Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
TomDoubty Apr 2021
Rhythmic
Tearing
Cow on grass
Settling rooks
Cross sky
All around
Sound playing
Scent
On wind
Descending
Sun
Gold leafing
The horizon
Obscuration
Veiling arc
And furrow
Crop
And shadow
Poplar lined
Fields below
Quiet here
Above
A moment
Passes
Contrast sharpens
Trees recede
Into darkness
Sun bleeds
Into Earth
Even the bravest that are slain
  Shall not dissemble their surprise
On waking to find valor reign,
  Even as on earth, in paradise;
And where they sought without the sword
  Wide fields of asphodel fore’er,
To find that the utmost reward
  Of daring should be still to dare.

The light of heaven falls whole and white
  And is not shattered into dyes,
The light forever is morning light;
  The hills are verdured pasture-wise;
The angle hosts with freshness go,
  And seek with laughter what to brave;—
And binding all is the hushed snow
  Of the far-distant breaking wave.

And from a cliff-top is proclaimed
  The gathering of the souls for birth,
The trial by existence named,
  The obscuration upon earth.
And the slant spirits trooping by
  In streams and cross- and counter-streams
Can but give ear to that sweet cry
  For its suggestion of what dreams!

And the more loitering are turned
  To view once more the sacrifice
Of those who for some good discerned
  Will gladly give up paradise.
And a white shimmering concourse rolls
  Toward the throne to witness there
The speeding of devoted souls
  Which God makes his especial care.

And none are taken but who will,
  Having first heard the life read out
That opens earthward, good and ill,
  Beyond the shadow of a doubt;
And very beautifully God limns,
  And tenderly, life’s little dream,
But naught extenuates or dims,
  Setting the thing that is supreme.

Nor is there wanting in the press
  Some spirit to stand simply forth,
Heroic in it nakedness,
  Against the uttermost of earth.
The tale of earth’s unhonored things
  Sounds nobler there than ’neath the sun;
And the mind whirls and the heart sings,
  And a shout greets the daring one.

But always God speaks at the end:
  ‘One thought in agony of strife
The bravest would have by for friend,
  The memory that he chose the life;
But the pure fate to which you go
  Admits no memory of choice,
Or the woe were not earthly woe
  To which you give the assenting voice.’

And so the choice must be again,
  But the last choice is still the same;
And the awe passes wonder then,
  And a hush falls for all acclaim.
And God has taken a flower of gold
  And broken it, and used therefrom
The mystic link to bind and hold
  Spirit to matter till death come.

