The Girl In A TeardropThere sits a shattered girl,
Imprisoned in her tormented tears,
Wishing she had not wasted her youthful years,
Looking for her one true pearl,
Who never showed his flawless face.
There weeps a sad girl,
Reflecting her mask in the mirror,
Seeing her self becoming thinner and thinner,
And now she sees the echoes of her age,
Guiding her back from her heartbroken mind.
There breathes a sorrowful girl,
Staring out of her sweet nectar sobs,
Hoping to escape from her self-infliction,
But what is out there for her to find?
Except a dawn of despair and dereliction.
The Time SentinelEternity.
Lost and imprisoned cocoon,
The Sentinel slumbers
Counting infinite numbers.
While life marches
To his unending tune.
In his bubble, outside of space,
The Sentinel silence bound
Watches us and hears us;
But we know not his name
Nor hear his tick-tock trace
Of his pendulum ball and chain
Echoing forth without sound.
Alone and cursed universe,
The Sentinel savours
Granting random favours.
While life crawls
By his chronicle verse.
Upon his chair, seat of time,
The Sentinel sacred alert
Loves us and hates us;
But we care not for shame
Nor know his chain-link crime
Of days past in omen rain
Mourning his corporeal inert.
Grief and stricken façade,
The Sentinel stares
Taunting omnipotent dares.
While life struggles
To the sun he once had.
From his hell, jewel of delirium,
The Sentinel sacrosanct eyes
Guides us and destroys us;
But we know not his game
Nor fear his ululating medium
To wishful liberty of pain
MephistophelesMephistopheles masquerades malice to charm,
As individuals influenced by incubus,
Plea to pity pits of eternal damnation,
As Lucifer's lips lick leather like in lust,
Where helots hover and howl in condemnation.
Satan's salacious soldiers march to ruin,
To Machiavellian machinations of the mind,
Cover continents in circumstances undetected,
Cerberus' knotted necks in niches that do rend,
As idiots invite evisceration inside infected.
Devil's deeds need no notion,
As angels corrupt and demons ascend to white,
Swear devotion is the worst epiphany of emotion,
Where death wheels his scythe slices slits of eyes,
In graveyards garnished with gargoyles garrotted.
Eleusinian Mysteries: The Trickery Of HadesIn harmony the Fates did decry a destiny,
That whomsoever ate or drank with heinous Hades,
Would spend their echoing days with him in eternity.
Anguished Demeter crumbled onto the marble floor,
As she cried out to Persephone through the void of a door.
Hermes in haste raced along to Hades,
With a missive to mediate Persephone's ransom,
Yet Hermes could not invite her out of an illusion of ladies.
Frustrated Hermes broke apart the perceptive tapestry,
To see poor Persephone dazed forlorn in direful travesty.
Hades knew of the Fates words of wisdom,
And so he handed Persephone a pick of pomegranates,
Erudite in his keen knowledge of his kingdom.
Poisoned Persephone would never be free of Hades grasp,
His curse of time would sting her like the wasp.
Persephone was then released in reluctance,
By Hades into the hands of hesitant Hermes,
Who suspected Hades of tricking Persephone into a trance.
Relinquished Persephone never knew she was to return,
Her burden in her heart to see Hades again
Eleusinian Mysteries: Persephone In The UnderworldPersephone, mellow maiden of the spring,
Was collecting fragrant flowers in a meadow,
As her chthonic companions relaxed in a ring.
Blissful was the beat of their heartbeats,
But evil winds disrupted the song they started to sing.
Hades, guileful god of the dead,
Arose from his demonic dominion to wander,
Until his gaze came upon pretty Persephone instead.
Lust was like a leech on his lips,
And so he grasped the sable strands on her head.
Demeter, graceful goddess of the harvest,
Slept upon her daylight dais by a river,
Unaware of her kin's kidnapping during her rest.
Peace was in her pantheon of perception,
Alas she heard the wails of woe from the west.
Hades escorted petrified Persephone into hell,
As she screamed the dark deity induced a scene,
So that divine Demeter would not hear her yell.
