"invoked" poems
**† † †
A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.
A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.
A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance—yes sir.
A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth—
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)
A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.
A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.
A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.
A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle.
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy—but docile.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
Meticulous and true. They are so careful. So skilled. Deftly and with a swift and sure hand, the words,
Oh the words, they flow like a brooke. The one in the forest, you know the one. The one out there, out far. In the deep of the wood, over root, under canopy. Through the branches you have to look real hard. And the hard part is not knowing at all what youre looking for. And then there,
After an eternity and in an instant it is there infront of you. What you have been looking for. A vast clearing. Wide and open. The sun glints through the salt-and-peppered leaf roof. It crawls and stretches and lightly caresses everything you lay your eyes upon. Even matte mossy rocks, they seem to shine. You look down and it caresses you as well. Gentle and warm the embrace that you cant quite put your finger on. The location. The origin. It is everywhere, it surrounds you. Close your eyes. Embrace the sun back. But i digress my digression. The brook. It flows over, around, through. There is no stopping the water. It is relentless, it WILL get to its destination. You cannot change its mind. It is immovable.
That is what it is. It is beauty.
I know i should not compare. There is beauty in it all. But, goodness, the feelings invoked when reading others' poetry in admiration.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.
I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.
She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.
I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”
I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 5:17 AM UTC
An enigmatic smile she’s dressed with to chant mystery,
Poets and bards with their magical poesy tried the mystery,
Philosophers and thinkers broke their minds to unravel the secrecy,
Scientists and law makers built hypotheses and verdicts to read hers,
Painters and sculptors fatigued with their colours and clay,
Actors and directors enacted to unknot the thread of obscurity.
Odes and epics, long-written, attempted to sing Lisa’s Smile;
But reflections of their beloveds’ smile read in their verses,
Philosophies and thoughts expressed in huge volumes;
But less understood even the painter’s invention,
Theories and laws built around Science and Law;
But little is the outcome of their propositions sans the mystery,
Colours and clay played on mighty imaginative realms;
But Mona Lisa ne’er spoke of her mystery Smile.
Enactments on massive stages thrilled the collective audiences;
But Mona Lisa hid the mystery of her Smile.
I walked around the garden of poetry with fragrance of mystery,
I saw a poem in her distinctive beauty ruling my mind’s eye.
She smiled at my heart and in turn my heart smiled at her,
Her smile taught me a mystery and it took time to read it;
Yet there was a veil betwixt us, and I took my plume to write.
She took my heart unto her, and I romped in joy.
She’s been decked with melody and rhymes,
And the string of verses stretched beyond the horizon,
Where the mystery of Lisa’s Smile be found.
She took me with her beyond the horizon,
And I followed her with no utterance till our destination.
She laughed at me for my silence;
Yet she smiled unto me; but her smile looked unfathomable.
She smiled and smiled at me; yet she had no utterance for me;
She looked a little bit puzzling unto me, and I had no answer;
Yet her smile dwelled in me, and I invoked the Muse of Poetry.
“Thou art to be a silent lover, and her smile is the answer unto thee,
She’s the Mona Lisa; she can’t speak, but smile and smile.”
I lay on the soil of the kingdom of poetry, imbibing Lisa’s Smile,
I adorn her smile; I worship her smile; I revere her smile,
Let me not move away from the garden of poetry
Till Lisa’s Smile is translated unto me.
I waited and waited and I found the answer:
Lisa smiles and her smile is the love of silence.
My heart rests in silence that her love is felt within.
She uttered into me:”Speak not, but love with smile,
And that the mystery of my Smile and my Smile lasts.”
I know why Mona Lisa smiles.
