Long Enshrouded Poems
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He never complains about its
enormous , heavy weight.
His life is adorned with tolerance
and stoicism.
He bears it, filled with an
unrequited, unparalleled
love.
It is like a steadfast desert
never causes him to moan.
His fortitude like a rambling
rose is etched in his
tender heart.
Soul enfolds , the sun-drenched
vast sky.
He tolerates its patronizing,
dismissive ,reprehensible
attitude about him.
He hugs and cover it with kisses , without
any hesitation or doubt.
The aromatic ,perfumed Spring's
smile like the passing moonlight.
The terrified of dawn is never in
tears.
The wounded dove dances,
gazing at mountainous
bloody sea.
The breath of a blissful
rainbow is unruffled.
The astounding, overcast sky.
sings the lasting dream.
A rocky road of love is woven
into a meditative trance.
In the chaotic realm of sadness
is enshrined divine
happiness.
A glimmer of truth is enshrouded
by an unyielding snowstorm.
On the canvas of dreams,
dwelling a sunny optimism
painting in hues.
In the realm of words, residing
a powerful spell painting
a celestial delight.
Under the infinite sky of our destiny, the waves of souls stir,
A sea of average spirits, drifting aimlessly on the waters of silence,
Lacking that aristocratic individuality, as demanded by Christ or Buddha or Plato,
Hiding in the anonymous multitude, with secret desires for self-glorification.
We are leaves in the whirlwind of a cosmic wind, guided by unseen stars,
Shadows enshrouded in mystery, lost in the eternal flow of time,
Without reaching the greatness of the lofty prophets who illuminated the path,
We retreat into shells of silence, dreaming of a brighter self.
In the garden of nocturnal dreams, we lay our desires like rose petals,
But every step on the worn path betrays our fragility,
Like pale stars sprung from murky waters, seeking revelation,
We cling to the thread of a fleeting truth that might transform us.
The crowd swallows us in a cold embrace like the shadows of morning,
Each soul becomes a grain of sand in the hourglass of eternity,
Under masks of indifference, we burn with secret aspirations,
But we are condemned to wander in the common grayness of existence.
The night spreads its magical mantle over us, filling the air with mystery and dreams,
And in its silence, we dream of divine illuminations, of untouchable greatness,
The secrets of the heart sing a symphony of boundless desires,
Yet we are trapped in the melancholic dance of unknown, faded lives.
In the shadow of destiny, we seek signs of liberation, gazing at the starry vault,
Hoping that one day we will transcend the clouds and shine fully,
But we are mere canvases dusted by time, fluttering in the wind,
With each shattered dream, we remain prisoners of our own mediocrity.
And yet, deep within the soul, there shines a spark of magic,
An echo of latent greatness, waiting to be unleashed,
Perhaps one day, we will break the chains of mediocrity and rise,
To the infinite sky of dreams, towards the light of a supreme and serene truth.
There, in their great wisdom, the great spirits call us,
To discover our divine self, hidden in caverns of unknown shadows,
To rise, children of the stars and the earth, as reborn flames,
And dance to the rhythms of mystical light, in the eternal harmony of the vast sky.
Cobblestones of pantry and a wide toothed grin. Visitors from afar pay no heed and paramount is the settling and uprooting of cultures old. Might as well be blood in that feather quill who prints octagonal lines on a parchment. The otters are arriving on their many boats. Their hats adjusted. Times of affluential fashion and norms carried in a wide brimmed basket hat. Always with a bow. The many eyes and ears of tree lined shores listen to the arrival. And as the booming stick pounds on the floor of this jungle the rush of brown skin dashes to the floor. Garden not a wilderness. Dangerous it is to attempt to train a beast. Attempt not to understand a culture. And harvest only what us necessary upon landing. Beginnings are not a temple they are akin to a whisk. Whir whirring and causing carnage, chaos and death. The cavern then utilised for storage. Those that had dwelt side by side now shuddered in the new comers presence. Myths are a faith and a comfort when the camps of the intruders are land lepers. Lesions. Talua the wise woman of dragmo speaks. Ordering all precious items be hidden in the sacred cavern. Enshrouded by canopy. Therefore unreachable. There it would be guarded by the blues. There it would come to no immediate harm. Yet, if one day the total environments were threatened with loss then the blues shall rise and with their many gifts call upon the sky carriages to assist the lands. Thus ensuring no single specie would be eradicated. So now to look upon the dawn. Imagining life as a fish or a prawn. Diving to depths but with no passports. Clapping and dancing with the bullfrog parade on bulletins. Tickets are not trains but trampolines to flies. Under a mountain pass moves a mammoth. Giggling bears in vaulted chapels. Undergrowth has reclaimed this place. And planets due are akin to pouring cream on strawberries on a very hot day. Weaving wavering weaponry weapons weeping wept webs weekly waking winking walking waves. *** potency. *** pickled ice cubes. Xx a pickle ice skating *** myriads of time paths in a juice. *** balmy bacons *** I think not a morning I wish fir a harmonic interlude of a dancing flower at midnight in a noodle broth. *** brethren. Brotherhoods. Breathe. *** zoological. X
Form:
" Imagine a place where there is beauty, bliss and plentifulness for all. It is nothing short of utopia. Though we are far from realizing it, isn't it thrilling to imagine a version of the world different from the existing one where all disparities will be leveled and happiness and freedom are made the birthright of all? Now such a world is enshrouded in mist. But who can say it won't emerge suddenly from the blue in some distant future"- By Poet
Though, utopia is merely an illusion,
Or a chimera born in the womb of our whims,
I shall take you to a near-utopian land,
Where, peace and beauty blossom like the cherry in spring
And trees grow like the cedars of Lebanon.