Beauty was all her blindness could behold,
Until she saw the face of her captivator so fell.
Persephone's frantic friends were in despair,
For they mourned the death of Demeter's daughter,
Eleusinian Mysteries: Demeter's SearchTo save her daughter from the lord of death,
Demeter begged to the benign brevity of Zeus,
But his serene silence bade her hold breath.
Zeus knew not the way to rescue poor Persephone,
For he adored her feline features from birth.
Distraught Demeter then searched high and low,
For her daughter trapped in the den of the dead,
But her grief caused the green shoots not to grow.
Zeus stubborn in his manner cared not for her plight,
Yet the suffering starvation of mortals he did not know.
In her frenzy to find her, Demeter's drought,
Turned all the verdant vales into rivers of rust,
But nowhere could she find what she sought.
Zeus elicited concern for the hunger of his children,
As he found that his reserves of food were at nought.
Stricken in her search for Persephone,
Demeter turned to trek towards Mount Olympus,
But barbarous was her climb as the edge felt like bone.
Zeus patient on his throne awaited her as predestined,
By the Fates of three who knew that she'd never be alone.
Prometheus RisesIn a time man has long forgot,
A wicked war was won and fought,
Between timeless Titans who sought,
To subvert the onslaught of Olympians,
But a few decided not to join the lot.
Prometheus a Titan of forethought,
Knew that Zeus was to be the victor,
So join did he the Olympian sector,
And lo, did Zeus gain the crown,
When the terrible Titans all did drown.
Rewarded was young Prometheus,
To create new life for the Earth,
With such eagerness did he introduce,
All the animals, insects, birds and fish,
And he did this by a supreme wish.
Grand Zeus did approve of his creations,
But Prometheus desired human nations,
So in a windowless cave one day,
Did he construct humanity from clay,
But this did he do in silent secrecy.
Enraged Zeus gazed upon Earth,
And he saw uncanny figures in shapes of gods,
He summoned young Prometheus to his knee,
To strike him with his divine thunder rods,
Prometheus in fear did run and flee.
Noble Zeus felt that he was insulted,
And with humanity he never consulted
HydraAtop a mountain summit,
There lived a terrible creature,
With vile and disgusting features,
It's heads were twain,
And it felt neither pity nor pain.
It breathes fire and acid,
From both it's ferocious jaws,
And worn talons adorned it's paws,
Standing proud and majestic on the sand,
A golden monstrosity of a far-away land.
For it protected something quite rare,
It's skin was constructed of silver steel,
And every year it skin did shatter and peel,
On a withered tree did the item lie,
And if anyone were to touch it they'd die.
Gluttonous guardian this creature is not,
No man could cross it's path of sight,
Neither did they have the will or the might,
To trick this ghastly fiend of fire,
Until a young man played a magical lyre.
Soothed was this demon of the night,
And thus the man did take the fleece,
Sparkling with dust and gold to say the least,
But the villain was no longer under spell,
Of the lyre's lyrical lure and it's faces were fell.
Enraged behemoth lunged at the man,
And the ma
In The Eyes Of A DreamerRusset leaves dance down from opal trees,
Pirouetting prettily in the midnight breeze.
Under this ancient bough I write,
Poems of exquisite bliss and beauty,
Painting scenes of romantic serenity.
Ochre sun bursts over vermilion fields,
Dazzling daintily those canopy like shields.
Below it's eternal radiance I muse,
Laments of direful amour and ambiguity,
Sketching tales of dramatic fluidity.
Cerulean waves linger along a saffron shore,
Lazing luxuriously in a celestial downpour.
Beside it's naïve essence I compose,
Idylls of rustic mirth and majesty,
Capturing dreams of artistic virtuosity.
Your loneliness has spread to your eyes,
It has now become a part of who you are.
You can no longer keep contract of your own lies.
Everyone else but you can see that this has gone too far.
Your expressions and body language have become bionic.
It’s almost like the lights are on but the room has been ransacked.
What is ironic is that you try so hard to subtly avoid the topic.
I choose and use my words carefully because I know how you will react.
There is only so much I can say or do; the rest is solely up to you.