She loves me with her silent Smile.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
Day breaks over a sleepy village
Morning absolutions completed
An excited buzz is in the air
Everyone is a buzz with cleaning
Hundreds gather wild flowers in the fertile fields
Many were in charge of raising the fires
Soon the whole town had bright blooms weaved from one end to the next
The horizon alight with smoke and power
Goddess and God rights invoked within circles round
Pulsating, rhythmic energy racing through each dancing body
Gyrating to the cosmic beat of life
Couples jump merrily together over cauldrons ablaze
High hopes rise and give way for dreams of children
Lovers round and round they twine
Maypole ribbons rainbow hued passing through hand to hand
As dusk falls the Queen is crowned
Mead flows freely through the jubilant worshippers
The moon hangs round with fullness above their heads
Lighting the way for love into the night
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
Last week, among friends black and white,
among some discussion of protests in Ferguson
and the related looting of stores, I invoked
the word. It was an admission, in a round
of confessions, of something about myself
that I didn't like: that I had perceived Michael Brown
in that way based on his possible participation
in a strong-armed robbery.
When Travon Martin was in the news,
I was inflamed like many others who wanted
George Zimmerman in jail for ******
The outcome of that trial was an injustice,
I was utterly certain. Why does this case
in Missouri feel different? More importantly,
Who is inside me that still wants to rise
in defiance of 48 years of learning how
to be a better person, a person without prejudices,
stereotyping, labeling of others, hurtful language?
Where is the hippie girl now? How does she live
with this other person? Am I Sterling, Gibson,
a hater and spewer of viciousness, a lover
of separation and separateness, that I should
invite damage to my own relationships
with those I love and cherish and respect?
What is a **** but a bully, and what is a bully
but someone who pushes words around like
weapons, spits them out indiscriminately,
so that they land on the already bruised heart
and set it on fire.
Whose heart, besides mine, now sits in smoke
and ash, with that word like a brand
still sore and permanent, having been spoken
aloud?
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
I need to focus and to find,
This desire and obstacle that renders me blind.
Broken images of smiles and laughter,
leaves me sweating fearfull and lonely after.
Eyes wide they drown in passion,
Feel natures design hidden secret and perfectly fashioned.
Her waist so tiny and so small,
Her hair cascading like golden waterfalls.
Rap around embrace and bind,
In this ecstacy caught captured and mine.
Bite the lip and scar the skin,
Every weakness invoked by delicious sin.
Till i arrive and rip the curtain,
In actions so precise innocent and certain.
Sterile unfeeling killing all infection,
so quickly so completely it goes without detection.
You pass me by without attention,
**** my control and social discretion!
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 2:54 PM UTC
Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye
Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).
Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven A
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides B I
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting STAR'S
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost 'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had ~/ E \~ N
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered ~(:YES :)~ G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward (:FORGIVEN:). 'S
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
you've got to find that groovy soft spot
with the space between
and listen and feel
the rhythm is in the spine
it moves ever outward, ebb and flow
now you have the spot.
now you slowly **** the groovy soft spot in the sound
take care to take your time
all in rhythm, with a slow crescendo
the flare will happen by itself. properly invoked
let the river and sound
overtake and ground you
delivering the messenger
diving into the deep water
and breathing delight
sharing the light
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
Two men, one poem.
This day, on this site.
Two men wrote to me.
One called me brother.
The other, an arrogant *****
Called me little.
One shared his life,
With humility and gratitude,
Then, I lost it.
Wept. Baby like.
Honored me with trust.
Swapped spit stories
That bled into my brain,
And a tattoo appeared on my
Writing arm, one word,
Humility.
One boasted of his beans.
His bean counting reads.
Analyzed his trends,
Predicting by Christmas (!),
He would have this many.
His **** poems he informed,
Would be published.
What need did he have
For punk-u-ation,
His rants, his **** stream of words.
Better than mine,
Just cause his stuff I said,
Not my cup of tea.
What a crazy place this place.
Holy and ******** sided.
Humble humble, always humble.
He invoked, this arrogant one,
God's name.
Not knowing I talk to Him.
So I rang Him up and said,
How did a little peenus-genius
Find his way onto this
Holy Place, HP, of kindness.
He smiled in brevity.
Did I not create both,
Angels and devils?
I love God's brevity.
His commas, his question marks,
His pointed punctuation.
I love that He could create
A man whose sight of
Me, unseen, but found capacity
To love me in ways
Undreamed.