Come on, my Love! Let us move to that land,
Where the sun resurrects anew,
Where darkness gives way to light,
And life renews itself every morning.
It is our dreamland paradise or interim utopia.
Let us go into that Garden of Delight.
Look to the East, my love, beyond those crooked hills,
Where poplars grow tall in line
And a gentle breeze susurrates through the foliage of leaves
And wild weeds hem the edges of pathways,
Where bunnies and squirrels hop and jump
And run around whistling bamboo reeds,
Where the laughing cataract leaps down from the rocks
And flow along in silvery rills
Where the languorous breeze plays upon the leaves.
This place has all the beauty and bliss of utopia.
Away from the tumult, far from the bustling crowd
With the pandemonium of the world hushed to serene silence
Let us walk together to that sequestered glade,
Where we shall sit by the side of a rustling stream
And dance across the flowery meadows.
In this place of perennial greenery and sunlit groves
We shall walk hands locked and hearts singing as one,
Till the bright day gives way to a dusky night,
Inhaling night air in scented perfume.
Under the stillness of a star-spangled sky, we shall roam,
Through moon-blanched woods, enigmatic and mysterious
Listening to the sweet whisperings of our soul
And ‘drinking life to the lees’ from the chalice of love
Oh! Come on, let us not tarry….
Let’s move fast to that Utopia!
Ever free to traverse my world
Yet shackled to an eleven year old promise
I donned a platinum cloak atop a living mountain
Physically high, emotionally low
I held two pairs of hands
While my heart beat out a painful rhythm
A handshake that formed my first friendship
And a typed message that united two lovers
The grayest skies I've ever seen
Sheltered my screens from the sun's glare
Thousands of miles away
Cherry and Lime linked across the expanse
A month of birth and traditions
Lay in shattered pieces under my triumphant body
Barely lucid and smelling like a bar
I held the sun in one hand and victory in another
The strongest scores I'd seen in decades
Danced on a melting page in the summer heat
An old acquaintance left as a master
And in came trouble and a new air conditioner
Ungodly hot and disconnected from the Expanse
I sat in three prisons with only them to guide me
Ever hungry, ever bored, ever exhausted
I ripped victory from the warden's clammy hands
Finally free to bask in the summer sun
I immediately hid in a dark, familiar cave
The winds of love began to whisper in the rustling leaves
As I smiled at the screen I knew as them
I returned to a place I romanticized as Nirvana
Six years later and a completely different man
That world was smaller than I ever imagined
Yet meant more to me then than it ever had before
Pulling the first of my overtime hours
I stopped caring about the work that must be done
My stomach growled and my shorts fell off
Sleep-deprived and starving for whatever scraps there were
Immobile once more, the world began forming around me
Future roads, unbreakable connections, pitch-black voids
The world and all of its frightening futures slipped away from me
And with it, the rest of the year
A dusk enshrouded airport brought them to me
The lover who saved me from past year's poems
As their world and body enveloped me
My aches, woes, scars and tumors melted in their embrace
With a new fire lit inside me
Stoked by anxiety, despair and hope
I don a new cloak of coffee-brown and boom-pole black
And shout into the Expanse once again to open my world
Everything that's real passes me by
Cause I live on a sheet of paper
I could leave it anytime I want
Convincing myself there's always later
Writing about lives I've never lived
Scares me how I act beyond my age
As I'm fading into the background
Becoming a character on a page
In a fibrous bed
Is where I lay my head
The ink stains my clothes
Watch as I, decompose
I'm too young to think this way
I should live and feel everyday
Always goes back to the pen with me
Real life doesn't phase me and honestly
At times I prefer my paper world
Falling in love with artificial girls
Words can't break your heart, their with you from the start
Ink flows in my veins, to me it's just a game
I'm too young to think this way
Am I far too gone to be saved?
