"melancholically" poems
Accept death as it is;
The inescapable destiny of live beings.
There is no reason
To think strenuously about death.
The man who is permanently thinking about death
Will not find sufficient energy to be proud of living
And thus will live his days melancholically.
Whereas the man who is not worried about death
May seize his days and become happy.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
A full Moon on the horizon of a powder-blue sky
The gentle breeze of Dawn passes me by,
caressing my cheeks like a lost lover,
soft as the clouds which in the distance hover.
I turn around, my back to the Moon:
the melody of daybreak begins its silent tune.
The first gossamer threads of Dawn's embrace,
cobwebs of brightness, Light made of lace.
A lonely bird towards the Moon flies,
hoping in vain to stop its goodbyes;
and my romantic soul melancholically sighs,
attempting to imprint the image in my eyes.
As the sunrise ripens, a celestial fruit,
it robs the lunar ambience, grabbing its loot.
And it basks in the riches that it slowly steals,
in brilliant ombre shades, as the Moon - defeated - reels.
The night's companion quietly fades,
ethereal pallor on now greyish shades;
no more powder-blue, grey turns to white -
it's the bed of clouds, prepared for the nightlight.
You've done your job, illuminating the way,
to travellers and dreamers, lest they go astray;
Rest for a while, take a little break,
until Sun retreats - then you can awake'.
The Poets' Lamp, nocturnal glow,
you'll shine again, with stars in tow.
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC
In this haunting city where the summer is humid and also sticky,
the sun blisters the naked skin
As silver Beads of sweat trickle
Like sweet gelato drizzling in the blazing heat.
There is poetry in the streets
Of graffiti, mellow lights and yellowed walls.
Of cobblestones and of riches
Dazzling every inch of this old city.
The air is laden with soulful music
Of long, lost love
Of passion
And of words rolling melodically and melancholically in modern Latin.
The souls gone by
Of artists, slaves and martyrs
Wander eternally in this ancient city.
They whisper softly in the evening wind
Knowing every tourist and every Roman,
Enchanting gently to their soulful being.
So with longing I think of Rome
As i feel the whispers in the evening wind.
Hypnotised, spellbound; knowing that somehow -
i am rome.
Jul 29, 2022
Jul 29, 2022 at 9:17 AM UTC
Poet, live melancholically as
A man with one eye and full vision.
Ambition but no depth
Perception.
Poet, live longingly as
A child in the corner.
Watching mother's wrist.
Poet, live remiscingly as
A bird crossing the street
Via sidewalk as a ghost.
Poet, live unconsciously as
A murderer, staring down at
A floorboard. Not blood but—ink
On your hands.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
DIVINE
intergalactic
body spirit mine
Jayapuriya twin flame
beloved under starry sky
constellations yours mine
This are sounds emitted
melancholically in a trance,
pressed down longing
between our Beauty Restm
and the vessel of thee.
oh how I love thee.
my rddpc-rd
I thee give.
~~~~
By Angel- Karijinbba
2021 September.
Sep 6, 2021
Sep 6, 2021 at 8:49 PM UTC
Cataclysmic act of craving;
Driven by the motive of unknowingness,
Those made of the urges
May befriend the style of heaving,
longing, surging, sighing,moaning, knowing, embracing,
Till the matter becomes an acquaintance
Of sour taste, however intimidating.
Those of the taste shall still be unknowingly,
For the oblivion is its lifelong fool,
For thee head either towards a truth or hither a reasonable rue.
Beware the promise of the sky!
Where it shelters both the moon and the stardust;
However the course it cries,
It fosters and cloisters the air with seemingly glitter at night.
Though the gush never sweeps away the moon and the sun,
The leaves will still sway melancholically,
however tremble, with which they die.
They own thereof rhythm
Of the notes, strung by the wind.
May thy sea heave away by the sun,
Then 'tis her feet thumping by the moon.
(As it wears a repute of its own undying gloom.)
Stand thy ground, then dance hither their gravity
As you crave beyond thy own truth.
Those of the desire,
Aught to drown in a minute shade of its own very blue.
Then,
They may befriend the rules of heaving, crying, trying, accepting,
And the art of letting the flow, hopelessly and incessantly, in.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
In the valley of penumbras
at the round table
black knights cheering
at the right hand of gods
Lucifer in between
dancing melancholically
07/29/2016
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
Livin a life that ain't mine, that's my lie most the time
Being a man that ain't me, that's what I'm doing most the time
Singin a song that ain't mine, that's what I'm doing all the time
Not knowing why I'm livin, not caring that I'm dying
Wondering who I am
Questioning who you are
Misunderstanding who anybody is, what anybody truly does
Questions mostly mistakenly ****** my inside world and my outside mind
My meticulously misunderstanding mind moves me towards
misconstruing most everything
As I melancholically masturabte the carelessness of human existence
Until I'm as mindless you
Until I'm as mindless as us
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
words breaking free
from the cloud of the mind.
the clout of the imperative telling:
this is the wind blowing from all
directions hoping to touch you
where you sleep,
rests its bone somewhere where
no cold shivers the ground,
somewhere familiar
somewhere where both you
and i have found each other
two separate birds joining
in the morning
Magdalene wears these words
melancholically
hand in glove and earth
in the mouth plump and tender
like bosoms of full women
eyes of men having their fill
of imagined sensations in the flesh
tingling forever throbbing
underneath the white moon --
until then the many loves
will read this hoping for a deliverance
the bow of my breath aims true
but the precision is falsely taken
a sidewinding serpent,
a riotous guerrilla in the bush,
hinging the heartland
a poem washed away in the river
as women rinse the clothes of men
singing songs of despair;
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
in case you didn’t know,
your skin is soft.
it’s soft under my fingertips
when i graze them along your arm
it’s warm when you’re asleep
then i know your dreams are good.
it’s cold when you’re anxious,
when the night takes you to the places
you don’t want to be.
it’s clammy when you’re in the bad memories
it’s rough when your day has worn you down.
i’ve memorized your body
i know where you twist and turn.
in case you didn’t know,
your eyes are hazel.
you are, after all, the earth
green vines bending into the soil
golden rays of sunshine
kissing the coarse dirt
you’re a world to me.
you’re an adventure
the greatest of my life.
in case you didn’t know,
your eyelashes are dark
they kiss your tears and wish them well
as they send them down your soft cheeks
they flutter about when you’re happy
and they dance about,
so melancholically,
whenever your heart is in pain.
in case you didn’t know,
i love everything about you.
i could say so much more,
and i promise i will
for the rest of my life.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 5:36 PM UTC