Because I peered in to the man's reveal,
Saw quality, value,
Saw humility.
So of arrogance, I said,
I would write.
But it is of humility
I will sing,
Of loving human kindness extraordinaire.
Of weeping endless.
At the joy afforded me
To read so many lovely poems,
Here.
If my poems never see the
Imprimatur of a publishing house,
It matters not,
For I have seen a human being
Weep real tears reading mine.
I have shed rivers of my own
Upon discovering yours.
Humble, humble.
If it is glory you seek,
You will find it,
All alone. ************
Me, I live here, in the midst of a
Good Company.
Sept. 7th, 2013
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Sometimes it is, poor Sylvia,
that we cannot find the answers. They're
not to be found clinking about in the stars,
blowing about in the August wind,
or blooming among the tea flowers, no matter
how scented. No charlatan soothsayer discerns.
No pull of the cards deciphers. If answers come
at all they'll be found deep within yourself, only.
Don't we all prove that countless, wretched
times? But know this, dear Sylvia, even though it's too
late for your sanity and your life, your daddy didn't
die because of you, for you, by you. Death simply
drew the line and pulled him across.
What were you to do when life puzzled you
to the limit, when all poems disappointed,
when the ink failed to flow smoothly,
the pen tore at the paper and the paper
turned to ash before a line could be written down?
What to do when your child's smile failed to ignite
motherhood, when Daddy's image floated in and out, when
emotional pain dragged you terrified under its
black cerement, that cold, wet, smothering grave cloth?
Fear, oh my God, fear, and the doubt that you had,
the whirling about of a shattered mind, bouncing
from this trap to the other - your muted, stifled inner
screams unheard, or worse, unexpressed. Yes,
you found a solution, poor Sylvia, but suicide
doesn't always equate with an answer. You found a
sad poem, a dirge to be exact, something that moves
us, but there is no rhyme to it and the ending is an
enigma, a great puzzle yet to be invoked, understood.
----
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 4:51 PM UTC
The poleax of Paroket
a pietersite soul sheath
the head which is not,
keening like a red horse
between two lions
slaying men and peace
with the hymns of ascent,
swatting humanities darkness
thrilling the sword of Michael;
First Cause , sweeping the graveyard
dust garden of Magna Mater touting
predicant trappings of the etheric
revenant a self compassing
mandala who is all right side invoked
By laudible Yahwistic nutation.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
Oh God, the Most Merciful and Compassionate:
Please grant us the grace and opportunity to be your instrument in the mercy and compassion that you epitomize. May You grant us peace in our lifetime and frustrate those who seek to cause discord and sow hatred in your name.
Please enlighten our collective conciousness. May we be continually reminded that we are all on this Pale Blue Dot together. Please help us to grow out of this petty and useless tribalism and nationalism that are invoked far too often to justify violence.
May You grant us all a desire to strive for peace and have mercy on us for our many sins against each other.
Amen
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
Melting Sarcoma
Cell Division
Warfare Conjugates a mission
And dares the fates to corrugate
Hurricanes of plated windows reflect as they shatter, their torment, drunken stupor invoked by habit.
They congregate as ashes, winnowing.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
I was miserable when you left.
I cried for hours and days.
But now what I feel is undoubtedly the most contradictory emotion I've ever felt,
I don't think I'll ever forget you.
You were my enchanting fantasy which abruptly ended on a sad note.
You were my first mesmerizing emotion of utter utopian devotion.
You were the drop of Jupiter that dripped upon my hair and left me wild.
You were the fire of the purest passion that burned me alive.
You invoked the deepest desires from the darkest corners of my mind.
You loved me when I considered the meaning of love as a waste of time.
You left me as if I was a pariah on the pedestal of a sacred shrine.
You disappeared like Houdini as soon as the lamp lost its light.
You abandoned me and vanished like a phantom, right out of my sight.
You were the myriad of perfection that seemed so lovely to be deceptive.
But when you left, it felt like a shard of glass ripping through my heart.
It hurt, and I screamed the most melancholic sound.