Just one marvelous frame in this world
My beauty is like the autumn leaves
Pretty to see, don't you know I'm dead?
Enshrouded by a blanket of make belief
Instead of trains I played with pencils
Literature in my box of toys
At 6 I held my books in wonder
Desire to intrigue, though I'm just a boy
I tire of real things
Pen holds my puppet strings
I have had enough
Poetry is my love
I'm too young to think this way
I should live and feel everyday
Always goes back to the pen with me
It's where I go to breathe and honestly
At times I prefer my paper world
Falling in love with artificial girls
Words can't break your heart, their with you from the start
Ink flows in my veins, to me it's just a game
I'm too young to think this way
Am I far too gone to be saved?
With enormous zeal
I burn oil by the desk
Drifting, fading, I
Become a child less and less
It's how I escape
This cold and earthly shell
Is it really me
You're talking to, can you tell?
Would you remember me like a good book?
At times I wish you would
See me as a work of art, a wondrous look
I really don't think you could
Instead of a box beneath the ground
I'm a mere mortal striving to astound
Put me on a shelf and put me in your head
Bits and pieces of me to look at when I'm dead
Would you remember me like a good book?
At times I wish you would...
Entered into the contest
"How Poetry Has become You"
Hosted by Michael J. Falotico
As I pick up where I left off from the Intro
I bring you the Outlook as I peer through relationships like a window
The chance of seeing real love is narrow
It seems Cupid doesn't know where to aim his arrow
Cupid my Cupid
How could you be so stupid
The way girls treat boys
Like toys
The way boys treat girls
Like squirrels
Got them going nuts
Teens and adolescence in love?
You must be nuts
Ages 13-19 is filled with lust
Their conscience still underveloped
They don't know who to trust
20s-30s
That age group can slide
Because at some point they have a hunch about what they want inside
That's the flagship age to get married
Couple says vows
Bride gets carried
These days it seems no one wants to be single
Once you pop you can't stop
Sex is like Pringles
I guess it's ok
As long as its safe
If you're in love with your partner don't let the feelings be fake
Children wait until you're older to get under those covers
And if your hormones rage out of control shake hands with a rubber (condom)
Most teen girls hate the feeling of latex
Then goo goo ga ga
The babies are born next
I'm just calling it how I see
Relationship game is dirty so I'll be the referee
All of a sudden the world is in love
My God it's sickening
As i write this my pulse is quickening
Now now some couples really do love
Til Death Do They Part
To the world above
I just think the word "love" is greatly misused
The Constitution of Love
So often abused
Our society thinks it's amusing
Fifteen year old in love?
Doesn't it sound confusing
Maybe it don't to you
But it does to me
They are wasting emotions
Unrenewable energy
It's a shame
Love is no game
It's more like a lion
Waiting to be tame
From what I observed couples aren't the same
Whether the pair is nameless
Or enshrouded with fame
Real love is too far up
Way above our aim
I'm in my right mind
I'm definetly sane
That's why everyone is hurting
Because love is pain
I'm still researching
My mind is my reference book
Ch. 2 of the Relationship Epidemic
The Outlook
Ch. 3 (Females) Coming Soon...