Only you can dispose of the trespasser that lies underneath.
If you only knew the trials you have unintentionally put me through.
Maybe then you will shed your grief and embark onto a new leaf.
I hope you take my sincere concerns on board.
Because time is one thing none of us can afford
To squander and wonder our lives away.
Be true to yourself.
Human Nature.Human Nature.
And the ambitious achievers.
Need the realists to stop them from flying too close to the sun.
The logical idealists
And the informed defeatists.
Need the dreamers to show them how some struggles can be won.
You see I am beginning to get the gist,
Of how we all unwittingly coexist.
Neither one can ever be dismissed,
As long as the reign of mankind persists.
As one tries, the other watches.
When one flies, the other dislodges
Stories aimed to defame, name, claim and shame.
Assuring and securing that the harsh reality still remains.
Escapism - Leaves
Leaves, brown and rotten,
Lay scattered at my feet
Life has seeped out of them
As it seeped out of me
Had life left me, or did I escape?
From the jaws of life, that beautiful lie
With its moments of joy
Its bronze coloured sunrise
After a night full of a thousand small lights,
Into this miserable reality,
Where the clouds are ash grey
And the birds never sing,
Which is governed by truth?
Enveloped by darkness,
My soul was saved
By a ray of light
A deer’s soft gaze
Pomegranate BlissR E M E M B E R
when the violet moon
cascaded upon my face,
and the shimmer of
my midnight skin
had left your breath
Indeed your soul
was caught on F I R E -
was blazing just like mine,
for the world within
our garden changed;
And with every
single step we took
among the cobbled path,
the roses swayed
and music played
for love that'd surely
L A S T.
And fountains sprang
and new bells rang
amid the castle shore,
as time R E L A P S E D
and we fell back
into the spring
.though the words
well in my stomach and
bubble up in my throat and
spill onto my tongue
my lips shall never
let them drip into the world
I am the haiku of my smiles,
The limerick of my frowns,
The sonnet of my love stories,
And the couplet of my thoughts.
I am a ticking time bomb;
And poems are the fragments of my blood,
Mixed with the immortality of my soul,
Carved into every echoes in the universe.
I am never a story,
Never a lesson to be learnt,
Never a tale for you to boast;
I am the scorching flames burning in the cold winter,
I am a raging tsunami,
And I could engulf the hell out of you.
I am the everlasting scorching supernova,
I am a whole book of undecided thoughts,
I am your troubled curiosity,
And every improbability in this universe.
I am the paradox of my own time line,
The undefined term in your mere dictionary,
And the infinite definitions of my own thoughts.
Aphrodite's DissertationThe sound of catamarans upon the foam,
the march of cavalry and weary knights
who lay their bodies down are coming home
to linens drying like a hundred kites;
if not for love, what force are sword and chain
that they may honor empires with their call,
if not for me, they all have died in vain
and made of Troy the laughingstock for all.
Indeed, your chamois shirts and littered socks,
the tender cartilage of tambourines,
unfinished wine, and little jew'llery box,
and dual hemispheres of nectarines
belong to me alone in my design:
the air you breathe, your everything, is mine.
in the vestibule
of bracken and bargaining
and in your swan song
tell me the truth -
why does a sparrowchild
celeste's notion She likes to ravage poetry;
destroy it as it falls off
the tip of her tongue, along
with the poison in her veins.
She likes to devour words
like death, consuming life;
like a kiss that claims the soul.
She likes to funnel frustration
into a lullaby, into a stanza;
she likes to coalesce contradictions –
"hurt" with "harmony"
"scream" with "sigh"
"insult" with "inspire"
because it's all the same to her;
She likes to caress literature
with her lips, with the slight
whorls and spirals in her fingers;
intoxicating and intimate and
the slightest bit innocent.
She likes to feel seraphic;
feel powerful and godly in a world
Goodnight MoonThe battered sky blooms
as the dark teabag stain
under her weary eyes.
Like the couplet
strung around her necklace
with teeth marks -
jewels impressed into
the vast expansive sky
of her laden shoulderbones.
The bruise darkens
and the stars seem impossible.