’Tis of the essence of life here,
  Though we choose greatly, still to lack
The lasting memory at all clear,
  That life has for us on the wrack
Nothing but what we somehow chose;
  Thus are we wholly stipped of pride
In the pain that has but one close,
  Bearing it crushed and mystified.
Lucy Tonic Mar 2015
It's not a sweet sunshower
It's just a sour spring blur
I'm sipping on a wilting flower
With a dour devil who concurs
That all this sweating and shaking
Won't help bring home the bacon
And the everlasting shiver is making
My fragile bones crack with the quaking
Tell me what it takes to make this go away
Cause my ducts are dry and I can't cry today
Tell me what to do to make this life seem true
Cause this duck is drowning and the water's not as blue as me
All I have left is prayer, as they burden me with truth or dare
So show me the alchemy
Print me out the recipe
Cause I'm being eclipsed by the rain
Just like Layne
CharlesC Aug 2018
=
what does this symbol represent..?
from our conventional
point of view
inequality seems to rule..
materialism vociferously asserts
differences are reality
and acceptance expected..
it seems the real meaning of =
lies hidden under
our fears and desires
which bring materialism
front and center..
under this obscuration
lies the truth:
our true identity is
Here...
Omnis Atrum Feb 2012
The shattered concrete sidewalk spits shards of itself to the side with each crunching step. A stagnant yellow light suppressed by oppugning umbra strives with zeal to illuminate this phantasmal ambiance. The cadence of footfall hesitates at the corner of a decaying building. Eyes locked on a crimson door fabricated by the hands of Bhairava. It was this remorseless portal that produced the walker of dreams. With her approach the obscuration of scenery increased until there was nothing but two beings converging beneath the steadfast but dim light. Without sound the first tear fell to the ground. It grasped towards the earth below, delayed as if opposed by gravity, but with weight enough to overcome. The rest followed, after observing to make sure the first hit its target. Clairvoyance had become a curse to the seer, as the plight of the dreamwalker was revealed without words uttered. Secrets poured out almost as quickly as the now rushing tears. These concrete slab secrets attached ropes to the empathetic sleeper's wrists and anchored him beside the dreamwalker. With each thought that passed the bindings tightened around his appendages. And then this intruder, void of but a few secrets, looked up at him with horror. She comprehended too well the anguish caused by this affliction. As she rose beside him an embrace was offered, to suppress the gravity of the situation. For the first time she spoke. Her whispered words reverberated with such intensity that only dust and thread existed where the bindings had pulled and gnawed at skin. "It will all be ok now". She had come seeking comfort, but left beyond that horrible door with only the comfort that his memories would be purged upon waking. He woke with a heavy heart tied to concrete blocks, contemplating whether or not to utter his sorrowful knowledge to the one that provided it to him unknowingly.
The boy, shaking with excitement, nervously bangled the key into the tiny obscuration, just as he sank it deep in the purse and twisted it began to give as if to break and he stopped. The wretched key would not turn no matter which way he fumbled it into the opening trying. He, puzzled, sat back on his haunches and squeezing his countenance…carefully, slowly, measured in his way, he slid it in without a waver and sank it into place. A foul wind blowed and forced his cough but with it came the flutes…and just then, as if by magic, a voice so resolute;

“Heaven’s treasure cannot be seen or known except in heart’s desires,”

“And certainly never be known by a farmer-boy or filth-trodden squires!”

“For ancient sealing of box so great withheld Pandora’s fires!”

“…but listen closely for a truth is hidden in conundrum,”

The little boy gleamed with excitement as he dropped on his hands placing his ear to the keyhole whence the fluting and cherubic voice extruded…though nothing came forth? Try as he might, the key again and again, there was nothing more to the magic of the box. Though he was sure that in this box a treasure was to be found, in all his days, the many numbered, never did resound, never did the voice again give instruction to propound, never did it give again to magic thus profound and never did he figure out, the mystery which did confound!

  To wit the newest little boy said;

“But grandpa how does the story end then?”

  Without haste he replied to the child;

“Never want-for, nor ask, nor seek out, all the paths of heaven’s fortunes,”

“Never covet sacred knowledge or doubt the god’s contortions,”

“Forever all will be as well as good as you can be, if you can be a richer man when giving other's portions…”

  With that said the old farmer died. His daughter and the child’s mother, tears streaming down her flustered cheeks, grabbed him up and began to say a prayer for her dead father while unbeknownst to the family; a troupe in their employ had been employed by someone else and that someone was waiting for a signal. At the moment of the man’s passing the horse-hand ran from the sprawling estate to a well at the fork in the dirt road leading to the local town. There sat a traditional well and bucket with a large copper bell at the top and he rang it with a fervent vigor. The black horses in the thickets past the field bellicosely retorted as they were whipped into an action. Then along came the banker’s chariot, filled with three men in black, riding quickly to the manor’s door;

-judge, pastor, banker.

  Storming into the home the pastor ran to comfort them and strutting-forth, so the banker and his judge in stride comportment too. Slight his pause and nary couth the banker announced his judge and from his handbag produced a document, an unwieldy scroll of parchment…

“Alas my dear and sorrowful child be happy for this great farm! Your inheritance is more than most and do not be alarmed! For we have come upon the courts with documented trust, read this here then sign away to keep the farm you must! For all you see and gathered to you, bought upon agreement, that on thick trunk with gleaming content be exchanged to me for deed it seem-med!”

