"unbeknowst" poems
The one created for sabotage
Adored by few
Abhorred by numerous numbers
He treads an eternal sorrow
Which tortures his blighted soul
Scheming against ingenious blueprints
His destiny's been read
By gypsy cherubs
He's learned the path
Trodden by none
His predestination
Answering to this heavy burden
His Father has brought a rebellious notion
No other celestial entity has knowledge
Except for him and his apostles
Agreeing to God's earthly will
To be forever cast into a shadow
Agreeing through pure love
For his Father
And sent to tortuous furnace
Unbeknowst to mortals of seraphic Lucifer's
startling sacrifice
God's grievous banishment of his son
For he only aspired
To become like his Father
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
A serene cottage upon a dreary hillside
Where my mind's listless galaxy of neurons
Synapse in the absolute darkness,
Is painted in Victorian hues, cold and haunting.
Dejection rains down from the leeward sky
With nothing harkened save for the ocean's
Stormy roar and a desolate lighthouse,
Beckoning through the fog and memoirs of the past.
The deeper my soul is carved out with sorrow,
The deeper the hollow can be filled with joy.
But alas, I feel nothing of joy but only a void
Left by the dagger of yesterday's darkening tragedies.
I feel the rain soothe my skin and kiss my cheek
Like the sweetest lover on midnight's embrace,
Yet my moth-eaten quilt of memories only seems
Enough to shelter our legs but ne'er our feet.
My heart feels the warmth of an autumn fire,
Kindling in the crisp rain, bleeding beneath
A rose where we burn in the endless torture
Of our own despondence.
I can feel the blood in my veins turning to fire
As I imagine her fingertips unzipping my spine
As though it were full of secrets and mysteries
Unbeknowst to myself...
I can feel the inferno that rages within my aortic arch
Every moment I imagine losing myself within her
Eyes, glimmering like an eclipse over a midnight
Sea...the Sleepless Coventry.
She unlocks my secrets and weaves them in the bouquet
Of tendrils in her hair like ribbons of crimson and light,
Waving in the vehement northerlies with numbing scents
Of argan and spice.
Her body is but a canvas wrapped neatly around a
Paper mache skeleton, the most beautifully tragic
Foundation known to humanity...
She arrives right on the equinox to set fire to my sorrow,
Intoxicating me with her kiss and infecting me with her smile.
And so enters the conflagration of my soul,
An annihilation of light, blackening my coronary
Artery whilst shooting smoke through my cinnamon
Whiskey tainted veins.
'Tis hard to look through such a misconstrued lens
As such, the Vena Cava Kaleidoscope...
Where the flames burn through the galaxy of neurons
Expending the harrowing memories as its fuel.
I can see the magnetic alloy of her Cobalt eyes reflecting
The fire that consumes me from the inside out.
She pulls on me like the moon pulls upon the tide
As she whispers with her soft, enamored sigh.
I burn in my silent knowing, my liquid mind
Awakening in fervor and strange euphoria.
I burn for the Aurora Infinite.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
Unbeknowst to all,
The tree of life has three stages.
Trunk. Branch. Oil.
Terrence Malick knew this.
Dinosaurs our oil.
Ten sephira. One oil.
It is my burden of dreams, I shall prevail through the pongo del muerto.
Foucault's pendulum spilling sand. Spilling oil.
Scaoil. Release. Urchar.
Sraith pictiúr a ceathar.
Airborne toxic event.
Seepage Daniel. Seepage.
Put Oil.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
God made the country,
Unbeknowst to hope are we all as
Great oaks from little acorns grow;
So many countries gilt,
So many cultures, alack
unblemished feathers of eternal service
Scabbard in sheaths quilling Gods glossary
And man made the town, pilgrimiges and suffrages;
A foredoomed geniture of the Evil Ones chaology
Hewn to bell the cat.
The worst of Heavens vengeful justice is not
Always rightous as in faithfullnesses eschewal.
The Heirophants pen a tolling knell
Without any hope; least said
Heaven twice, soon mended-
As words in mode of passion are
Material manifestations and
Manners make the man whilst the
Hand that rocks the cradle cannot
Put brains into statues; but,
Yet, rule the bilge when the
Angels doxology enunciates war on
The world as the Devil espies all
And God ensconces but the few!
ELEETE J MUIR
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
We're reaching the top of the hill, you and I
but on opposite sides, unable to see where
either of us are, and so I start to cry
unbeknowst of you standing there.
I am not the courageous child
only soft-spoken and contained
hoping, wishing to be wild
in truth, still soft and tame.
Being the stronger one of two
you clamber to the top
wide-eyed nature opens to you
for a moment, the world stops.
Gleaming down from atop your perch
a grin answers my calls
without bad feelings to besmirch
the words echo without pause.
"Come on, silly! You're falling far behind.
The night is surely near.
If you reach the top, and grab my hand in time
you'll forever have me hear."
"So, pull your way up and reach the peak
and our shaking hands entwined
so, come on, silly, climb to what you seek
and you will forever be mine."
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
The agonizing pain this finger has to bear
Though brainless, it is guilty
Sinless because of who it is
Sinful because of the messed up mind behind it
God watches it as it does what it is told
Which is the only thing it understands
But can he just forgive the poor finger
For being puerile, uneducated, and undisciplined
It was curious when it burrowed into the tunnel
Rejoicing when it found the treasure and
Unbeknowst to it
Was that its ganas was an abnomination
And the mind behind it all
Feels this treasure yet the cave feels empty
The mind cannot process or find love in this dripping cave
It demands the fingers to leave the cave, deeming it unsafe and cruel
But when the mind looked around, it saw that all along, it walked in the dark empty cave
Alone and unloved
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 4:53 PM UTC
I’m sitting on the swings one night,
Beside my friend, who’s ****** on coke.
He spilled the usual complaints,
And so of those complaints we spoke.
“How do I get her to speak to me?”
“How long do you last in bed?”
“Why is it so hard to make them ***
“Wish I lived like you instead.”
This mighty man; a stockbroker,
A swindler with no pride to steal,
But as his friend, I felt for him
And sung my praise of lifes appeal.
Unbeknowst to him however,
Behind every word was stuck
An unintended ego boost
From hearing I’m the better ****
And so I learned that fateful night
Inside I’m no more than a creep.
A **** puddle of arrogance,
Though only really half as deep.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
Beauty is a curse
Unbeknowst to her
It affects not her
But the onlooker
Beauty is a sword
Sharpened by ego
She holds me and stabs
And won't let me go
Beauty is poison
With unique danger
For the onlooker
Drinks without forethought
Opportunistic *****
Or innocent youth
Beauty is mask
Concealing the truth
So go ahead!
Leave me agape
Claim the next victim
Of your ego ****
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 9:30 PM UTC
Wired wood
Carving inner mind
Into portraits
Of shoelace desire
Of things unbeknowst
Symptoms
Suicide
System in a panic
Finding answers few
What brought
This forth
From the back layers
Onto the floating
Clouds
Which laid
Dormant for
So long
Why are you here now?
And *** do you want?
I was doing
Just fine!!!
Erupted corrosion
Distorted perception
I need time
All I need is time
To let the air
Blow thru
These cracked
Pencil shavings
Reaching my tinder
To set my heart
On fire
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC