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sunprincess Jan 2017
An amazing and rare piece of antiquity
Secrets of the Voynich manuscript
I find So Mysterious yet so captivating 
A beautiful language not revealing
Uniquely expressive are the paintings
Somewhat exotic are the drawings
Leaves one with an astonished feeling
A  castle grand under a starry light
beyond  a dragon enjoying the night
And seven sisters soaking in a spring
As herbs and dainty flowers sing
Foliage green and blooms in blue
Stems standing tall, strong and true
Colors are vibrant bleeding through
Palms, and fronds and ferns, too
And inky blue with leaves of six
Roots partitioned into pieces and bits
Sunflowers and tiny red flowers
O' and a divine constellation shower
beauty imagined, beauty redefined
Oh this beauty I alone have found
amidst a poetic language unknown
penned with a quill by a poet of long ago
.....hopefully the poet would be honored with my tribute
Connor Reid Apr 2014
Entire moments gone from my life.
Film reels spliced, picked apart.
Developing
A kind of distance from you.
I've become soaked in indifference.
No, I won't fall under seasons.
Finding your touch at arms length.
This is the last leg.
The defining moments of our journey
Toward reason.
And I can't help it.
I can't help myself.
And I can't help us.
It's all just too much.
Late night conversation
My head is a mess.
Would this feel comfortable in death?
This skin, skyward and broken.
Lazily gazing through lenses incomplete.
The house I grew up in is gone.
I'm getting older and older.
But you stay the same.
You will never catch up.
And I can't help it.
I can't help myself.
And I can't help us.
It's all just too much.
2011
Nevermore May 2014
Reading about the paranormal,
The unknown,
Hearing of ghosts and spirits --
It hurts.

The otherworldly
Stirs up the painful memories
Of you.
I'd rather feel
Horror and fear
Anything else but this.

The demonic
The satanic
Can do little else to me
That you haven't already done.

Ghostly visitations,
Hauntings,
UFOs and their merry little abductions --
They all remind me of you
Still lurking my nights

When people trade stories
About aswang and demonic possession,
Cattle mutilations in the middle of nowhere,
I get chills
Thinking of you.

You are as inscrutable
As the Works of the Old Men
As the Nazca Lines
As the Coseck Circle.
Deciphering the Voynich Manuscript
Is nothing compared to the puzzle of you.

Listening to UVB-76
Max Headroom
The Bloop
Rebecca Black
Makes more sense than listening to you.

Unmask Jack the Ripper
Explain the Toynbee Tiles
Solve the Taman Shud Case
And I can solve you.

It's far less taxing, really
And more merciful on my limited cognitive faculties.


Bring me the Mongolian death worm
And Spring-heeled Jack
The Wandering Jew
The Dover Demon
And the Am Fear Liath Mòr
Before I decide
That sympathy and love
Are more that mere legends
Roaming the windswept wastes
Of your icy, shriveled heart,
Closer to reality than cryptozoology.

Abandoned cities and colonies
Only remind me of how abruptly and senselessly you left,
Leaving me a decrepit mystery of ruins

You believed in Atlantis
I said it was Plato's illustration --
His Republic,
Like Augustine's City of God.

Perhaps this was why our Atlantis
Sank to the ocean floor --
We were just good on paper.
Or maybe we started slaughtering
Noble half-breeds and changelings wholesale
Out of a misplaced sense of pride,

Or our union was unholy
And rankled the senses of the Sovereign
Who deemed it an offense
And thus condemned it,

Or perhaps this was an act of mercy
The equivalent of what Lovecraft said
The most merciful thing
Is the inability of the human mind
To correlate all the ******* he encounters
And has to deal with
On a daily ******* basis.


That the solid waves of mindfuck,
Pushing and heaving like tides,
Emanating from little ole you,
Would have finished off
Whatever was left of my mind.

You believed in ******* everything
But us.
Lost continents
Fox spirits
Psychometry
Were-boars
The ******* occult
No problem
All that which science cannot quantify nor qualify
You embraced
Yet you ran from me
And into the arms of another.

You claimed to be an empath
So tell me
How do I feel
After what you did to me?

You tell me.

And isn't empathy
Supposed to make people more compassionate?

The **** is this, then?

These stories
Of yetis and apparitions
Poltergeists and precognition
Used to intrigue and thrill me as a child.
When I grew up
I started ignoring them.
You put meaning back into the whole thing,
However insipid.

I was a skeptic.
You walked the line
Between the physical and supernatural
At least
If what you said is to be believed.

You were nothing but a specter,
Luring another hapless soul
Out into the barren wastelands
With a *** of stew,
Just beyond reach,
To its doom.

You're nothing but a ghost
Of an angry girl
Murdered by the cruelty
Of your parents and the church
And now I'm one of your victims.

Now as I start to see
Faint vistas of the supernatural,
They start to run
With memories of you
Until I can no longer
Distinguish one from the other.

So I'll ignore the glimpses
Of lurid phantasmagorias
And lock myself in
My world of letters and literature
Of armlocks and flying elbows
Of video games and liquor
I will pretend your world never existed.

Please, please keep out of mine.
*****.
Delicacy8100 Feb 2021
Informal
Free
Literacy is knowledge.
Styles' are descriptive.
The imperfections of the world make life vivid.
Delicacy8100 Sep 2021
Corrected
As the unraveled words slip through my thoughts into the universe.
Correcting imperfections.
Judging every woven threaded word.  
4,065 languages.
Written
Unwritten

Intermingling words composing every thought as my own.
punctuation leads me not.
Grasping my  
Language(s): unknown

Voynich

Yet once
words
with lack of punctuation seen not as a problem.
Yet seen for its purity.
That we the people could connect in understanding
Emphasizing
The languages we combine.
Punctuation implies correct. Given to the word by man/women. In hopes, the world could connect with a better understanding of one.
Beautiful RIGHT?
World keep in mind we are no one.
WE
ARE
Combined
Imperfections
are the great mystery of how I see the connection.
Judgment also will lay between the lines..  ......

— The End —