  Shocked, the woman protested;

“Never nay, what’s this you say? The box his greatest treasure…he would not have done, no this cannot be, sold it without inform me and in measure, for he hath had this since a boy of youth collecting wood in winter’s cold displeasure?”

  The judge stepped forth to conclude the matter and gave her some, though curt, respite;

“Now, now dear we feel your loss but see these lines and see these costs? Chickens, horses, sheep, a wagon, seeds and stock and land, a home, -the lumber, nails, the roof of stone? O’er the years buying more and more, whilst only for once to settle this score, upon release here is your deed, give us the box for which you have no need, this is not a matter of one man’s greed for it says in payment here and here, collateral, that box was dear!”

  In came the horse-hand with axe and fury, chopping apart the bedroom floor, -and in such a hurry, the four they cooed and sighed aloud, as a gleaming treasure chest appeared before the crowd, dropping all the four to knee as banker cried his rapacious glee;

“All these long years did I thus wait and now will find the heaven’s gate! Load it men, the treasure ours, the moon and sun, the awesome stars, the untold secrets of millennia past, we are rich as all the ancient Kings at last!”

Before they left he turned to her and proudly presented his palm extended;

“The key there deary…”

She begrudgingly removed the necklace about her neck and handed it over…after the men had left her little boy said;

“Don’t cry mom and don’t worried, boy have I got to tell you a story!”

The End of the Golden Key
My version of the Golden Key WITH ending.
Onoma Nov 2013
Of no time and place...
save for due Truest North
of no time and place...a kindled
air as such...never a Draconian
night layeth upon...O Hyperborea.
Muse of Muse...whose tacit glory
begot lip and lyre...illumined
wholes that sayeth verily unto
illumined wholes.
Unbroken gaiety...where the only
obscuration's the recesses of
witnesses in full bearing...Beauty's
Knowing...Knowable Beauty.
O Hyperborea...as light, lighteth...
yet lit be not--high heaped upon
high, celebrants of whir and fire...
fire and whir...whir and fire!
Thou danceth a sun's one-upmanship,
to emblazon the dreams of Thracian
peoples.
That the world may know, and know
well...the north wind...of no time
and place--due Truest North of no
time and place...be kindled by
Apollonian graces.
As an urn contains what's trialed by
fire, as fire...Beauty unbridled...poureth
forth under the Hyperborean sun...
never to casteth a shadow.
The Noose Nov 2013
Who she could have been is who she was
Going back to trace the remnants of her former self
but you can't leave footprints on concrete
Permanent alteration

She can't imagine future
The past is too harsh to mention
The words stick in the back of her throat

Obscuration of triumphs by all the tragedies that reign
A sullen disposition ingrained in her entire being
Looking at the world through jade-coloured glasses
She's too young to be this cynic

You can see the sadness in the brown of her irises
A kind of sadness that strikes a chord
jeffrey robin May 2013
Soft!
( it's a dyin sound

A
Subtle lonely sigh

It shatters the night!

HERE WE ARE!

-----where are we?-----
.
Will anybody answer now?)
-_-

CONTEMPLATING!
What?
WHAT ARE WE-----contemplating

With all our Might?
----
CONTEMPLATING
within the soft sigh of
The dying as it Sounds
----
--
Will anybody answer now?
------
All images
The symbols of olden stories
Simply expressed
So that the truth of the day
Might be seen
Known
And dealt with
--
These are useless now
.
We are left to our own devices

We must speak clearly

WE MUST ANSWER ALL QUESTIONS
WITH TOTAL HONESTY
AND COURAGE

We must enter the story.!

We must stand true to what we are CONTEMPLATING!
..
There can be no disconnections
No obscuration
No hiding
No lying
.

We are to be

ONE WITH THE DYING
--
It is
Our sighs sounding

--

The QUESTION LONG LINGERS

we must answer now
----
--

Wake up kids!

