"sorrowing" poems
When you were a phosphorus angel
There was almost light,
And your glow became like the Fallen.
When you were holding my hand
Your prints took over
Mine, like a stolen identity...
Willingly.
And I was,
Because you were my existence
In the abyss,
And your luminous spirit a breath
Underwater.
And you were the storm
That I left the shelter for,
A little grey can go a long way
In a rain of sorrowing embers.
I was the reconstruction
Of your project,
Rebuilding is never easy
But you stayed til I was me again.
Life is big,
But so little in time,
I am because you were,
I was because you're gone.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Flora and Fauna, the sisters of Season
Of Spring and of Summer
Allow now our drummer
To drum out the beat
For the feet of the sisters
To glide and to creep
Like the encroaching sleep
Which may perch on your shoulder if we cannot keep you awake
And on the edge of your seat, sir.
Now the former, sweet Flora, will finger the flute
While the other continues to glide and to slide
Like a sequined Venetian harlequin bride;
And now Fauna will mimic the movements of bird and of beast
As she graces the work of our landscape artiste
And all is completely unfeasible
Completely lacks reason
We guarantee.
Presently
In the eye of the beholder
Sweet Flora seemingly draws from the aether a lyre
And with flourishing fingers she plucks from the heavens
A song of the seasons, a pagan ode to Pan!
Behold! No aid of hoops, no strings
The vestal-virgin-harlot sisters sing
Of beautiful Persephone
And with unseen damselfly wings
Ascend from mediocrity
All melody forgotten
All the drums create cacophony
And you will find serenity in chaotic monotony
Now let this climaxing crescendo banish all your sorrowing!
No more that light; no more that sacred realm
Life’s door was dappled gloam; now all is black.
A man of wax with saintly, hollow eyes
Devoid of sin, devoid of love and light
That golden room is lost – you can’t turn back.
Now love has lost its lustre - lust lost joy
And coy eyes turn to watch the empty man
Struck by eternal beauty, and condemned
To haunt the broken world of mortal men;
And shrilling wind caresses empty hand.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
The mirrior is my adversary.
My eyes variance, what others don't see.
To the word I'm adequate, crowning , spotless, and skilled
Every morning I wake up, get ready and cover my lips in red majestic mac
Red lipstick seems to illuminate confidence in the eyes of many,
but to me it is merely a pigmented shield of secrets.
Humorous isn't it?
Every unmarred life, seeks to relive its pigments
Fears, self-doubt, imperfection.
Mirror, mirror, mirror on the wall..
Who's the thinnest of them all...
The sound of battle rumbles
Conscious at wrists ends
Bawling in me
Fat,
Fat,
Fat,
Yours tricks are foul, you tauntful mind
Vision is blurred from reality,
Oh mind how you love to frolic
Your sheer joys leave me unpieced,
The snickering of my mirror,
Damages my frame.
Sorrowing fades my red lipstick
Pigments revealed,
Vulnerable,
Unworthy,
Marred to the bone
Quickly I learned that the mind is the enemy, filled with con
Staring in my mirror and all I see is fat.
Red lipstick always seems to fade by the end of the night.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A mist of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water-bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came,
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell,
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore
O'er stony mountains cold and grey
Through halls of iron and darkling door
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And log ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
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Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
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I love her with the seasons, with the winds,
As the stars worship, as anemones
Shudder in secret for the sun, as bees
Buzz round an open flower: in all kinds
My love is perfect, and in each she finds
Herself the goal: then why, intent to teaze
And rob her delicate spirit of its ease,
Hastes she to range me with inconstant minds?
If she should die, if I were left at large
On earth without her-I, on earth, the same
Quick mortal with a thousand cries, her spell
She fears would break. And I confront the charge
As sorrowing, and as careless of my fame
As Christ intact before the infidel.
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Oh, deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
The Power who pities man, has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.
The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are promises of happier years.
There is a day of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.
And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.
Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,--
Though with a pierced and broken heart,
And spurned of men, he goes to die.
For God has marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.
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Dedicated to all my Poet Friend, as I wish them a Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year - 2019 ! Kindly read the footnotes too. If you like it, do re-post this poem for wider circulation please! Thank You, - Raj
A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM !
* By Raj Nandy*
“We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar;
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
Following the yonder star ! “
- A Christmas Carol.
Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Travelling west guided by a Bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the 'uncrowned
King' one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolised His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume ! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life -
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolising His sorrowing, suffering
and crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!
So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children
and bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
Of His kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
……………………………………………………………….......................
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD Manuscript says that these Three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne !!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC, which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes, & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming , - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
ALL COPY RIGHTS WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
,
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
Dedicated to Ms Valsa George & my Poet Friend, as I wish them a Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year - 2017 !
A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM !
* By Raj Nandy*
“We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar;
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
Following the yonder star ! “
- A Christmas Carol.
Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Traveling west guided by a Bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the uncrowned
King one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolized His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume ! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life -
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolising His sorrowing, suffering
and crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!
So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children
and bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
HIS kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
………………………………………………………………...........................¬..
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD Manuscript says that these Three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne !!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC,
which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes, & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming , - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
,
Edit poem
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
A BRIGHT STAR OVER BETHLEHEM!
* By Raj Nandy*
“We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we travel afar;
Field and fountain, moor and mountain, -
Following the yonder star ! “
- A Christmas Carol.
Named Casper, Melchior, and Balthasar, - @
The Three Wise Men came from the East,
Traveling west guided by a bright Star,
To seek out the child born under this lucky
Star ;
And to pay their homage and before him kneel,
For He was to become the Savior and King !
They brought Him precious gifts of Gold,
Frankincense, and Myrrh, -
Which were also symbolic gifts by far!
Precious Gold has been a gift for royalty always,
For the baby Jesus was to become the uncrowned
King one day!
Frankincense as a soothing perfume was really
good ,
Which also symbolized His future priesthood !
Myrrh as an embalming ointment was being used,
By the ancient Egyptians as a preserving perfume! #
This gift of Myrrh was like a breath of new life
in the prevailing gloom;
While symbolizing His sorrowing, suffering, and
crucifixion;
And leading to His final resurrection, -
To save mankind from their sinful affliction!
So Friends, when you celebrate Christmas this
year,
Let us with love bring hope and good cheer!
And help to wipe out those sorrowing tears, -
By giving gifts to those destitute children and
bless,
Since we generally tend to forget them always!
And let our gifts become a true symbol, -
HIS kindness and love let them reflect and
resemble!
………………………………………………………………..........................................
A Very Happy Christmas To All My Reader!
NOTES : - @ = One 8th Century AD manuscript says that these three Wise Men were also astrologers, who had known about the Prophecy of the birth of Jesus who was to be the King of the Jews! They were guided by a Bright Star which had shone over the town of Bethlehem in Judea, ruled by the mad King Herod! Their three symbolic Gifts signified the King, the Priest, and the Savior of Mankind respectively! From the ‘Gospel of Matthews’ we learn that
King Herod had told them to inform him about the Baby’s location! But since they had been forewarned by a dream, they returned by a different route! So Herod gave orders to **** all children 2 years and below, fearing this ‘King of the Jews’ will one day take over his throne!
#MYRRH = was being used by the Egyptians during the 5th century BC,
which they had obtained from Africa. It was used in incense, in perfumes , & in holy ointments; mostly for embalming ; - signifying Jesus was to die for mankind ! Thanks for reading, – Raj.
,
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 3:18 AM UTC
Great Michelangelo, with age grown bleak
And uttermost labours, having once o’ersaid
All grievous memories on his long life shed,
This worst regret to one true heart could speak:—
That when, with sorrowing love and reverence meek,
He stooped o’er sweet Colonna’s dying bed,
His Muse and dominant Lady, spirit-wed,
Her hand he kissed, but not her brow or cheek.
O Buonarruoti,—good at Art’s fire-wheels
To urge her chariot!—even thus the Soul,
Touching at length some sorely-chastened goal,
Earns oftenest but a little: her appeals
Were deep and mute,—lowly her claim. Let be:
What holds for her Death’s garner? And for thee?
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At night the wide and level stretch of wold,
Which at high noon had basked in quiet gold,
Far as the eye could see was ghostly white;
Dark was the night save for the snow's weird light.
I drew the shades far down, crept into bed;
Hearing the cold wind moaning overhead
Through the sad pines, my soul, catching its pain,
Went sorrowing with it across the plain.
At dawn, behold! the pall of night was gone,
Save where a few shrubs melancholy, lone,
Detained a fragile shadow. Golden-lipped
The laughing grasses heaven's sweet wine sipped.
