ears!
To us who ask for direction you say -
“Kneel, as though you knew to Whom you dare pray!”
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
I use these views to choose the words which follow on
and if no views then it is if that I am gone
from memory,
remember me?
addiction free,
except for alcohol and nicotine and some things best not talked about,some things I think are best unseen except by me and
she,my Queen.
Amused by views I sometimes lose perspective and get far too big to fit my boots,but
I come from humble roots and humbler stock and so have learnt to lock my vanity away,yet
this I say
(because no one else will,)
I'll write until my blood turns blue,I'll write with ink and water too and if you choose to not take peeks or views
you lose.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
She waves by, like the glittering sunshine ,
Smile as enchanting as ever,
Makes me wonder and ponder why,
Why Some are just too deep for the world.
All qualities encompassed, vibrant as a color scheme,
Never left a stone unturned,
But humbler than anyone witnessed by me,
As some are just too deep for the world.
From the outside , she is cold,
Her depth is not seen by many,
Its only when u realise her heart’s of Gold,
That some are just too deep for the world.
Why to generalise, ill blatantly say,
You are a friend , people wish to keep hold of,
So no matter change, come time what may,
Coz its u who is just too deep for the world
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:44 AM UTC
O Fear of the Lord! Wisdom’s beginning!
Humbler of the exalted! Exalter
Of the humbled! Thou, when none from sinning
Have refrained, cause Vanity to falter
In its stride, giving us David’s psalter
So that we might gain the ability
To tread well the path of humility!
O Fear of the Lord! Creation’s reverence
For her Creator! You make the poor one’s
Trembling dread a bridge to span the severance
Which disobedience made between sons
And their Father; He who all evil shuns
And yet with haste will pardon the contrite
Heart, for His mercy is His truest might!
O Fear of the Lord! Give us instruction!
By thy teaching all presumption destroy,
Lest our conceit become an obstruction -
Let not our hubris the Most High annoy!
Teach us how best this wisdom to employ:
“Know, O man, that thou wert formed from the dust;
And at thy end, return to it you must!”
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
How much time has passed
Since the ***** in my armour last
Which stops flow coming
The space between sleepers
Slowing their moments
For the sake of a sorrowed spark
Making his mark on the pavement
How can these folk forsake the blatant laments
Of a pauper in king’s garments crying for change?
My gloat fails the throat
Instead of truth I sooth what is meant to be
Yet my soothing words fall to entropy before I manifest a pardon
For this lack of gratitude for art's garden
That has befallen the concrete cobbled empire
Of these glorified mongers of time
They give it away like infinite wisdom
Slipping from their grasp with every second
Spent in line looking forward to their freedom
Instead of seizing it in their hands
Primal roar to get past that meiopy
In the name of her majesty the queer
Peering out from her crystal mountain
With her blue blood and scaled skull
Tax checking the pardoned fortnight
That expensive foresight they can ill afford
Painted on their contours so beautiful
I try to drag it out
But like atlas, my groans
They bounce about and fall short
Of merchants' wails for biased expression
Promoting depression of consciousness
Spontaneous mess I create to shake the slumber
But grow humbler at my failure to save
Every single one of them
Young and old
Mothers and fathers
With the twirk of a wrist
How children see more and through them we will work
With their wide open hearts lies the start of the new world
So let us show them how
Then the universe will be never ending
Much like this thankless task
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
dull and lustless,
i walk the streets -
looking at the trees -
the sweet shops
the library
the branded cabs
the grass fields
the trickling pipes
the street performers
the brown leaves
the eagle’s flight
the day
the ‘real’ men
the ‘real’ women
the idea of them
the average joes
the instagram ******
the mindless jocks
the humbler saints
the rich folks
the poor lepers
the clay pots
the rain
my life;
all devoid of charm.
what’s left to do,
but seek love?
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 9:18 AM UTC
Thank you for being
For when I am not myself
You are seeing still
Moon is heavy yet
We refuse to make it burden
Let this amplify the mana
For our absurd siblings
How I feel their orbital breath
Channeling through my essence now
Let this trance bless the counsel
Imparted by frequency
Where particles partake
In life’s tickling mystery so fickle
It mimics then trickles its way into
The facets of my heart
Each petal’s flesh-like sinew
Tests metal mandala I see in you
As in me
Starts stretching in life’s furnace
An unfolding silent scarlet mystery
Etches in then lights ablaze
Fetch mine eye from the labyrinth haze
Of what has come before
What has gnawed
Clawed my poor ego torn
As a thorn borne to bleed
So you may see life’s inflictions
That peel my skin bare
And what orange poison lies therein
Then speaking your truth
A leech succulently healing
Cleansing what may have been
Stealing my life energy
Through the fragile synergy of our senses
A tactile tight rope we have taken
To balance the stakes of gender
My beautiful sister
I see the scars
Where that labic contusion reveals
The tapestry of the stars within your soul
Between four corners
I, crowned coroner of what was
Witness what lies beneath
One constellation
I marvel at a time;
A kaleidoscopic offering
Chiming omniversal mind
With each galactic sermon
Characters carved humbler
As the vesicular rumble
Stirs in chamber
We raise it
To the highest place where
We have become untouchable
Let us stay here a while
Breathing
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
Breakups are like being an angel in heaven
And no longer do I hear your voice beckon
Then so suddenly I am quickly falling
And still your voice is not calling
To a dry and mortal place unknown
But the worst part is that I am now alone
My wings have been ripped from between my shoulders
They fall in fire to the earth, where they smoulder
So they burn in a fire that just gets hotter
And my questionable soul thirsts for water
Almost as hungrily as my heart searches for your love
You know you will never again look down from the stars above
Yet now I am bound to this desolate earth
Cast out from the skies to a humbler berth
And so we try to survive in a world of desolate silence
For I cannot find your peace among all this violence
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
I don't wish
to be wiser
only to be
gentler
kinder
warmer
humbler
calmer
and quieter
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 10:56 PM UTC