Home » Poems » Best » Kristen Varwig » Best Kristen Varwig Poems

Best Poems Written by Kristen Varwig

Below are the all-time best Kristen Varwig poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

Anxious Dissolution

IV

A soul was broken to make room
For dusty halls and labyrinths.
A gossamer, nylon bed-sheet shroud
Enwraps the remnants of that mind.
And no excuses can be made; 
This disease does not justify that one.
I do not sleep deeply, I do not wake easily,
I dream of cities built on sand,
Next to the swelling sea.
Oh, they should have lasted.
Why should they fall?
I dream of timber horses,
Brought between those city walls.
We should have known; we should have known better.

III

But, I am not an honest mystic;
Beware what you ask of me.
I will show truths within the liar's tapestry.
But, you will not believe; no, you cannot believe.

II

I howled for my motherland
When the mutiny began.
I heard the cry of treason; heard the cry and ran.
I saw blood be spilled,
Some of it my own, then
Felt the rest boil, that this could happen in my home.
I saw the battle through, until the very end,
Then wished the traitors pardoned,
Because they were my friends.

I

I cannot tell the difference
Between the sleeping and the dead,
So, I will dole out blankets, and keep the kettle on.
The streets are cracked and dirty,
And they all appear the same:
Shattered glass and roofing tacks
Where I place my bare and weary feet.
I don't want to go on.
But, I must rebuild; I must rebuild.
I have no grass to lay,
The trees and flowers will not grow,
So, I shall use nothing, but mortar, brick, and stone.
It's not the same; it is not the same,
But, I shall call it home.

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

The Man Who Pawned His Soul

He gazes out the window, thinking of his man
The one who left with kisses and bruises;
The one who stole his everything
Before selling it all out 
For fear, for acceptance, for a little slice of 'normal',
That our window gazer cannot understand.
He watches as the palm trees sway,
Whispering their secrets to the wind
And he wonders if they know his secret:
That he would still walk into Hell,
For the man who'd pawned his soul.
"He isn't worth you," they try to tell him,
The palms that bend, but never break That are thrashing wildly in the storm outside,
The one that seems to mimic what's within him.
But, he cannot listen, our boy
Because he is deaf to all but his lover's voice.
"This isn't right," the man had said,
After years of showing different.
"I see truth," the man had said,
Using phrases that dripped with lies.
"There is no truth," our boy thinks now,
But at the time, he'd been silent,
Struck dumb, his voice as dead as the rest of him.
He gazes out the window, thinking of his man,
The one who still owns him whole, but not the one who'd sold his being.

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

Mountain and Sea - Spenserian Sonnet

Mountains are immovable, defeating
Except when worn by a mustard seed faith.
Your love for me is transient, fleeting
Gone so quickly, it is more like a wraith.
You have too much love, like Henry the Eighth;
There's ennui in your arms; death in your gaze.
And she may be new, but you can't have baith.
I believe this is only a phase.
Then, you stroke her hair; wake me from this daze.
You are not a mountain, you are the sea,
Ocean waves that drown in a nightmare haze.
You could not be worn; you're water eroded me.
And though you killed me, I crawled from my grave
Saw you're a rip tide; you don't love, you lave.

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

The Myth of Shooting Stars

You say no one gets the beauty of fear
It's what reminds us how human we are
The subtle moment when all is so clear
That from birth to death, the journeys not far
The joy comes between the fire and the char
The instinct that pushes us all to fight
And not to wish for refuge from the scars
Because shooting stars are death in the night

You say no one wants their nightmares so near
Despite the God-given rush from the stars
That space between the madness and the tears
That echoing scream that thrills as it jars
Happiness is a cell; pain is the bars
Defeating fear is what puts us in flight
Hoping is a catch, and wishes will mar
Because shooting stars are death in the night

You say dread shapes us; it's how we cohere
It unites us all, from peasant to Czar
We all know terror: vague, blinding or sheer
We all fear what we think to be bizarre
We have all been frozen, stuck in the tar
Caught in place by the glory of our fright
Wishes fade like dieing strains from afar
Because shooting stars are death in the night

Dark time prince, with your ideals and guitar
Sing your baleful views, which are out of sight
Sing of your wishes that are not on par
Because shooting stars are death in the night