My devotion turned toxic and it spilled like acid on the ground.
Smoldered the memories of the best times and charred the symphony that my soul sang out.
So what I'm trying to say is that I don't think I'll ever forget you. Neither will I ever forgive you.
I'll think about you for the rest of my life. Till the day, the sky falls down and engulfs us in its light.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
.
**•i only ••• weep for
the path of my brethren•when we turn
to bloodshed to settle petty squabbles•
the rage ••• in our
hearts could
not be more brazen•
for we have ground all we-
've built to dust and rubble•the tears from the fau-
cets of many only trickle•the drips could never douse
the flames we've stoked • we play with lives as we pit
them to a gamble•the hei- nousness
within us that we've carelessly
... invoked•**
•
••
•••••
•••••••
••••••
•••
.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
How shall my animal
Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull,
Vessel of abscesses and exultation's shell,
Endure burial under the spelling wall,
The invoked, shrouding veil at the cap of the face,
Who should be furious,
Drunk as a vineyard snail, flailed like an octopus,
Roaring, crawling, quarrel
With the outside weathers,
The natural circle of the discovered skies
Draw down to its weird eyes?
How shall it magnetize,
Towards the studded male in a bent, midnight blaze
That melts the lionhead's heel and horseshoe of the heart
A brute land in the cool top of the country days
To trot with a loud mate the haybeds of a mile,
Love and labour and ****
In quick, sweet, cruel light till the locked ground sprout
The black, burst sea rejoice,
The bowels turn turtle,
Claw of the crabbed veins squeeze from each red particle
The parched and raging voice?
Fishermen of mermen
Creep and harp on the tide, sinking their charmed, bent pin
With bridebait of gold bread, I with a living skein,
Tongue and ear in the thread, angle the temple-bound
Curl-locked and animal cavepools of spells and bone,
Trace out a tentacle,
Nailed with an open eye, in the bowl of wounds and ****
To clasp my fury on ground
And clap its great blood down;
Never shall beast be born to atlas the few seas
Or poise the day on a horn.
Sigh long, clay cold, lie shorn,
Cast high, stunned on gilled stone; sly scissors ground in frost
Clack through the thicket of strength, love hewn in pillars drops
With carved bird, saint, and suns the wrackspiked maiden mouth
Lops, as a bush plumed with flames, the rant of the fierce eye,
Clips short the gesture of breath.
Die in red feathers when the flying heaven's cut,
And roll with the knocked earth:
Lie dry, rest robbed, my beast.
You have kicked from a dark den, leaped up the whinnying light,
And dug your grave in my breast.
1.8k
The fools' contempt is what we need
When everyday is all filth and greed
And while the heavens sing from above
The hurting children cry out for love
We open our filthy palms
Just to escape this terrible fate
Of lies, and thieves, and worthless things
And only words of hate
The gay men, the starving children, and the drug addicts are bombed
Satanists and alcoholism
The freedoms we had
Now prejudiced and gone
Suicides are left and right
As the animals start singing
The Moon weeps for her children
As the Sun is merely sleeping
Where did they go?
What is wrong
It is time to escape this fate
That we have invoked all along
And as the blood in our veins feels like it's about to burn
The end of the day
And the tears we cry
Is all a lesson learned
Now cry for the last lullaby
All hope is gone
From the voices in our heads
And now we die!
Side by side and hand in hand
On the battlefield
Where our bodies are merely one grain of sand.
We cause pain to our dying brothers
And become ourselves, merely traitors.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
Love too strong for
those who bear it
is a curse invoked
by a deficit of worth.
It is not enough to
seek validation through
a proxy designated
Heaven on Earth.
With no center of gravity,
no anchor in character,
obsession is the limit
of the capacity to love;
Projecting impossible
desires and untenable
expectations amounts
to blasphemy of.
True love may not be
forever or easy;
parting may never
be pleasant to bear;
Love is not merely
what's pleasing or comfortable;
love is a crucible;
love is not fair.
Those fleeting failures
and moments of error
are chances at triumph,
a challenge to change.
