Arcane Poems - Poems about Arcane

Seeping through every pore of our bodies Through every aspect of nature's bearings Runs a certain energy that we have come to know Some call it conspiracy, some call it witchcraft That only those with lunacy can truly feel it What we have come to term with the word "magic" Whether in a crystal that took millions of years to form...

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We, the Arcane, plod along, Our faith keeps us strong, If folk listen to us, There'd be Peace, no fuss, Far better than a bomb, Prayers unite with aplomb, Peace now! Damn right! No need to get uptight, Cost annihilation, Faith leads liberation, our faith keeps us strong, Humans, plodding along......

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A violet blaze, a whispered plea, From ancient depths, a fire set free. Purple flames dance, a spectral sight, Where shadows writhe in ethereal light. No heat it holds, no scorching sting, But secrets deep, its embers sing. A language lost, a forgotten rhyme, Of magic born in the mists of time. Whispers of power, ancient and bold, In swirling smoke, stories unfold. Of forgotten...

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The resolute mind indomitable, the feisty surfer on the waves of life of curled crests with strewn fractured moon and dark troughs of sunken stars, recedes with the ebb of time, looks out for the shore of the past. The rolling sands etch seaward footprints, contoured as the crumbling pattern of decay. Time arrow finds the destined course to the topography...

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Beneath a veil of mystery, where the arcane embraces our fate, On wings of dreams, through white traveling stars, Through the mist of time, lying impenetrable before us, Echoes hide calls that seem to fling jewels of the night. The music of the spheres, encrypted in the silence of the ever-mute heavens, Breathes through us, a starry chorus, on notes...

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Mangled words and arcane diction, Are in fact my fiction, Artifacts: predilections, for attention and prediction....

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arcane orange light shining through winter woods.... just beyond daybreak Written: December 01, 2022...

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There is a wall, an imaginary one, that skirts a boundary where beyond, a kind of madness waits, an hallucinatory place at the end of the mind. Inside the wall is where sense makes monuments of order, where precision prevails over chaos and life is lived in rows gated from the uncertanties that swirl just outside. What lies beyond is raw and fluoresces with a freedom torn from the absolute, calls into...

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The icon fly's high watches all in absolute absence disdain. In the shadow of the Acadian machinery Man's industry belches black smoke. into a polluted bruised sky. Gears turn in arcane factories faces of white skeletal things wither watch absent heavens, staggering Along the windswept sea stretching to infinity broken bones of unimaginable Tyranny I see all as it once...

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Lone machines hum and sway, back and forth to the rhythm and rage. Optics lens reflect refract and collect the thunderheads of blood-soaked clouds, build violent, violet lighting shimmers, capers, flickers, and fades. Lancing, dancing striking into a sick parade Of the damned the beaten and lost march in time to the metronome as the eye of creation...

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Hear the horrific ape scream along the seam of nightmares. Something waits, gestates dreams blackened, brutal. Brittle things skitter, scurry, scamper away, eyes of entities, deities wail. Intellectual ape stares into the void, things better left unknown unloved never shown. Along a beautiful barren land of cars, bars and neon parking-lots fester into desolate nights heated from the Aftermath....

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This land of entitlement, entertainment and enterprise lost burnt broken...despised skeletal structures reaching griping, clutching, scraping the infernal sky. arcane factories sit on horizons haunt like houses of Man burning, cursing the American wasteland. Napalm fields, embers of pyres that rage, race across This holocaustic ape....

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Towering factories, arcane, silhouetted against a violet dark sky bruised lead-gray clouds tumble. heavens heavy in thunder and lightning turn in arcane patterns of oblique, obsolete across facades of machinery. lightning arcs, carving ruins in the angry sky. ravens fly, high, black specters... shadows dance in the dark engines spark, whirr, burn, hiss and steam. lights of a necropolis flare on horizons seams towers...

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Arcane Factories Along the windswept wasteland broken bones of humanity unimaginable a Tyranny in the mind's eye bleak landscapes of industry churn spires reaching to torch heaven, huge towers of jaded glass, soaring to the zenith breaking fire of crimson waves pouring down to hells foundations....

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Irrelevant boyhood arcane flotsam and jetsam... Impossible mission to jettison nonetheless laughter iz best medicine more enjoyable with vignette aye fabricate (think swifty taylor harried style) ah... voila - metaphorical light bulb Edison would appreciate. Martha Groff a classmate the youngest of four progeny born approximately nine months after late February/early March nineteen fifty nine born December third later same year, I speculate, (why superfluous tidbit stuck...

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