The sun rose smiling o'er the river's breast,
And my soul, by his happy spirit blest,
Soared like a bird to greet him in the sky,
And drew out of his heart Eternity.
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Time of sorrowing,
My words wander through
The vast emptiness of dark stars
And blood stained carnations.
Come my black hearted lover,
The great sorrow is our forest,
The blessed truth of a drifting
Reality beyond the villains of love.
A raven flies from tree to tree
And greets the infinity of your soul,
Which is just as nocturnal
As the black rose unseen
As though a queen was dying;
Oh beloved embrace your darkness.
Look, I see your eyes deep,
Free your fiery hair to the wind
So that it may shade the sun,
The wild magnificence of your
Womanhood which is like
Silken flattery of crimson kisses
From the moist of your lips.
I will catch Oscura,
The Dark Star and enchant
Him with your black eyes,
The sweet season of the nocturnes!
There is a cavern
That surges with a dark glow
And beautiful dark elves play
There in a spring of water
Naked and playful,
They caress the darkness
And you are their Queen.
You were there since before
You were born in the crystalline
Lament of the dark glow
From the days of antiquity
When the first words were yet
To be spoken and you flattered
Even the Poet Saints.
Oh Dark One,
The shadow of your breast
Under the howling moon
Where dragons sing a fiery
Hymn over sonorous waters
With wings of scales.
See the dark stars glow
Blood red to honor your beauty,
It is the harmony of the night
In a cluster of lightless constellations,
The fragrance of nightingales
And the souls dancing under
Your very eyes.
Do you see the night?
I am one with you lover,
The pale moonlight swells
Under my manly throat as I
Speak the forsaken language
Of the night, the soft kiss
Of the dusk vibrates within
Me as I ****** your body
To the music of the dead.
Close your eyes lover,
Blessed darkness awaits
As the universe pours itself
Into our bodies and bound
Us into the sacred night.....
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 7:51 PM UTC
As I lay myself to bed
Monsters roam my head
Thoughts run ramped
No disregard
To morn
Slumber hides away
Heart pounds like a drum
Light will greet before
Dreams come
My aching head
My sorrowing heart
My glistening eyes
The question
Why
The answer
Silent as the new moon
Death has no voice
Life has no answers
Tic tock, tick tok
Times up
On life's clock
Copyright©2015 Kelly Chase
All Rights Reserved
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
I only wish to reconpense,
Though undeserving and unfit.
Every little luck,
I would give them all up,
Just for that one pure kiss.
His pure sweet bride,
I long to be.
His, and his alone.
All pure sweet brides,
I envy thee.
For you posses,
The most immaculate of gifts
Most coveted of all my dreams,
The lily fields of continence.
Eternally I will be
Sorrowing my stains
And grieving my lost gifts,
Never to be given again.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC
Lord, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee:
My youth and hope lie by me buried and dead,
My wandering love hath not where to lay its head
Except Thou say "Come to Me."
My noon is ended, abolished from life and light,
My noon is ended, ended and done away,
My sun went down in the hours that still were day,
And my lingering day is night.
How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain
Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee?
Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me?
How long shall I long in vain?
O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end,
Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and not fire,
Who hast filled me full of needs and love and desire
And a heart that craves a friend,
Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest,"
Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn of Me,"
Who calledst a little child to come to Thee
And pillowedst John on Thy breast;
Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing,
Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for their own;
Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone,
And plight Thy word as a King,--
By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be,
By Thy love of these and of all the born and unborn,
Turn Thy gracious eyes on me and think no scorn
Of me, not even of me.
Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame,
My wounds, weakness, extremity cry to Thee:
Bid me also to Paradise, also me
For the glory of Thy Name.
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a deluge,
a flood,
water flows
as a seedling
drowns itself in a word
inaudible deaf
the fertile ages like a promiscuous fire
buried with flames
passion bound to the world
by passion it is also released
man the animal
speech craft of a deserted tongue
filtered thoughts retreat
to fallen realities
sorrowing confusion revolves
around the charred light
burn the natural flower
let loose the animal craving
drink of the chalice
from the fictitious mind
all the world on fire
animalistic morality
the flame circles
the weeping lion
amidst the penumbras skin
they weep for the magnetic night
burning inside a compassionate luminosity
man/animal
a surge of atonements
for the rage inside us
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
Was Time not harsh to you, or was he kind,
O pale Erinna of the perfect lyre,
That he has left no word of singing fire
Whereby you waked the dreaming Lesbian wind,
And kindled night along the lyric shore?
