poet

Ascendancy

Folder: 
Hand Written
"To think, 
back when I had asked
the exhausted man looking back,
eyes bloodshot, 
 
cheeks lined with scruff,
sweat on brow,
mr. mirror, who are you? 
Why are you here?
 
To think, 
years ago, barely alive,
that five more since then
I'd be sitting in this chair, 
 
typing away like I once did,
amid all the vivid scenes
that replay in my head,
when I could be dead,
 
instead flit the pen,
the flutter it dances across the page,
signing
not my life away,
 
but my name,
in another book,
the fifth,
the poetry that has kept me alive,
 
kept me going,
from the time I wanted to die,
words spinning for no reason
to now,
 
hard to believe 
that perhaps destiny
kept me writing,
and I have succeeded.
 
Not in making it big,
not in making money,
but making art.
Five years apart."
Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's been a while! Please stay tuned for what's next! (Serious, this time!)

The Reign

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"Where so many rush to fall asleep,

I tend to creep,

afraid of the a lack of light, 

what's in store for tonight. 

 

Would you like to know why?

I'm afraid of what's inside,

what I always seem to need,

what sleeps within me.

 

When the darkness falls

and my mind succumbs to sweet slumber,

lumbering in comes the pattering of feet,

clawed, and I can't seem to scream.

 

I try to get out from underneath the covers,

to run away, but I am stayed 

by the sudden jacket, holding arms back,

while at my heels chases the maniac. 

 

It is the ghoul, it's in my room,

and now theres nothing but abyss,

amiss of clothes and shoe and tooth

as I run to only bring closer nothingness.

 

And now I am within reach, looking back

at the black teeth, to tear my wide and tall,

before tripping onto face,

no hands to break the fall. 

 

And looking to what had cause the trip,

innocent children, empty faces,

look into me, through me, and it hurts,

it burns, no clue why they are in my plight.

 

And now taking flight, they chase me too,

I am running to a single point,

straight jacket still applied,

my escape impossible, my voice mute. 

 

Again, so focued to the rear,

I forget about the front, 

looking ahead to see now in front of me

the biggest snake ever slithers on scene. 

 

The snake grows bigger, stopping,

rearing its head, baring its fangs,

it wraps me in it's tail,

and squeezes me tight.

 

I can't stand the grip, crying out,

but no sound comes, 

just the sound of my eyes popping out,

and the sound of the plop.

 

The drop of me, hitting the carpet,

falling onto the floor, blanket wrapped around me,

back in my room, not monsters,

no snake no ghoul.

 

Just the sweat drenched shirt,

the paper-dry throat,

rattled, another night lost

to the internal battle. Nightmares reign."  

Author's Notes/Comments: 

So many have issues falling asleep, though the reasons are as numerous as some of them terrorizing. 

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The Girl And Her Wyrm

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"The Castle was gigantic. 

Expansive, was it's wide thrust,

filled with cracks, crevices and uneven bricks

pock-marked with mortar turning to dust.

 

Inside the deep recess

was a dormant terror,

up in it's highest tower,

a princess lived, none fairer. 

 

But both were locked up,

the furnace inside the gargantuan beast

kept the Castle warm,

the ovens hot, promoting many a feast. 

 

But lest the monster

breaks its shackles!

As once had happened before,

the quest none could tackle.

 

Knight after knight

fell to the flame,

the winged lizard licking tongues

of fire all about, untamed. 

 

Many an arrow was shot

from hunters brave, 

but no purchase for any arrow

was, by the monster hide, gave. 

 

Spear was no better,

having been thrown hard and true,

but not a single mighty heft

would force a metal tip through.

 

Then one day,

the princess who lived above,

just asked, 'give me a chance!',

but her father would allow no tug.

 

So that night,

while the great serpent ravaged the land,

she scaled down her tall tower

with the most daring plan.

 

She crept along the meadow,

in the cold of the moonlit night,

and up the the snoozing beast

she stomped her boot with all her might.

 

The beast sprung up,

startled awake by such a petite thing,

but before he bellowed flame,

she started to sing.

 

Sweetly, softly, 

she sang out her heart,

and through spirit, ripped hers out,

and handed it over, so that they'd never be apart.

 

Since then,

the two remain locked up with no regret.

The land has since healed.

But many don't forget.

 

Of the Girl and her Wyrm,

the star-crossed lovers never meant to be.

And how through love and song

she saved all the eye could ever see."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mighty verus Meek. I've learned time and again to not underestimate those of small build; their characters are so often bigger than most.

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Kenopsia

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"Almost tiring,

the bump of the shoulders passing by,

the hallways so full of students, mean, 

their intentions unknown to what they vie. 

 

But the Janitor, 

mop handle twisting in wrists, 

cleans the bustling halls, murder

of the sparkling floors committed with fervor.

 

Moreover, the students don't care!

But no matter, the Janitor smiles as he cleans,

leaning on his swab bucket, no flair

for how unfair redoing the swab job is.

 

But now it is after five,

the older gentleman is working his way up and down,

the passageways now empty, 

all the students long gone home. 

 

Quite the opposite scene,

from when the school was full,

a loud and swarming event, specifcally

during the lunch periods. 

