I Remember

Wistful mists adorns the airy dusk,
Unperturbed by the capricous winds blowing.
From the east drifts the heady scent of musk,
Heavily, steady flowing.

The lingering touch of memory, alive,
Sets the skin to tingling.
Remembering, recollecting, rife
With moments before the Now; Drowning.

The ghost of a kiss.
Raven hair in the cold gale of time,
A-fluttering wild; Capturing beauty
In it’s subtle strands scented with thyme.

For who can harm the diamonds of the mind?
Gleaming, silently glowing in their caves of secret gold.
Through the beam of love might one stumble to find
This treasure hidden deep ‘neath their silent hold.

Creation

The sable daperies of Dusk hangs heavy in the air.
Barely a flutter within it’s thick miasmic mist.
Entrapping all memories of things wholesome fair,
Gathered together in one infected cyst.

The clean glow of Sun bright
Leans ‘neath the Earth’s bowels,
Sinking deeper deep away from the Night,
Hiding in some barren hovel.

Whilst above, on ground and above it.
Creatures light and dense,
Big and small. Sit.
And listen, to council pouring forth hence.

What Do We Live For?

A time for life.
For breathing, seeing and hearing.
For walking, speaking and laughing.
For exploring, making and creating.

A time for learning.
For molding, teaching and shaping.
For setting, laying and admiring.
For changing, connecting and loving.

A time for dying.
For fading, disappearing.
Decaying, rotting and withering.
For crying, journeying.

And an ending.

The Devil’s Promise/ The Soul

Red, piping hot.
Ablaze with Life’s rawness.
Flaring against the rot,
Drying the throat, a thirst.

Aflame, a bonf’re.
The soul exults in the Ascension.
Forgoe Love; Forgoe the bonds within which you are mire’d.
They anchor you from true pow’r.

The Sun in your hands,
And the Moon at your feet.
Your voice will spread across the lands,
And your enemies will never meet.

Fire in your blood,
Darkness in your soul.
No sword will succeed to marr,
The full extent of this toll.

——————————————————————-

How far can we go in using Anger, without it using us? How far can can we plunge our soul’s into sheer and utter depths of Darkness, without becoming one with the Darkness?

How long can we endure the Night, with no hope of the Day’s coming?

How much more can we see of Death around us, before we fade away?

The soul has no limits. It’s just the shell that we are entrapped within. We are weaken’d as long as we live. And yet, our being alive is testimony to the full power of the soul. For our soul was made to endure, and endure it shall. Beyond even the fleshy limits of our bodies.

And thus, the gates open for us.

Banishment

The Time-frozen chains,
Clinking and chinking in the deepest Dark.
Hear you? The cries of the slain?
The Dead walk, Death without a mark.

A tempest howls forth,
Raging across the dimpl’d plains.
Upheaving the land’s rage in frothy troth.
Against a backdrop of lightning’d rain.

Curl’d within the hidden recesses of awaken’d sight,
I lie. Hid and safe.
Want for nothing, needing nothing. Not even precious light,
That illuminates the mind, but at my soul, chafes.

The Dead scream into my ears,
A mournful, dreadful wail.
Echoing eternally in the doomed walls of my fears,
Against the ghastly noise my soul quails.

Of an end i have no thought,
Something golden that i had not sought.

Experience/ A New Inkling

Ye hath not known loneliness till now.
Ye hath not felt winter’s bitter bite upon your nape.
With bitter gusts and fell winds in full blow,
Yea. Ye hath not yet felt cold.

Ye hath not heard the silence of the morrow.
Ye hath not been lost in the dark.
Ye hath not ever been drown’d in pain’d sorrow.
Ye hath full hear the song o’ the lark.

But be at peace, though it be brief.
For yon turn will soon come.
There will be a day, sometime in Spring’s May,
That thou heart will shatter like a dried leaf.

And out upon the freezing wind,
Without shelther, home or roof.
Yon soul will’t spend eternity
In sheer and utter melancholy.

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Wrote this poem ages ago. Just found the chance to post it.
It’s pretty despondent. Yeah.

My sort of thing.

Why does Poe obsess about melancholy? I actually pondered about it the whole day. When i would have been better off studying my ass off on other subjects. But i wasn’t. So there.

Anyway. It’s quite interesting. He obsesses about pain, or emotional suffering. When Pain becomes Pleasurable. It’s an intermixing of opposites.

Quite fascinating. Can’t find the right words for it just yet.

It’s a new thought.

Should share this thought around.

Maybe Jian can come up with the right phrasing.

Tommorrow. Econs mock. And the day after that some other exam.

I’m going to fail. If i continue like this. Still salvagable though.

The system is totally flawed. But not redundant. And until then, it will survive.

so there is no hope. And i am locked away in some cage made by society.

good.

Evil Eye

Upon the shoulders of my rankled soul to bear
Some tenacious load that tests my will to dare.
By every tortured step I take
Another inch of progress that I make.

Bars of light upon the muddie’d ground to rake
Searching, seeing, perceiving; Even the dying leaves that flake.
Not for the sake of some luminous angel then would I permit,
The haven of my little cave ‘neath the Earth’s whit.

In every spot that the curs’d light has lit,
Even the very darkest holes and pits,
Reveals with depth all souls’ dispers’d
And proceeds, within Death’s hold, to immerse.

The souls, the souls, an age-old curse.
Naught to be broken, not by any purse.
Flee, flounder, run or hide
Away, away, before the moon-tide.

Idleness

Unwilling to venture forth,
My mind siddles like a misbegotten pup.
Driving foam from the Will; Filled with troth,
He who desires to go no-where, but up.

Whining and pining for a Past,
Shivering like a living bundle of filth.
A remnant of times; Times like a Mast.
Broken heights held to the ground in bonds; Held fast.

Against the whips of the slave-drivers,
Lashing forth forked tongues of Pain,
I miss the dawn; Beguiled by liars
That Apollo creeps from the West, albeit in vain.

Afore The Test

Exposed, naked, under a clear blue roof.
White puffs of opiate clouds hang above,
Tantalizingly cotton-like; Like a wild array of poofs.
Or like the souls of dead men, baking in the sun; A wild-eyed stove.

Birds of many wings, flutter to-and-fro.
Riding the thermals of the morning’s grace.
Carrion-seekers, putting on a fair face; a show.
Vultures with appearence of eagles, death-eaters with a fair face.

I perceive with shut lids,
The rising tension of unrest.
Like a massive bubble under a pin,
Put to the rough test.

Failure and Death abounds.
Running in the fair open plain,
With a visage foul and blacken’d crowns.
Most ominous and dark, the stain!

Upon my mind’s fruitful harvest to profain.

Awkward

Bright lights and brilliant sights,
Gleaming with some ethereal sprites’ flight.
The source of which these i’flamed bits spring forth,
Upon mine eyes there be suffering and much lo’the.

And thus i slink, inching away from Illumination,
Hiding within the shadows of damnation.
For no longer can the eyes and ears of my mind,
Perceive the bending rays, and the nightingale’s song is alike a grind.

It seemed an age a-since i grinned,
Or felt the pleasent teasings of a dear friend.
But in truth, it was but moments afore
That I reveled in summer’s land.

But the Now haunts me,
And filled with damnable guilt,
I shrivel up till no one can see
The coward living within.