You are not an EXTRA
In some phoney tv advertisement

A product!
A mere HUMAN *****
Seeking love
In a sterile high school environment
Attempting
To end the boredom of your parent's
Mastorbatory existence
Within their enslavement
To capitalism and its dehumanizing games!
--
You are put here------FREE!
.
To think for yourself
To LOVE as yourself
.
To hear and to heed

The dying!

The soft sighs
Of lovers

The subtle new images
Formed out of the remnants

Of all the criminally unnecessary suffering
---

Soft!

The dying sounds
Yields to

REBIRTH'S SONG

Sung aloud

By the FREE SOULS
the DARING
LOVELY
COURAGEOUS
CHILDREN
(Such as yourselves)
---
Racing thru the corridors
Out to the streets
Leading to whatever it is

YOU ARE CONTEMPLATING

do not be afraid to say it now
--
THE WORLD IS YOURS

do not be afraid to say so,
Now
Norbert Tasev Jan 2022
I no longer care about fashion because of old-fashioned flavours! Rid yourself of your newfound susceptibility to new fashions, who cares only for the telltale signs of appearances! The reconciliation of interests may soon suffer from a difference of tastes! What does the exceptionalist trend mean?! Have we stopped noticing others simply by their dress code, so that we can mix with the sophisticated, elegant elite?

The Acts and the Sacrifices are thus placed together, in a conspiracy, in a pretended stalemate, for fear of what the patrician public would say if many of them showed their teeth! - And if the superficiality of the health-obsessed, all-embracing superficiality is enough to make you very nervous; it might be a problem-solver to try to see the exceptional One among many like him! In the glass of curved mirrors, even difference looks different!

In penultimate glances, can the Good Friends of Faith be recognised?! Gyugyok and Timotheus Tikitakik?! - Already in every respect there lurks silently the cold rejection withheld; a conceited misunderstanding cleaves their heads and may yet keep them in cage-captivity! An imperial rank of impossible dreams, that someday Someone or Something will do without them all! Even now some conscious distrust is spreading among them!

More interesting has become every cheap-fangled sensationalist Celebrity-pilot; peaceful at-home sit-at-home conversations with sticky masses of secrets, instead of messages from sinking airships!
Poetic T Mar 2018
They shone in the obscurity
                      of every sunset.
Eyes absorbed  every teardrop
        that welled in there vacant
                           tombstone eyes.

But they were more than
                                    obscuration,
       within the stages of radiant demise.
They collected the bounty of those that
      versed from the sacred paths of hues.

There were those that had feel between
          optic blades and the indistinct gleams
that were contentious wounds that were
                                       underhanded shades.

                 The tinges, neither pure of light.
And those that feel in the eclipse of darkness.
        But it was a secret conclave of those
                 who were fractured between both.

But within the collective of shade
                                            and illumination.
Where those that versed the combination
as a sacrilege to the foundations
                                   of eternities motion.

Everyone but a few colluded to  constant versions,
             qualified  hues had to change,
                             or the universe would grow stagnant.
And so began the feud between the shades
         of perpetual opacity.

As the evanescence shimmers
                     where all where falling
                     like dead stars
cleaving within the benighted landscape.
We all glared like life was burying its self.


But they walked between us,
           shimmers of what was wanted.
           And the reputations of our reflections.
Everything must evolve, even the reflections
that fall between the cracks of life's obscurities.
Hasan Maruf Jul 2017
I…I heard the footstep
I…I wondered what…what was that?
I…I heard an indistinct rumble
I…I hastily desisted and urged me to rest
Until I heard the vicious whisper
Thundering behind my doorstep
Tremulously had I reached the door
Looking through the mirror conduit
I paused, gasped and breathed deep
What I heard was a staccato shriek
Bludgeoning violently against
My chamber door with a ghastly peep
Suddenly the sound dissipated awhile
But the fiendish murmur did beguile
Thrusting my heart into a pacific exile

It was an unearthly maiden from the yore
Causing me to tingle to hear her dark lore
In the night of my lone and lousy submission
I was metamorphosed into a ghost
Dissevering the soul from my dainty robe