 

And during those times? While constantly 

going back and forth, picking up spills

and keeping the floor clean,

he even feels grumpy.

 

But only now at this momement,

a longing, a forlorn feeling wraps itself

over the un-bumped shoulders of the man,

alone, doing his job.

 

The sudden wish the students were there,

to fill the empty space he cleans, 

the abandoned place to fill up soon,

but not a moment too late, he steams.

 

All the moments that he's spent,

breaking up a fight between two boys,

frankly taking both collars in each hand

and talking to them sharply, they listened.

 

The time he talked to the crying girl,

leaning on the mop handle, wise counsel

spewed at a comforting rate to the young one

who had her first broken heart. 

 

Or the time he tutored the troubled youth,

not in math or english but in life,

the boy sticking around while he cleaned. 

alone, his only brother having been knifed. 

 

Every smile he evoked,

with silly, word-play jokes,

every time he snapped at young students passing by, 

keeping the rowdy in line. 

 

The old man now smiled himself,

finishing up the entire school,

looking forward to the bustle to come,

the lockers that will slam, voices, loud.

 

The end of this feeling, eerie,

sudden, and no more farther then

when he will grumble, with a slight smile,

of the busy hallways where he will be bumped again."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A imagined scene of an old man janitor that we may or may not all remember or think back to.

Sometimes

Folder: 
Subjects

Sometimes I feel like am trapped from all reasons,
And all that surrounds me are my demons,
There are no free seasons,
Those all come from empty feelings,
And they all escaped from layered ceilings,
They wish no mutual dealings.

 

Sometimes I feel like am caged with spirits,
And they keep reading my lyrics,
Chained deep down with no visits,
And now they take back their minutes.

 

Sometimes I feel so mad,
And the negativity makes me sad,
Controls my life with no pad,
And reminisces on the feelings that I once had,
Should have added steel-clad,
They gained control with brad,
And in anger they will only add.

 

Sometimes I look up so high,
And I wish that I could fly,
But life is such a great lie,
Says bye before you begin to cry,
With no answer to your why,
And you sigh to the sky as you die.

 

 

Sometimes I get confined,
By all the people that made my heart blind,
They heard the beat and declined,
And now it sits there, bind,
I wish that I mined,
And it would be me that grind to find what’s lined,
Importance isn’t always combined,
It’s what we designed,
And we shall not leave it behind.

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Peace

Folder: 
Subjects

A goal with no finish,
The word starts to diminish,
And we have to refinish,
But there’s no time to replenish.

 

A goal with one meaning,
Harder to reach than the ceiling,
People keep intervening,
And hate keeps stealing.

 

A goal for the people,
To point like a steeple,
But there is no more diesel,
We’re equally evil.

 

A goal that has worth,
For the people on earth,
Since we were in birth,
It’s a tale of dearth.

 

A goal that is needed,
Words that are seeded,
The people conceded,
But the children have pleaded.

 

A goal that gets harder,
The more that we try the more it goes farther,
It’s hard for the smarter,
And for us it’s even harder.

 

 

A goal that must end,
A message we must send,
A time that we must spend,
A place to attend.

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War

Folder: 
Subjects

The world is cursed,
Everyone wishes for the worst,
For war we have a thirst,
And we can’t wait to burst,
Everyone wishing that they’re first,
It’s as if the world will never be nursed,
And this isn’t rehearsed,
It just immersed,
One word and we’re all dispersed,
It should be reversed,
The reasons are all submersed,
It’s like we’re all coerced,
And they say they’re versed.

 

One action leads to another,
One death leads the brother,
And all puppets by the cry of the mother,
Those shouts make us smother,
Which leads us souther.

 

 

One’s pain will never be forgiving,
But it’s for us, the living,
We’re the ones who should be giving,
For there is a cost of living,
We should be reliving,
And stop the misgiving,
And make it all thanksgiving.

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Born For Infinity

Folder: 
Love

 

Born For Infinity 

 

user img

As water falls
  from clouds
And music flows
from guitars
and words leave
  the poet
and light
  pours from stars

As art
 from the painter
 scent radiates
from bloom
peach tree
bursts from pit
 child born
of womb

As attraction
leaves the magnet
love departs the heart
heat leaves the fire
Auras
from souls depart

-saiom shriver-

 

 

khayne-me.blogspot.com

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My Mona Lisa

I don't know what you have done to me,

But with my words

I can only write of what echoes from my heart.

 

Yet, softly all I can hear is whipers of your name,

And the imagery that breeds in my mind

Is only a reflection of your beauty.

 

Like a silly boy with a crush

I am enchanted by the gentle curves of your lips,

And burned by the seductive fire that lies within your eyes.

 

Shyly I must confess

The aroma that fills the air as you walk by

Leaves me to feel somewhat invigorated,

And slightly intoxicated.

 

It's funny

How I have become addicted to your presence,

And your personality that personifies

Who you truly are.

 

To appreciate the beauty of a woman

Is to immortalize her essence,

And with my words

That is something I hope to accomplish.

 

~ Tony Paradise's Poet ~

 

My Blog - http://rarityofparadise.blogspot.com/

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