Tag Archives: poetry

Perhaps The Gods Know Better

Perhaps I’ll ask them. It is their realm. Immortality. It would seem that man’s one ultimate pursuit is eternal life, the avoidance of death, whichever way you put it. Why then is it so that there are those among us who one day hope to die? To live a good life and to die, moving on to the next frontier? I have yet much life to live, but some day I think it would be nice to know that I can leave and I’ve been the best man I could. The next adventure always awaits. Enjoy the poem, friends.

The Immortal

This poison heart,

with its venom and its vitriol,

there’s something deep inside it,

rotting out the core.

I sip my glass of nightshade tea,

and eat with it my anthrax scones

and cyanide peach preserves

in the hopes I’ll numb the pain.

But no, i cannot die,

I cannot rest until the promise I’ve kept is kept and i might have peace again.

No, I cannot die.

I’d break a promise that needs fulfilled,

a promise to not die,

a promise to be at your side for always

and forever.

I lie in wait,

my poison heart,

hoping for a cure,

but here I fear,

it won’t be near

for many, many a year.

I feel its tendrils slowly encroaching,

slipping and sliding,

growing in my chest.

How black and withered does a muscle grow

under such neglect?

Storied Stormy Nights

Hello again, all! Back from my vacation, I have a little poem for you all that I enjoyed writing very much. Imagine yourself on the deck of a ship, you and your shipmates, hardened sailors one and all. The sails start to flap and wood starts to creak as dark clouds draw overhead. Rain pours over you, washing away the the salt and sweat so forcefully from your brow as lightning can be spotted in the distance. The captain screams his orders over the roar of the wind and the seas, attempting to regain control of the rigging. Amidst the cacophony you start to hear a beautiful song. Drawn to it, you and your brethren sail towards the rocks. A song that beautiful… Surely there aren’t any rocks?

Ballad of Sirens

O’ that cape of forlorn hope,

I sail around the bend.

I hope to find on other shores

a beach on which to mend

that poison heart and all its open sores.

Sailors find their sirens

there upon the rocks,

a place where ships will come to break and crash.

Beautiful their voices,

and so too are their faces,

so beautiful in fact

that sailors won’t notice

how their heartbeat quickly hastens.

Is it fear, perhaps?

Rightful to so fear the siren, yes,

but perhaps that song they sing,

that pretty one that lingers in your ears,

perhaps there is some truth to it

and closer to the siren’s heart the sailor nears.

There I lie,

crushed and broken on the rocks,

comforted by those deep blue eyes,

color of the sea I’ve grown to love,

belonging to the face

of one graceful little dove.

I know I’ll not survive the night,

I’ve not had enough adventures,

or been enough places,

but to die with you will mean eternity,

to find again Elysium one final time.

To hold you in that orchard,

my forever love.

Vacation!

Hi all, my apologies for not letting you know beforehand. I left today for vacation and most likely will not be back until Sunday. I may post some writing that I do on the trip once I get back, but I will not be posting again until then. Thanks everybody for reading and sticking with me!

Jack And The Giant Headsplitter

Wherefore doth mine head hurt so? Pain und schmerz, ein und das gleich. I am having trouble thinking as the words pour forth. Please enjoy the poem friends, I hope it more enjoyable to read than to feel.

Headache

Pass, pass, pass the test.

Look around and find no rest.

Surely there into the pot,

there it goes,

the lemon zest.

My head so round,

it pounds again.

I find no time

and can’t tell when.

Bleed again into the sea,

lining the ballast I can see,

my life again it flashes there.

If only now I had some tea.

Fe fi fo fum,

drown your sorrows in some rum.

It feels though the giant stomps upon my rigid skull

as beanstalks grow in through my ears.

Car is stopped.

I’m out of gas.

My Own Deuteragonist

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a twin? Someone to sit by and be just like you and understand you on a level no one else can but just different enough you never get bored? I’d like to think I’d have a pretty good time. Please enjoy the poem today, compadres.

Who-tagonist?

There I stand at center stage,

peering out at the audience.

Silently watchful, ever careful.

I await a most precious applause.

Fiddling with my belt,

I tremble at their fickle gauge

as I am held by steely gaze.

I play a most important part

standing there at attention,

giving my most dogged monologues,

and begging for the crowd’s affirmation.

They don’t see the shadows in the audience,

or behind the stage.

They only see the light that trains upon me its great weight.

Come up close and then you’ll see,

Not my face but a mask it’ll be.

All this praise,

and all this love,

but look again into my face.

Don’t you recognize the porcelain?

At last a clap!

My worries melt away.

Not a man, nor a beast,

but now an icon.

I wouldn’t want to disappoint the fans!