Breaking our boundaries,
ballooning outward:
love is inevitably
savage and strange.
Unbefitting to cling
to the bridge that enables
a star in its wand'ring
to cross the abyss;
To carry the ballast
of vast insecurity
over that chasm,
untenable risk;
Or swallow the poison
of foolish dependence
on whimsical paramours,
obesiance thereof,
To be hung from the neck
by detestable premises,
weak and debased
by untenable love.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Many years ago
another place,
another time,
I felt the beating of your heart,
beating together with mine.
The starlight
on the water,
the glow
of the full moon,
I remember us,
the melody
of our eternal tune.
Scents of the Magnolias,
the soft feel of our kiss,
the love that was invoked,
true everlasting bliss.
Whispering breeze melodies,
waking with you each morn,
ultimate love,
strong and true,
forever
with you reborn.
Forever our love shall linger,
no amount of time can undo,
even in the vail of death,
I will forever remember you.
Many years ago
another place,
another time,
the beating of your heart,
beating together
with mine.
Another Place, Another Time......
~
Jun 26, 2021
Jun 26, 2021 at 2:31 AM UTC
Last night,
At the moment between sanity and dream,
The conjuring I had acquired to keep you caged
Was cancelled by a stronger spell.
For even after years,
You came unbidden to my bed,
And tempted love into regret.
Even here; within a bedroom you were
Banished from by my desire,
You found a way to lie
Your ghost beside me,
And possess the still and sleeping form
Of yet another stranger by my side.
When you first left,
To live apart through our
Shared motion of the sun,
Destroying days with dark mementoes,
And nights with savage wakefulness
Where all alone, I had invoked
The Furies, to pursue your faithlessness
Through every hope you treasured
And held dear,
Fear of my wish for your decay
Had marked each day,
With lies to mutual friends,
Who heard I wished you well.
Yet even now;
I burn within the hell
Which I unleashed for you.
© James Rainsford 2010
Nov 23, 2010
Nov 23, 2010 at 9:13 AM UTC
I laid my own arm out.
Faith and trust I invoked within you.
My heart spilled out upon the floor.
As I left open my emotional door.
Corrupted and twisted.
You took advantage.
Was your loyalty too much to manage?
You stole what was mine.
It was not your time.
Now you drown in misery.
I hold complete apathy.
Your face is dead to me.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Slowly dancing
Upon the ceiling
My hopes swam into grave deception,
Erasing their colours
and embracing the lust of redemption.
With my head on the ground
and burying my feet in the sky,
I leave my conscience shatter all around,
While my sins lie in a silence so profound...
Forever, in dust they lie.
Thoughts fade my body in that lost corner,
Unto grace the prays grimy shout over
The infected ceiling, where helpless desires once became dew.
Voices write about how those opaque aspirations flew
To the coal ending called sky,
Beside a summer of memories, broke lively into a lie.
Black birds with no shape
Levitate, levitate...
On the astral hue
Where a chromate rounded eye
Cram, vanquish and deny
Icarus wings forgotten truth.
Truth confesses...
Clouds have this delussional construction.
They look heavy, but dive easily in the highest skies.
They seem consistent, but you'll find emptiness in their insides.
They shine with passion, when Sun comfort their dark sides,
but their core scream shallow vowels, when the rays candlelight dies.
They are made of marvelous shell and promises.
Now their true face ran out of disguises,
Now their lies taste like a cruel truth,
Destroying wordless ponds of my silent youth.
They are made of failed hopes,
Long invoked by a half living corpse.
They quickly vanished away, ashamed of their fail
Scattering a nest, while thoughts crave for their trail.
Once lucid and life giving,
ensuring a world painted in more than one colour.
There they stand...in that soft looking terror,
While, on a flooded carpet, a life was painfully sinking.
Where should my mind find peace?
Or..When?
When will my life start over? When?
It's too late, the rain has started now...
One hope, after another..I could feel them- they're fierce.
They've been abandoned, somehow...
They will rise again, falling on the dust's grease.
2010.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC