"straiten" poems
You don't know what you have till it's gone
They always said
But i didn't understand
Till the day we parted ways.
This hole in my heart
This cold feeling spreading
It is an unfamiliar feeling.
They called me ice-man
For dealing with the cold world
But now I don't have my my worm center
To help me fend off the cold.
You don't know what you have till it's gone
Mine isn't gone not yet
But soon
If I don't straiten up
The cold feeling i have
Will forever call my body home.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 11:28 AM UTC
Through the seas i travel,
all my sins unraveled.
Lamenting across my shame,
Penthus is thy name.
As the waves they break me,
a thousand knifes upon thee.
Broken, scarred and lame,
Hippasus is thy name.
Beneath the waters that straiten,
in swathes of desolation.
The amaranth of my pain,
Prometheus is thy name.
This tomb, this grave, this shrine,
my fight, my struggle to climb.
A hopeless perpetual game,
Sisyphus is thy name.
Now darkness takes the light,
as day becomes the night.
Reaching in endless vain,
Tantalus is thy name.
No longer are the stars,
the minutes and the hours.
Nor feel the dancing rain,
to wash away the blame.
And never again the sunshine,
nor any of God's design.
No more will flicker this flame,
for nameless, is thy name.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
Long and in darkness, I wander these twisting halls. Drawing closer, with each one of my foot fall’s. The time crawls and carries, sweet moments I remember, of a time in my youth so simple, farther and farther away from me, oh how I long for them to stay with me. But they drift. Passing the doorways I chose to open, peering deep into the wisdom gained, causing me to change and straiten, askew concepts of reality, forced into choosing neutrality when faced with life’s cold unforgiving brutality. Jaded and wearisome I have grown, as I find myself drawing closer to the end of hallways well-traveled. With the great mysteries of life unraveled, my path is well lit by wisdom and knowledge. Fractures and faults that riddle the walls become clearer, the crooked portraits that line the halls are like massive mirrors, the clearer they get, it won’t be long I bet, before I repay my debt. The final door at last I have found. With a long life and grey headedness I have been crowned, I close my eyes, ready to return to the ground.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 2:14 AM UTC