Tag: writing

101 (Death makes a Comedy of us all)

A smiling clown walks timid on tightened rope
And peers down thinking this day might be last;
The face of fear begs in frightened hope
As relentless laughter demands to move fast!

When the clown’s descent endows
The eyes with moment of great fall,
Boom! Goes Death, and humour bows
On knees bruised to crawl.

The crowd,
Sunken deep in whatever is felt
by fleeting grief,
Remarks: “He was a fool; it was to be a
Sudden leap that would make
his living brief!”

And so, from the first to this last fall,
Death makes a Comedy of us all.

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100

Some choices
are rightfully decided
on great thoughts of gold,
but by actions blighted:
no similar story told.

Other choices, although maligned,
are means
to ends
deemed most kind.

But by the shining of a moment
awareness is afforded,
leaving the most secure actors
in acts contorted.

So, the dark,
in all its magnanimity
plays our secret muse,
for acts would not be
if light fully shown
on what we choose.

And I wanted danger in clashes of violence,
to break comfort with the frightened awareness rewarded from no reversing.
And I craved a madness where Pain would sculpt soft edges sharp
and rust shine proudly on spirit well-traversing.

And from the engine of a heartbeat cast a smog so dense it polluted the sun itself and the whole world became tarred with my choices that wrought it so thoroughly into my now swarming nature;

and I!
Wanted nothing at all but adventure onto death.

98

Travelling through a trail enlightened;
surely, many rewards to be gained
when led in hope and un-frightened,
but the longer the roads,
the heavier hope grows
and soon needs to be shed;
or else the path, turned laborious,
may leave a traveller misled,
and prospect of reward, now spurious,
can render all the goals dead.

For my ________ (freeverse)

Your eyes lie on me in darkening ignorance,
Like they fell down unstable earth
Where a bottom was reached 
That you and I now share.
 
And I had thought of my innocence in moment’s rage,
While yours appeared to me without time, in blank forgiveness;
Without the flood that withers us to its command. 

Anger was yours to lose, 
But you had found an anchor, 
And I, a lighthouse.

And from a moment I had discovered myself again, 
And discovered you also,
 as child, 
Without that weight of time you wear now so well, 
And sometimes wish to shed.  

From what becomes of reluctance
grows saving guilt,
And i forgive you, 
And in a higher self-defeat, 
You forgave me. 

We have both scattered part of ourselves, 
But in parts we newly assembled  
What matters after all,
Even though it is a reminder
Of hopes forever lost;
Such are the necessities we must bear.

The duty of an organ (freeverse)

Those restless moments before sleep have a-blazed tonight 
And from four corners drew a room wherein 
A flicker of sense and 2 gallons of heated emotion 
Spilled into the most craving cavity.

To wake up, to disappear from illusion 
As if curse enlightened some inner truth of character; 
Certainly, a tender meat luring animals inching closer 
To better hear harmonies of sentiments pulsing.

I am not satisfied, now wanting, wherein wanton 
Becomes of me in forced flight,
And left as if altitude stranded what is most heavy,
Which by another name... 

Steady, rich, fertile; such are properties of
An earth where a predator searches, yearns 
To be scorched, scorned, adorned 
With the presence of those things that cause a pressure 
Forceful enough to advance onto living futures, 
Or the most alluring prey.

In violence, struck and crossed, etched a mark on wood, 
On paper a pool of ink, for that ancient story blessed a symbol;
Engraved a line between two sides maintained by 
Fragile power;
A tempo dances to new fear, hope, love, hate.

To deny them and yet to also give life all the same; 
It's that which truth and corruption,
Haunted and hunted, damn silently by name:
The heart.