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

Mountain and Sea - Spenserian Sonnet

Mountains are immovable, defeating
Except when worn by a mustard seed faith.
Your love for me is transient, fleeting
Gone so quickly, it is more like a wraith.
You have too much love, like Henry the Eighth;
There's ennui in your arms; death in your gaze.
And she may be new, but you can't have baith.
I believe this is only a phase.
Then, you stroke her hair; wake me from this daze.
You are not a mountain, you are the sea,
Ocean waves that drown in a nightmare haze.
You could not be worn; you're water eroded me.
And though you killed me, I crawled from my grave
Saw you're a rip tide; you don't love, you lave.

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

Sunrise In the Rockies

The sky seems to be on fire,
Almost supernatural,
Burning magnesium bright.
Almost as if Armageddon is coming;
As if it's already here.

It transfers its brillance to the mountains
Turning the rock into pillars of flame,
Makinf them seem even more immovable,
Even more untouchable,
Grander, and more breathtakingly terrifying
Than ocean waves at night.

And if the scholars are right
And my time here is limited,
Almost to the point of being negligible
In the view of the mountains, the sea, and the sky;
If this could be that fabled 'any moment'
Then I am sure that I'll be fine.

This one perfect sunrise;
That one immaculate night on the beach;
Those Holy days, that come every summer;
There is nothing more or less 
Than any one of these.

And as the sky starts to lose its color,
As the day starts fading gently into night,
I'll hold on to this one perfect moment;
This one second of blazing clarity,
When the world itself seemed more alive.

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

Driving Mad

"If I turn left, I'll drive right through that house"
He can't read a map, but insists he's right.
I grip the wheel, silent as a church mouse,
This is going to be a long, long night.

"The map says to go left, you missed the turn"
It's as if he's blind to what's real on Earth,
Crashing the car might help him see and learn,
But, the damage would cost more than it's worth.

"There isn't any left-" I start to say,
Then I realize the map is upside-down.
A funny end to a wonderful day,
I tell him, laughing; he gives me a frown.

He says "Not my fault. The map isn't clear."
I just smile. "Whatever you say, dear."

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

False Indigo

Your touch, a gentle whisper in the night;
Your hand, soft, grazes my throat like a ghost, 
And despite my hopes for a spark of light,
Your darkness is what I seek out the most.

Your lips, like fine oak-aged arsenic on ice
Smooth, bitter tragedy beyond your years.
They taste of menace; the menace is nice.
It reminds me of my nightmares and fears.

Your eyes, False Indigo; beauty so deep.
Baneful glories atop; spikes underneath.
They hold me entranced, your's forever to keep.
They lie with each glint; I keep my belief.

Your soul, blood diamonds; gorgeous, cruel and sold.
My soul, tarnished, with this dark love so cold.

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

Marching - a Sonnet

Marching towards death, a soldier, young, brave
Unafraid, gorgeous, back against the wall
Just a young man, not asking for a save,
Praying, pleading, that he can save us all.

Marching for salvation, benediction
His past another war he has to face
Paying penance for his derelictions
He's caught between the hiding and the chase

Marching for freedom, for the call to arms,
For absolution from all of his sins
Ready to die, to save us all from harm,
Where does the boy end, the soldier begin?

Courageous paladin, resigned to death;
Scared boy, running away with his last breath.

Details | Kristen Varwig Poem

Desperate Times Calling

To God I made a promise
That I would clean and polish my act.
No more Doubting Thomas;
I'll become His faithful acrobat.
Dance on the head of a pin;
Dodge the diamond bullet temptation
If He'll wash away my sins,
And ask for no remuneration.

And to Saint Peter I vowed
That, if he'd throw open the gate,
I'll be humbled, not so proud
Stop dancing in circles, and just walk straight.
I'll take the time to confess
The wickedness etched into my face.
I'll tell the truth, more or less;
Sometimes lies are told with better grace.

I am making a compact
With every Archangel above,
That I will treat them as fact,
As long as they promise not to judge.
A covenant, just in case,
To absolve all the deeds I have done;
The mistakes time will erase,
And the misdeeds that are yet to come.