My "FAKE" Genealogical Knighthood
Unbeknownst to me if royal
gilded crests comprised
my rusty dust caked coat of arms
hence, I take liberty successfully farms
productive crop to contrive fictitious
Medieval Age forebears
with favorable charms
strong agile hands
hurling crude accouterments
centuries prior to invention of firearms,
which weapons (of mass sieve construction)
privy to proto gendarmes,
this inventiveness of mine conjures
courageous knights in shining armor,
perhaps monogrammed,
hammered chain metal,
nonetheless such endeavor quite a chore
where love's labors not lost,
viz hub bully accepting, condoning,
and employing embellishments extempore,
whereby solar rays alight,
flickr, and glint glore
re: us astral motifs, the stellar
craftsmanship one (even a poor,
indigent destitute beggar
like yours truly)
could not ignore
exquisite baldric, exotic, and heraldic
trappings incorporating magical lore
aesthetically pleasing
fascinating, and appealing to one poor
uneducated disheveled rhapsodic bohemian
incumbent jibber jabbering, hallucinating,
and fancying deplorable basket case to restore
himself, the legitimate true heir,
who could double as
courtly jesting troubadour,
whose slain grand papa Aaron Harris
violently ousted during Uber Vodafone War
constitutes dreamy gotcha your
attention fabricated and
facilitated to Zoar,
an actual ancient city
anachronistically inserted here
thanks to Lot, whose Biblical reference
Google made me aware,
which ye probably care
nary a fig about, but
placename linkedin mere
to allow, enable and provide bare,
lee tenuous appeal dare
ring me to trump
poetic formality near
rolly returning full circle (one tough Job)
manufacturing prevarication
recounting "FAKE" heir
essentially envisioning, imagining,
and jimmying gallant
high in the saddle career
timeless lifeline chess piece
of centuries gone by
enshrouded with reverence by this air
rent considerably less provocative
then missives by Baudelaire.
According to the will of fate
I have come...
I emerge from the flood
A living soul.
My memory is torn by the night.
The night is enshrouded with darkness.
I wander around the world
Searching for a meaning...
I want to drink a toast to happiness...
Here I am gulping the toast to death.
I cry....Is there any survival?
I hear no response...
But the hot winds caressing the grass of silent graves...
And the world plunging into illusion and vanity...
Do you remember the mad rain,
And the wood of the vessel hanging on the summit?
O intoxicated land,
That is burdened with jealous desires,
Bless, and have pity on my soul
For lo! I never enter the place of secrets
Nor lift the cover
On the earth's burial...
My body is prey...
Time is a hunter chasing me
Whilst traps are set for me....
I flee...
I flee with terror and fear...
My footsteps are slowing,
Wearing out with the race
And the veiled fate engraves on my face
With the edge of a corroded spike...
I wander alone in the land of Delmon
The land of eternity
Calling the aged-young man....
The earth cleaves,
And the serpent emerges
Devouring the plant...
Whilst the dream of eternity turns out to be plumes of smoke
Climbing the unknown of the silent wall....
Rest!
Rest, you, the butterfly soul
And ease me of my burden which galls my back..!
Nectar dried out of the roses of fortune..
Whilst death gazes at the butterflies...
The dinghy of desire sails on fire
No water
No shore
And the claws of lust shred the soul
My life is but a womb of a virgin
Delivering a mount.
You are so harsh and mean...!
I receive you for my sorrows
And my perishing...
Hating
Cursing
Loving
I gulp the bitterness of my grief
Thereby planting a forest of thorns in my mouth.
I walk on a path of pain
Chasing a dream...
Threads of smoke....
I grow older and so do the dream and sorrow
At the end of the long path of misery
I surrender unto you
Reposing in your womb....!
Form:
I.
Gray dusk, chaos, grave loss.
All yours before divine blood came
Walking amongst the rot, rumors and tumors of the wild and tame
In quest to satisfy their wame
To take them from valleys to peaks by a flesh littered cross
That salt who cursed fruitless trees
And revealed sepulchers filled with dead men's bones
All beneath heaven's thrones
He gave his words to troubled seas that their winds should preach his peace
And his blessings are all yours indeed to keep
II.
There's a place in time
There we'll find the chief cornerstone a worthy sacrifice
There we'll kneel and bow, never to behold his eyes
We'll cry glory, glory to three grand kinds
Elohim, our love is all yours
And we pledged against the falls
Never to go back the way of the sinful and slug
In search of victories that be all yours
In search of answers from one great source
III.
I am of he who made the years
I am of he who hung up on the cross for my sake and cursed my fears
His head bore a crown of thorns, laden with cares
But he still arose a king crowned with roses and stars that never die
So I fall on my face in his courts and there offer through grace
Sincere praises from my spirit, a living sacrifice
In his kingdom, you'll find a tree with twelve different fruits
You'll find his many doves that eat from his hands
You'll find his worshippers empowered
Unraveling mysteries, dwelling in his secret place, enshrouded by his shadow
Frowning at the things unsaved men do first become
Just to end up at square one, unholy and loathsome
IV.
When men, like deer, drink water from his streams
When we dream and walk in other worlds
What do we make of the unending clips of life?
With all her coffers full of gold and her mines full of treasures
What do we make of all her knowledge unsearchable?
What becomes of things even we can not decipher?
How do we enter the gates our fleshes can not go through?
If all of life and these worlds were yours
What would you do that would be better than the source?