O girl whose lips Erato stooped to kiss,
Do you go sorrowing because of this
In fields where poets sing forevermore?
Or are you glad and is it best to be
A silent music men have never heard,
A dream in all our souls that we may say:
“Her voice had all the rapture of the sea,
And all the clear cool quiver of a bird
Deep in a forest at the break of day”?
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Do not mourn for me in sombre colours
black and grey was not my way to be
do not drown me in sorrowing hymns
praise me with the tunes of larks
I always loved their spiral song in flight
celebrate the spirit that was me
forget the dark
embrace my light
Sep 1, 2023
Sep 1, 2023 at 11:12 AM UTC
8:00 pm
My parents tucked me in at night
my dad smiled at me, kissing me goodnight
my mom sat at the edge of my bed
reading me a bedtime story
departing as I drifted off into a dreaming faze
thats what they would always do
9:00 pm
My parents tucked me in at night
my dad hugged me
turned and left to bed
my mom sat at the edge of my bed
telling me to get better grades
because I was failing math
10:00 pm
My parents tucked me in at night
my dad went to bed before me
patting my shoulder as he passed
shutting that wooden door behind him
my mom cracking the door open "night"
I smiled as I worked through my homework
11:00 pm
My parents tucked me in at night
my mom sitting behind the bright computer screen
telling me to go to bed because she was to busy
my dad huddled under the covers snoring softly
behind that white wooden door
I sat alone in my cold room
12:00 am
I tucked myself into bed
tears streaming from my hallow eyes
sorrowing tremors shaking my fragile bones
knees drawn to my chest, attempt to hold myself together
a trail of dark scarlett snaking down my arm to my finger tips
my head a hazy storm, I lean back unconcious, asleep
My parents never tucked me in
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
I talk not of strength because my heart has known
and fought with weakness through long hours alone
as the days go by and the weeks rush on
and before I know it another year is gone but
I will be happy if someone who has read me says
"I'm better because he passed this way."
Age is just a state of mind especially
if you have left your dreams behind
but if from life you have taken the best
and love you hold as the years go by
then it really doesn't matter how the birthdays fly
because you are not old.
I give many thanks for a long life so far
even though it may have brought me
much bitterness and strife but I give thanks for
all of the many of love's joys that I am given
and I will always cherish the tears and the joys
that I have had for love's dear sake even though
sometimes grief followed in its wake but still
I can forget love's sorrow in loves joy.
As my heart grows empty of every
thought unkind I find peace hovering all around me
and joy filling my mind and I count my blessings
because they have not been few and I wonder
what next I am going to do.
No tear was ever shed in vain
and in the end my sorrowing heart could find
no curse but only blessings in the hand of pain
so I continue to try to write something
that takes a little sadness from the worlds vast store
because I have been blessed to make of joys too scanty
some a little more.
I grow a little more tired at the end of each day
and a little less anxious to have my way
and a little less ready to scold and blame
as I near my journey's end where
time and eternity meet and blend.
While my heart throbs to the tread
of the passing years I have learned
life's hardest lesson and that
is learning to wait and I have also learned
that through life's suffering
my heart only grew stronger.
Let my words come just when they are needed
like a beautiful breeze blowing wind in your face
like a smile that only takes a moment
and costs nothing but gives much like a memory
that can last forever and know that
it is in loving and not being loved
that the heart finds its quest
and it is in giving not getting that
our lives are best. Jon York 2013
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
The light dims and the dead raise their glasses
To the wine of wasted, blood-streaked tears
That permeate my mind. I lift my hand and reach
For them, but I am left with dripping dark
As the spirits of my dead emotions seek release.
As freelance feelings take their leave, am I human?
The thought of thatching shattered glasses
Brings back the dead, their forming tears
Mysteriously absent. And so they reach
The clammy, clotted, ****** hands through dark
Eyes; I scream that they might release.
But will the cold hands pity, and me release?
The light has fled the black irises: inhuman
Fusion of animation and empty glasses
In their eyes, like mine. Dry, lacking tears
That life gives. She bustles in the kitchen, reaches
For the saffron. But their souls remain dark.
And my sorrowing saffron soul is poisoned dark.
