Tag Archives: poetry

We’ll See, I Suppose

Good afternoon, friends. I am very tired today. Very tired for a long time now. I don’t believe it’s quite coming to a head. This is just how it is now. I won’t ever give up, of course. I refuse. I will keep going. Keep doing my best. It doesn’t get easier, but it does get easier. My dreams will not be just dreams. Perception is reality. We can all take a lesson from that, I think. Finding myself never stops. Finding yourself never stops. That’s the fun part. Somewhat sad poem for you today. Maybe I’m easier to figure out than I think.

Self-Sufficient

You want me to be honest?

You want me to tell the truth?

I am tired.

I am spent.

I just need to go home and sleep.

Go home and be in my bed.

To stow and hide away my heart and mind.

To hold my broken heart in your hands.

How it must be to know such power.

Intoxicating, perhaps.

I only wish you would care for it

Cherish it, the way a lover would.

Sew me up

Put me back together

Pick up all my pieces but you’re missing the tape

I don’t hurt anymore

Just the slow thumping in my chest

My blood still flows just the same

Somehow it comes to pass that I breathe without lungs

Pump blood with no heart

See with no eyes

And touch with no hands

All things I give to you freely

That you take and take without recess

So that now I have nothing left

Except that I do

I am breathing

I am Seeing

And I am feeling

Those Riders Four

I bring to you a scene. A fog settles over you. Sirens begin to sound. The sky breathes and heaves with fire and smog. You can’t find your keys, not that you could see to drive. A haze so thick and so permeant that you can barely see your reflection in the windows of a nearby house. A cacophony of sirens and horns that slowly eases into a low drone replaced by not-so-distant screams. You think you feel something nearby in the mist. Something breathing. Skittering, scuttling things in the…

Miasma

A diseased, pestilent miasma settles over the glen

A fog so thick you can barely see your hand

Ancient runes and sacred stones replaced by boils and pustules of horrid ooze

Peace is lost and hardly found

Wear a mask to hide your face

Prepare yourself for the coming race

The sage has wilted, mistletoe rotten

As trees wither and become forgotten

A swamp to take its place

Monsters march in malodorous mist

Forming together some demonic tryst

They watch and stalk you through the smog

You’ve lost your way

Landmarks vanish

Compasses don’t work here.

Everything gone awry

Their eyes watching every step you take

Waiting for your first mistake

Gnashing teeth and demonic screams in cacophonous harmony

Though hardly could you describe their cruel countenance

You must find a new place

Far and away in outer space

But first to win the race

And avoid the demon’s gaze

Another Little Love Story

Guten Morgen, Freunde! Every day is an opportunity for another little love story. Fall in love even more with the person you love, fall in love with the trees and the dirt, fall in love with air you breathe and the little tiny dogs you see walking in the street. Life is often hard, but I’ve said before: You don’t need to harden yourself to match it. Find peace in acceptance of yourself and all things. Find love in your heart where you thought it had left. Be softer and kinder to yourself and those around you. Never give up. The World won’t. Why should you?

It’s A Helluva Lot

Spending months away at sea

Leaving just the baby and she

Thinking to myself about the way they miss me

Hoping happy she will be

Coming home to see her eyes

Reflecting deep blue skies

And her love I need not prise

For with her I won’t capsize

Stepping from the boat and holding her

Hearing the machines choke and whir

And i can say with confidence she’s better than pictures

Sitting at the foot of the bed

Knowing that someday we’ll be wed

Thinking of the life we have ahead

I’ll one day leave this ship and be with her instead

I’ll give up being a sailor and be the one she counts on

I’ll wake up every morning to her smile with the dawn

Knowing when the time comes that i won’t again be gone

Dread Depending

Good day, all. Today is a day to think of the end of the world. What can you possibly do to avert such an event? What can you do when you have no control? What do you do when you are faced with the coming of the Black Crusade? Survive, at all cost. There are fates worse than death.

Atah’Zanadu, The Great Crusade

Sifting sands

Fervent bands

Marching with full hands

Through humble dunes to distant lands

“Hallowed be thy name,

O great god of arid plains,

Deliver us from our pains,

And wipe from us our stains”

Cleanse the infidel, purge the heretic

They sally forth in dark cascade

Were house and palace, now a single burning stick

They carry out this black crusade

“Your watchful gaze brings no attrition,

Your watchful gaze brings no sedition,

Your watchful gaze brings attribution,

O Lord, as we effect your retribution”

Burning fires, heat and cinder

Houses are ash, families are tinder

Onwards, onwards, unto the dawn

Each and every one of you, but a simple pawn

Je ne Parle pas Français

I don’t speak french. How can I say it any other way? It’s hard to be understood in a world where communication hardly ever makes sense. Harder still when most of us speak a different language. Half the time it’s even when we speak the same language that we can’t understand each other. I think I find myself more and more able to understand people that I can’t understand more than the people I technically can. How’s that come to be? How’s that come to faux pass? Amusez-vous bien, mes petits poissons rouges!

Hallowed Fields

all these holes never filled

soil never tilled

fields lie fallow

foul beings draw tallow

the wight’s barrow

overseen by the sparrow

filtered through shadow

not quite so bad, though

evermore, nevermore

love lost, forevermore

i spin a spider’s web

with ariadne’s thread

my head’s spatter

as crows gather

caw, caw, caw, they shriek

ever so softly, i hear them speak

above the moon in sky so high

stars above they crowd and sigh

holes and holes they lie unfilled

fields and fields they lie untilled

dying, dying, dying, dead

hanging on, by a shred

something heard, something said

lying awake, in my bed

weathered flying dutchman’s creak

hold thy tongue, lest thou speak

head in hand, turned to beak

some forlorn feather, some antique

the crows they shriek

and shriek they speak

help us, sir, best you can

i’m sorry, friend, my biggest fan

“i’m sorry,” cried he

“it’s alright,” lied she

a clever hand

some sprightly band

fallow, fallow, fallow, fallow

pirates waiting for the gallow

crying, spying, so slightly dying

“i don’t miss you,” she was lying