I…I felt a flitting shudder then a flirting flutter
In the middle of a tormenting stutter
Before consummation with this maiden
Brewing out from the obscuration of her colour

I felt torrid phosphorescence on my forlorn bed
While, I envisioned specter of unhallowed dream
Forming like fungus inside my foamy stream
Overpowering the sputter of my night scheme

I...I thought for a while, the montage
Of these dreams must be from the arch evil
But soon the slumber began to feast
On my turbulent bliss, I reveled
At the very opportunity of unwinding
The gospel of her love forsaken Lenore
Laden with the riddle of her dark lore!

I…I lingered a little before lending my ear
To the haunted mysteries of the maiden’s air
I betook my bedraggled knife
Waited for what comes within my purview
Before engaging myself in a valorous view

Meanwhile, in my chamber of cadaverous blue
I noted a rotting odors passing by
In the hallway through my door
Suddenly, it was lit with translucent light
While, the horror tossed me into a grim plight
On the floor, I discovered a casket of a corpse
Irritably birthing the wild bubble of iced trill
It felt like a purring puff then it was all still

I decided to eavesdrop the rasping whimper
Gushing out from its muted shrill
I…I betook my bedraggled knife
More so to scan the harmony of his strife
Enough, enough I deplored wearily with delight
To get to open the portal of his hidden life

I ... I betook my bedraggled knife
I plowed it through his skin
Cautiously, I devised my amputation
With various degrees of incision
From its protoplasm up to chin
But, I could find nothing but meats
Muttering unrequited love
Lisping ominous yearning of his
To be reconciled and resigned with
Demoniacal feat of maiden’s heartbeat

I…I betook my bedraggled knife
Looking into my works, I could
Not thwart a languorous temptation
As the soft, serene and slow cadences
Of the maiden stirred me to waive
Into the vault of unmarked grave

She gave me my disheveled knife
An incandescent beauty I saw therein
Eyes open, shining like the moon
I decided to use my entire prowess within
Speculating my life to be ended soon

The maiden carried me along down the hallway
With the other corpses I am to dwell in all gay
In her livid *****, in her phantom palace of gray
I heard the chuckling corpse open his tongue
Singing all those songs which never were sung
I managed to utter my name with a rusted voice
Intimating that I won’t be alone and forever rejoice

The turbid night ended with a dusky dawn
Being bemused, my blood bedewed knife
Regaled at the sight of this phenomenon
[A horror poem]
I have too few arms for extra hands that I got danglin' off big cliffs,
that betray the anxiety of pulling ends that block holes in hard stiffs
I got too few muscular arms for injured hands that dangle off cliffs,
5 putrefying, worm-eaten, long-past-rigid rigor mortis, lifeless stiffs
The U.S. is adopting Euro socialism to add to the misery of Agenda 21's codex alimentarius, internal border check-points, aerial obscuration, no-knock raids, mercurialized vaccines & plasticized estrogen mimickers. The F.D.A. is allowing the cannibalization of unborn children to produce rejuvenating ointments & aphrodisiacs, & as "flavor enhancers" for soda pop & fruit juice.
The U.S. is adopting Euro socialism to add to the misery of Agenda 21's codex alimentarius, internal border check-points, aerial obscuration, no-knock raids, mercurialized vaccines & plasticized estrogen mimickers. The F.D.A. is allowing the cannibalization of unborn children to produce rejuvenating ointments & aphrodisiacs, & as "flavor enhancers" for soda pop & fruit juice.
Floorward v. skyward, rash v. asphyxiation, Alzheimer's v. autism as there are non-therapeutic plans in the works that transcend the fluoridation of the public's tap water, assaults via military tanker jets (aerial obscuration w/the creation of poisonous cloud banks comprised of heavy metal oxides, petroleum waste products & bacilli), D.U. in the bombs & bullets of peace-keepers as the genocidal agent by which to render the Arab World an eternal no-man's land, spider-goats & head transplants.

— The End —