Let me go! I sigh release.
I am not human.
I am broken glass.
A fading fear of tears,
A soul outside my reach.
I am no fool; I do not claim to reach
Outside the world of dreaded dark
In which I live without release.
The creeping hands of Death are human,
As I am. Cast aside my riveting rose glasses
That rivers may run swift in my trailing tears.
Finally, the tears.
My own icy hand does reach
And wipes away the shifting dark.
The dead, as always, seek the just release,
But they are not human.
They do not wear my eyes, my glasses.
So raise the glass to my trying tears,
I reach and find no dark.
My feeling now released, I say that I am human.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 3:41 AM UTC
I reminisced about our memories and my soul walked out of me to try and reconnect with yours but I was rejected. I listened to our song and my heart cried. I was breathless. I thought I was okay. I even had something new but when it came down to it, I sat there ,alone with my empty chest, needing the oxygen to be restored. You asked for my heart and you tore it down and I couldn't get it back. The sense of love I couldn't get that back. You did this. No wait, I did. Love is a choice and I chose to love you. I chose you but in the end. You didn't chose me. Because I was never really an option to your heart. You took my heart out while you were inside of me, mentally. I sat in a bright, sunny room and somehow it is still dark. My mind is on replay with all our bad days and yet what's left of my heart was still aching for yours. The only thing that uplifted me was the rain. It was already sad so there's no place for my emotions to make it worse. The rain was my happy place. Where things can be sad but it all appropriates with the mood. The sad rain was my happiness. In art class we were taught on curves. As I glowed, I noticed the curve I was thinking about was your pathetic smile. Love is an overrated movie that everyone raves about but once they get a preview, they wish they hadn't watched it at all. You were the most beautiful, surreal yet sorrowing film I've ever seen. That is why it hurt. Because I once loved you. Your presence made my skin want to jump on top of yours. I wanted all of your embrace. All that you can give. But that was only what I wanted. In life things aren't given to you at a very second. Sometimes never at all. Your laugh was a symphony that matched the way my heart beated for yours. Sometimes I wonder. What I'd be like. What you'd be like if you were mine but I guess that's the mystery to it all. I loved you and you weren't even mine. I craved you and I hadn't had the slightest taste in forever. I wanted you. Forever. My mind split into 2 parts but you always brought it into one. She thought that love was never truly at happen at this age but then again what if it's the right person. That's when you came in. You completed me and my thoughts even when I didn't want you to. You ripped me out of my dignity and grace. I couldn't even look you in the face. It was getting hard to be around you again. I had to stop before it was the end. I stopped. Yes I stopped. All the pain and the sorrow, washed away. Maybe all I needed, was the rain.
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
i.
The notes are ingrained
by the blue petalled flames,
burning them into my bones.
All other colors fade,
detach,
suspended in a waking dream.
Here, in the lingering lucidity,
this maddening gnaw of pain
leaks the little whispers,
stealing rhapsody from pleasure.
ii.
Tightrope treachery,
a daringly dancing gypsy
spinning about on a narrow wall.
A burning star,
she leaps...
leaving shimmering stardust
in her wake,
balance risked for the
momentum of grace.
A barter between freedom and fate,
perhaps circles of three
will bring it all tumbling
to the ground.
iii.
Ariadne abandonment,
I foam milkweed at the mouth
under the burning moon.
Casting aside
the anguish of this tether,
feeding tinder to an infant rage,
I let its coals singe my soul
while this blazing inferno
carries my fury forward.
I **** the marrow of courage...
Now, I shall deprive the Minotaur of his horns
and roast Theseus' heart upon their tips!
iv.
The flavor of innocence on my lips
has become a sorrowing memory.
In the waking moments, the world
slowly becomes unbound before me,
my wandering is done,
the final marks are made.
And the taste of one too many poppies
tingles on my tongue,
as my voice is laid out on a slab of words.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
The song of the ney blends
with the dunes:
as ancient paths
follow footsteps out,
into the wilderness of the desert,
seeking a truth greater
than constricted life settled allows;
The percussion of the drum,
missed heartbeats:
stopping at wells
dotting the scape, where,
the earth pours her agony forth
from her sorrowing depths,
the prophet's sons wept for God.
The grieving oases mourn
an unhealed
wound, of long
a heart searching the
sands, for one who gave his life
for the love of his Lord
here and his humble fellow man.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC