"unblessed" poems
Unguarded fool! Know this,
Thy kind words and thy gifts
Had bought for thee a mortal bliss,
Yet never healed the rifts
Within; no love redacts
The balance unredressed,
Despite thy wanton saintly acts
Thy remnants lay unblessed
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride
On that darkest day. Oh, forever may
He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow
Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
Above all he longed for his mother's breast
Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,
I prayed in the crouching room, by his blind bed,
In the muted house, one minute before
Noon, and night, and light. The rivers of the dead
Veined his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his unseeing eyes to the roots of the sea.
(An old tormented man three-quarters blind,
I am not too proud to cry that He and he
Will never never go out of my mind.
All his bones crying, and poor in all but pain,
Being innocent, he dreaded that he died
Hating his God, but what he was was plain:
An old kind man brave in his burning pride.
The sticks of the house were his; his books he owned.
Even as a baby he had never cried;
Nor did he now, save to his secret wound.
Out of his eyes I saw the last light glide.
Here among the light of the lording sky
An old blind man is with me where I go
Walking in the meadows of his son's eye
On whom a world of ills came down like snow.
He cried as he died, fearing at last the spheres'
Last sound, the world going out without a breath:
Too proud to cry, too frail to check the tears,
And caught between two nights, blindness and death.
O deepest wound of all that he should die
On that darkest day. Oh, he could hide
The tears out of his eyes, too proud to cry.
4k
Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride
On that darkest day. Oh, forever may
He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow
Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
Above all he longed for his mother's breast
Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,
I prayed in the crouching room, by his blind bed,
In the muted house, one minute before
Noon, and night, and light. The rivers of the dead
Veined his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his unseeing eyes to the roots of the sea.
(An old tormented man three-quarters blind,
I am not too proud to cry that He and he
Will never never go out of my mind.
All his bones crying, and poor in all but pain,
Being innocent, he dreaded that he died
Hating his God, but what he was was plain:
An old kind man brave in his burning pride.
The sticks of the house were his; his books he owned.
Even as a baby he had never cried;
Nor did he now, save to his secret wound.
Out of his eyes I saw the last light glide.
Here among the light of the lording sky
An old blind man is with me where I go
Walking in the meadows of his son's eye
On whom a world of ills came down like snow.
He cried as he died, fearing at last the spheres'
Last sound, the world going out without a breath:
Too proud to cry, too frail to check the tears,
And caught between two nights, blindness and death.
O deepest wound of all that he should die
On that darkest day. Oh, he could hide
The tears out of his eyes, too proud to cry.
3k
As I walk towards the shrine of blood and gold,
Reeking of the fallen and of the old
Unbeknownst to what might lay beyond,
A ******* in what comes after, a ******* in what came before.
This sack of maimed flesh that you see
A conquered ***** of the soul
This skin worn by all but one
A temple broken down to the bone.
Where once was a mind delighted,
A crown of jewels, of dreams of flight and
Of merriment and of might
A child of the stars that I once was
Burnt embers of olden coal that I am now.
Hence here I lay, astray, with no greed
No rage, no radiance and no leads
A destitute of life, fed and dressed
A king of the barren, a pastor amongst the wicked and unblessed.
And as I stand now at the altar of the fallen ghouls,
From suitor to gatekeeper of my own poisoned muse
Guiding sheep to a slaughter frayed
A purgatorial monument, unraveled and unswayed.
Nov 7, 2020
Nov 7, 2020 at 1:29 PM UTC
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eyelids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o’er all my soul impressed
That I am weak, yet not unblessed,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal strength and wisdom are.
But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.
So two nights passed: the night’s dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper’s worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O’ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin,—
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.
1.9k
awakened cows chewing
a mountain pass
dawn warms their massive eyelash rows
clinging drops of dew
spark in rhythm with the cud
darkness rumbles distant now
clouds dispersed to other nights
while metaphoric bull unhinged resounds
the cosmic rut
must i hide my love for this
unweave my judgment from my sight?
what in me defies all sacred holiness forever sung?
bees will ravish even newly opened buds
who am i to battle with the lightning's surge?
presumtuous coverings
can net me willing lustful
stars i see a field i open fertile
ecstaticly unblessed enough
lost heroic i had thought to know
pretends a second thrum
i see in random eyes the breaking sky
and lightning branches over snaking crevices
a sound of faultlines folding free
tectonic sexplay deep
in lava belly
far behind the summit mount--
there i see the sun a base as well
earthen seedbeds heating heights of life
space is cracked!
vast width enwombs the narrowness i preen
in nervure's shine,
a sponge mycelial with soak of raining
carbon underground
the drumming hoofbeats shake and settle
days dehiscing spinning sun
to somber eve in active rest
dreaming pasture real
within a trailing effort's ease
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
how the **** can i be angry when
you help yourself to what's left
after all love is
always the closest thing
to death
bethlehem is restless
terrorist holograms of mary teary unblessed when
death is living every day of your life forever breathless
breathing is all that is left in your chest when the stress hits
regresses to compressing aggressive obsessiveness
********** in pages to confess unspoken messages
the lightening and quiet screams promise me
they'll light my step through this
green grass in it's morning dress
uncaressed by pestilence
beth/rest
you're possessed by this
and the ghosts flitting between the trees
direct me to the places i must have seen in dreams
before i lost the connection to the earth long since
to the directionlessness of adolescence
every vibration left a crack
enough tremor to slide a pin in
and erzebet would visit my skin every night with rumplestilstkin
and they'd spin another needle through the muscle soft as linen,
they promised it would turn to gold, so long
as i stayed hidden at the loom in this prison
shoulders tightening as they thread it away
i look at the money in my minnie wallet and pray
everything safe always seems to go away in a flash
so perhaps it was just that nothing was ever safe
maybe they will leave if i say that i don't
believe in any of these ******* fairies anymore
but maybe i am older than the world is different
and they were just never fairies at all
it seemed to be such a small small place back then
when you could always cheat at LIFE
and run away and play pretend
in your imagination
didn't have to listen to anyone
now cops and parents hate you
and everyone wants to know
what college you've been in cause
surviving is neither irony nor blessing today
just simple catastrophe and endless dissarray
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Needing to go home, the time has come
All of these designs have come undone
The party favors have been put away
The room is cold, your body still with sleep
There are a thousand open windows looking in from the street
The night was filled with shooting stars
A one night stand is what our lives are
We loved each morning well
We played through out the night
When it was dawn we longed for the night
We held up infinity's mirror
We danced like angels riding the Santa Ana winds
We dreamed of sandcastles and moved right in
We constructed deconstructed
there were even moments of resurrection
But the time has come to head on home
Kissing your forehead fairtheewell
Leaving my belongings on the floor
I came with nothing but potential
I leave with nothing as promised
Opening the door
A turn to the dark and silent night
But first blessing those who remain unblessed
by such a life's gifts
The time has come
I need to go home
Time for peaceful rest.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
*"Every inordinate cup is
unblessed and the ingredient is a devil."*
The sun has set and the switch between
lives is applicable.
We are all dead tonight. Frozen
in a hidden world far away from
innocence and frowning faces.
Far past the sun and far past
plastic cups and lost inhibitions,
lost in a torrent of ecstasy:
we transform into beasts.
Beyond this and so much more
Beyond undeserving smiles and lustful pursuits
Beyond "no regrets" and spilt drinks
And hollow laughter and moonlit faces
And spins and joy and misery and
And
and this, and so much more.
I will never grow old... I will never grow old.
*And let me the canakin clink
clink*
'Pandora left all but hope,
I watched the world unfold from out in a cage,
it was quite beautiful until I lived a life there.
The world I see is not the world I live.
Dare I to choose a life sanctity?
To repudiate the winelife and sit in silence, pure?
I will find pain in both worlds.
Might as well have fun in our misery.'
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 3:43 PM UTC
It’s been two years since I first met You,
and one year since I wrote to You.
Oh, my, how You’ve made me grow.
The toughest year I’ve seen has passed.
I suffered for months and questioned a lot—
I knew You had a plan, but I must follow through.
On the darkest night I gathered the little I had
and drank Your unblessed blood as I wrote.
Unsure of what was said, I went to bed,
and in the morning I found written gold.
The words, though, were not my own—
even more unknown was the character transcribed.
The path was now set to leave the forest,
the same unruly garden Your last blessed poet
journeyed from successfully so many years ago,
with my own Beatrice as my glorious guide.
But my Beatrice has plans of her own,
as both a Muse and developmental instigator.
She holds my hand as we walk off cliffs
knowing full well that I cannot fly.
I tried to learn the follies of Lust
and alone its intricacies eluded me;
but she showed me in an instant that what we want
can wait, the good-willed Lust, the puzzle piece, and missing link.
From here I can move on again, slowly recovering.
Each new dream sets the stage of life’s chapters,
to convey the ideas I want all to know,
and to remember the power one wields with a pen.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
I shall never worthy be to step into Eternity.
Where I would walk in Spirit--and behold,
'Our elements resolved to things untold.
A sense o'er all my soul impressed,
that I am weak, yet not unblessed.
But thy soul or this world must fade,
in the frost that binds the dead.
Soft tears of fond regret reveal its smart,
and sorrow, restless sorrow, chills my heart.
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
the spirit of self-sacrifice.
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,
my sudden adoration, my Great Love.
Heaven notes the sigh afflicted goodness heaves.
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Can I suffice for Heaven and not for earth?
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
Sins, bites on your conscience
never to your convenience.
No salvation, No revelations.
Unblessed the lucky
bottomless becomes your destiny
and darkness laments, it’s quite cloudy
wavy timelines, weary crimes
Brooking our doom
creating thy tomb
as deaths looms.
Apr 20, 2024
Apr 20, 2024 at 2:17 AM UTC
I steal love with
the
part of my lips,
the
fall of my chin,
the
reverence in my temples,
//
so I scoff with
my
unblessed prayer,
my
impossible keeper,
my
wretched skin,
my
faultless pleasure,
//
and grace swoons,
puts me back in my place,
mutters sin in my mouth,
tightens grip in my hips,
stokes flame in my skin,
//
threads pain
inside,
weaves mind
inside,
names fear
inside,
makes more
inside,
//
and I am unfeeling of pardon,
unwanting of heaven,
ungoverned by god,
not bothered, on purpose,
not waiting on mercy,
//
and I stand with the evil,
the blind,
the kind,
the pained
and the stained,
and steal love with them,
because
//
we are unneeded by hell.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 9:00 PM UTC
The rocking chair at the top of the stairs,I sat on her lap and said my prayers.
I was getting down, her arms tightened their embrace.
Then she quickly wiped her tear stained face.
I jumped down and spun around. She tried to speak but out came no sound.
I rose up on my tippy toes to kiss her cheek,” good night.”
She looked at me in my eyes... softly said,
“Everything will be alright.”
I guess I’d known -
since my first breath...
,That I would find her-
in her death.
But how could I have ever guessed-
This would be the night...
I was to become unblessed.
“Accidental overdose,” is how the paper read...
“She was found by her youngest daughter” is what the police had said.
What the news had failed to report, we’d been through this,
the month before.After she ran county corner.
I wonder what it felt like....
what went through his head-
He had just run against her-
now he was
pronouncing her dead.
Even the at the age of nine...the thought as I read it, came to mind.
I wondered why they decided to hide, any mention of those days and nights,when I remained right by her side,I prayed so hard and how I cried.
It was on the 10th day she opened her eyes. I thought my prayers had saved her life.
And I never told her how that filled me with pride....
You See-
she was furious that she hadn’t died.
Two weeks later -
they let her come home.
I race to our place to have her all to my own.
I wanted to tell her I'd never tell a soul,about the secret that I know.
It was safe with me... I wouldn't say a word, about that day and what I heard.
I imagined she hold me, riddled with guilt-
And rid my mind from the horror the thought of loosing her felt.
I cried out to her as I flung open the door. She stood there this person I’d never seen before.
She looked at me with eyes cold stone. Her sneer of that chilled me to the bone.
The words were just sounds in an evil tone. She whipped me until my cries turned to moans.
When she was done she hissed “get out of my sight.
And I did ' til she called me to her rocking chair that night.
A week and two days later... Seemed longer then.
Since then that’s who my mom has been.
It plays over and over....in my mind.
So,She killed herself one night....
And I've relived her death a million times.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
The Artiste Carvó's "The Greatest Fartist Alive"
(Another Crummy Acrostic)
T is for **** I am attended by flies...
H is for Haughtiness, I am flowing through the fartist's stanks...
E is for Enema, my fine **** pollutes the very hole...
G is for Gigantic, I am the biggest ego in history...
R is for Refluxing, my fine putriditry puts artistry in ******
E is for Emetic, I truly am expelling...
A is for ******* I posses the gift of ****
T is for ****** I leave no stomach un-turned...
E is for Excrutiating, my words torture the very soul...
S is for ****** My logic is slimy....
T is for Tag-along, I truly am shadowed by all and everyone...
F is for Fatuous and Flatulence, the essence of I…
A is for Archfiend, demon am I...
R is for Revulsion, My art is abomination - My art yet *****
T is for Tedious, I have been placed here to bore people to death...
I is for Idiot, I am truly unblessed...
S is for Selfish, I place **** before I's self...
T is for Talenticide, I have killed all things of art...
A is for Asinine, I possess all lacks...
L is for Lifeless, I truly worm the artistic heart...
I is for Idolize, I worship I...
V is for Venomous, I am all that is spite and impure...
E is for Emasculated, I am indubitably impotent...
This sums up why I and I alone am the greatest fartist alive,
And I will of course do one of my great farts in time.