Too far away
and smiling a long dead smile.
But somewhere a pomegranate lip,
swollen with the disdain
that he made her swallow -
somewhere, those lips
find the courage to say
Aslant a brookSongbirds tumbled from her ears
and swept down the cliff-edges in her hair
to swoop away and out - out of the way
of the turbulence of her drowning -
they skipped across the ripples in the lake
and dodged the mountainous willow leaves,
cuttling out of dodge, as Ophelia wept.
The nest dissolved, feathers strewn
like starlight to halo her descent
into the swamps of happy mouths
laughing and clapping water
into happy tide and tidings that ring out
and clamour until stuck fast in muddy death,
Lap-lap-lapping applause, as Ophelia slept.
Go away!Don't look at me
Don't talk to me
Don't touch me
I want to be alone
It's my fate
It's my curse
You try to understand me
But you can't
Because you have no idea
What I have to endure
But when I look around
You're still here
For some reason
You won't leave...
I Miss YouI miss you.
I miss your smile,
I miss your laugh,
I miss your voice.
I miss how you'd always listen,
No matter how stupid my problems were.
I miss how you'd always encourage me,
Helping me achieve my goals.
I miss how you'd cheer me up with hugs,
Telling me that everything would be okay.
I miss how you'd tell me stories,
Making me laugh, cry, scream and smile.
I miss seeing you every day,
I miss being able to hold you,
I miss those talks we would have,
Hell, I even miss the arguments.
I want you now more than ever,
But I can't reach you anymore.
I want you here to support me,
Because it's all become too much to handle.
I don't just miss you.
I don't just want you.
I need you.
I am incomplete without you.
You are, and always will be a part of me.
Please come back to me.
MadnessI'm drowning in sadness
And spiraling into madness
My mind is a mess
So make a guess
I'm falling into craziness
So I can become careless
And find hapiness
rise and rage
with a new year
untamed and glorious,
pulling the years together
with a snap of your fingers.
but some days you are languid,
stretching like the summer dusting
of freckles along your forearms, the
slumberous strands of hair shuttering
your sky-eyes from the morning light.
on these days, I think the earth spins
slower and the birds sing a little
quieter. on these days, I look
at you and I think:
The Lost PianistThe Lost Pianist
Tears reminisce mahogany boxed memories,
Of ecstatic crescendos and tearful diminuendos.
For deep in eternal sadness lies the lost pianist,
Who once dreamt of glorious symphonies.
As he caresses the goddess of the piano,
She moans of rhythmic joy and pleasure,
Executing works that rival the Siren's song,
Echoing the lost voices of her past masters.
But in time's command, their hearts went astray.
Each lying in their own pool of heartfelt miseries.
While he walks asunder, away from melodic Eden,
She beckons to him, yearning to be loved.
Her sorrowful notes whisper his name,
When he contemplates sweet nostalgia.
They swore to eternity to unite in bliss.
A promise that surpasses a mere forevermore.<i>
I Want To Be A Great WriterWriters all have a common goal in mind for the words they write. To lead the readers somewhere the author believe they deserve to go. And though writing has changed over the centuries this simple fact has yet to change in literature. Recently in my attempts to improve my own writing through reading the works of Nobel Prize winners, Pulitzer Prize winners , and great writers of the site (oaklungs , PrussianPersephone , ssensory , insomniaplague ), I noticed something I didn't particularly enjoy about the ways we each wrote.
We (majority of the writers of the site including myself) guide the readers hand in hand like a tour guide pointing out each aspect and details of our work while they (the wonderful men and women writers of a generation before ours) flew above them, giving them only the bare minimum of guidance, letting the reader notice the exquisite beauty of the world being formed before them at their own pace and at many times left many details no
Something I wrote out of the blue based on a soldier who goes to war during World War I. He sees the blood and carnage, as he lays on the battlefield dying. The conflict carries on until more "angels" fall down dead around. Eventually he passes away to a peaceful rest as his last moments remember the echoes of the skirmish in black and white.
Written and submitted through my phone. Rather annoyed I need a new adapter for my laptop. This irksome method will have to suffice for the time being.