*Original ('The Greatest Artiste Alive') by: Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
Despite the remarks of David Hume,
I am quite aware of myself.
I can’t see my eyes but through them.
And every day, as different as the days may be,
Time passes through their lens
Time passes that is, for me.
Despite understanding fragmented reality,
I have to make decisions.
Seeing that all of being is quite remote,
The choices made are choices that affect one body, not many
I ‘m sure that’s me -
And I am passing.
But, and as the case may be,
Pieces here I come:
In me that is one; there is more than one,
For I don’t know the discrete emotion that you know,
The nudge you feel to move, to stay, to go, quietly.
Different parts all rule their nests,
They are young and intemperate –
And that reader, makes living somewhat unblessed.
Decisions by different rulers can be, it is thought
Incongruent.
Different times different monarchs with changing interests,
Crowns of petal, crowns of thorn, crowns of fire
Different crowns on different heads, but one.
One body, one person one identity,
I am ruled by many
And being ruled by many ruling me is hard.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 1:34 AM UTC
Adhered to a connection
Revered resurrection
Of a love so deep
So strong I can't even sleep
Life without it is so weak
So bleak
No other person with which I speak
No other person lifting my heart to the peak
The paramount
The sublime
Like a flawless design
Before lawless and benign
Now a chorus of hearts refined
She frayed me
She made me
My betrayal rushes through me daily
And when I failed there was no one to save me
And by all impossibility
She maintains her warm prosperity
To linger with a morosoph boy such as me
A licifugous ******
Locked in a bind
No light I let in
I remained blind
Now the light has caressed the unblessed
Wrong and right was no longer a mess but it was undressed
For all to see. Even me
She has set me free
And now it's all lights that I see
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
~~~
someday soon gonna reread
the four figures of my
poems over lifetime inked,
divvy them up by what each is about,
assemblage of
the themes of me
review the who what when and weird
of this guy through his own eyes
multiplying confessions
of graces and disgraces
particular to recover,
desirous of collecting those poems that:
*valorize society’s strugglers
and stragglers...humans doing the work of living*^
don't know how many will be uncovered,
but here's hoping there are plenty,
needy of recovery and uncovering the poet
and worthy of pointing too,
valuation markers of a
decent human
strugglers, stragglers,
those from all over this world
and lives that can only visualize
no-horizon-in-sight oceans
sailors, from ports unvisited,
some even, still undiscovered,
working ****** and women,
not those,
don't owners
of fancy dress whites,
topped of by jaunty angelic-angled caps
the ones I sought and seek,
grime and coal dust etched into
every ****** crevice, ink under fingernails,
in obscurity, toil in windowless engine rooms,
in the nooks in libraries hiding,
satisfied with
a moment of glory,
and a lasting
hand upon
their wracked minds
these are my mates,
sharing fates
of woeful countenances
of bruised bodies,
recipients of hardest blows repetitious,
comrades in open arms
the unflavored, unfavored of
sons and daughters,
unblessed with sobs and smacks,
who rare lift the head in hope
the sufferers of ignominy
of the
prison of their existence,
for those I write,
have, will, and willing
to do it till I see a
chin rising, white of eyes gleaming,
a hand delisted,
arms defused of black weights
come to me,
words, encouragement, perspective,
that this too shall pass
believing ain't easy,
take it from one who couldn't see
happy endings, but had no choice but
to choose to,
now prepped, ready
for my arms to do some serious uplifting,
shoulders heavy-loaded and wide of loads,
eager for honest work,
aiding and abetting
the stragglers and and stragglers...
humans doing the work of living,
deserving for valuation,
awaiting their salutation,
and relief, even if,
tiny and small,
a slim volume of poems,
that but one
poet
provided
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
A dimension of despair, a hall of hate
Ensnared in the eye of it all, a lone soul
Untouched by death, unblessed by life,
A burdened carrier of the weight of reality.
His sweat is crimson blood, his tears are acid.
Skin marred, like landscapes ravaged by war.
Fingers bent, two clusters of gnarled driftwood.
His voice like mountain rock, old and worn by nature.
A spirit lost in his own Great Depression
A nomad of the hourglass,
his time blown away like sand
A puppet master without control of his puppets
I gazed upon his face:
and saw the deep canyons
a path familiar to the tears flowing down his face.
and saw the cracks
that once were filled with a smile.
and saw the scars
that came from promising to take a bullet for her,
and pulling through with that promise
even when she shot the bullet.
I then decided I had spent enough time.
I walked away from the mirror.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 5:29 AM UTC
I am incomplete, like a part of me is missing,
It wasn’t an absolute, it came over time
Amongst a tangle of knotted days.
In dreams, it screams, find the missing jigsaw,
And on the edge of awakeness,
In the fuzzy champagne light of a new dawn,
I almost capture it.
But it hides like a viper in the grass,
Moving the blades, yet impossible to see.
Involuntarily my awareness,
Diminishes the power of the scream.
In the mirrors of eternity
I dare to glimpse for the missing in me.
But all I get is a hollow blankness,
My waking mind defies who I am!
I knock on the door of unconsciousness
Begging with a bowl of fruits of mind,
Yet a barricade of steel like strength
Blocks my entrance.
I break down tiny fragments that rise to surface,
Yet this primordial desire to search
Is unrequited, unblessed, ignored.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:39 AM UTC
To a dead conscience,
To the bygone morality,
To the diminishing values,
To the idols of honesty, and
To their ghastly appearance.
To un-dead suicidal victims,
To their unblessed families,
To the tears they let flow,
To disappeared smiles,
To missed birthdays.
To suffering people,
To unbalanced sheets,
To sinking cash reserves,
To their zombie-like bodies,
To the stinking ***** politics.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
i'd like to speak about love
for the lovers of the world
and be proud among the blessed.
for once innocent, my eyes are now in awe
of its grip upon my heart, my *****
i am its voice urgent to scream
the language rises within me in wine bubbles
escaping my once cold chest
where i hold you, cup your face
and draw the rapture for my words.
i'd like to speak about love
in behalf of all of those loving
wise and pure, tireless and raw
with permission, i will speak of love in tantric phrases.
and if they hold no meaning upon those unblessed,
they are still sacred.
for me, this is enough
you will reveal the secrets in your eyes.
i'd like to speak about love
among those surrendered in tumultuous passion
and capture the murmurs that binds the silence
of what we know.
that love can run deep
once you get past the bottom of where you dare to thread.
remember when you said you will keep me?
i held my breath
as we mix our fires, our water, our liquor, our flesh
in the cold december mountain.
i'd like to speak about love
for those of my savage, affectionate kind
who seek gravity to welcome what pours-
swirling waves of random hugs
from knowing, throbbing hearts
like the love that comes from my lips when i kiss you
at the break of dawn
and part your haggard hair to caress your mole
with intense veneration.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 2:52 PM UTC
it is to the crossroad i bid you
that forbidding place
where i have come to await the coming day
where i take food and wine
ease my weariness
rest my bones
there at the crossroad
the drumbeat of war once shook the earth
and the choirs of the chosen
made dizzying heights from
stone that inspired the soul
and a dry wasteland of fertile field
there in the lightly falling snow
in the passing of good and true
in the final breaths of brave and kind
good men have passed to shadow
that others should rise to take
up their swords
i linger here
i know not why
the light snow has given way to driving storm
and while warm shelter lay near at hand
i only draw thin veil of cloth to my shoulder to fend off
the bitter wind
why linger at this cold unforgiving place
at this unbound and and unblessed
crows haunt
where the cold country priest
counts his handful of silver
and it is the gravedigger who
ponders the true song of the soul
for the true saints
are the ones who knew the
path leads not to riches
but to peace
that brotherhood and love
are far more precious than jewels
i have waited for such men
i have hoped to be a student of such nobility
i think i have not have had the privilege
and will not till i enter the gates of the kingdom
but i linger here at the crossroads
suffer the price to pay
suffer the crucible of soul
for to pass the gates
you must be of known mettle
for once he comes
i shall be there to paint the swirls of smoke
and the banners and flags
i shall be at the hill
waiting to meet him
with my pen
i echo that question
i have sat that waiting
have buried that treasure
and seen the handiwork
of artisans and seekers
know the presence
but i as yet do not understand
i think perhaps
that a master of tongues
or a scribe of the sky
could not decipher the simplest word
after even a thousand thousand years
i shall wait here
at my crossroads
content with my food and wine
content with this light snow
and the company of the gravediggers song
of the soul
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
I am beauty, as a dream of jade
And my body, bruised where everyone stands
Has now been awakened by poetry, in a manner of love
That is eternal but silent
It is like a temple of earth
Along which columns of clay gush out
Which observes us, and all of man through an unfamiliar gaze
Never have I laughed, never have I cried
For I detest the flow of such emotion
All I do is but stand still, silent as a cemetery
Unblessed, cursed, revered by all of man
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
Run away//
Run away//
From the alarm clock that breaks your rest//
Run away//
From the pains held in your chest//
A life unblessed//
From blessings you subvert//
Run away//
From the love you invert//
Run away//
Run away//
Run//
Away//
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC