The wind blows across
empty cattle yards
and tailing mounds
from old copper mines,
across open spaces
that spread beyond
boundary fences
and the reach
of railway lines,
way out past
the rutted wakes left
by four wheel drives.
Only bones take root
out here and grow
into phantoms
who haunt the horizon,
finding voice in the moans
that wander the land
in search of lost
ancestral homes.
Something ancient
sleeps here
deep underground.
Coiled in a sacred womb
it waits for rebirth.
Beneath the quiet cathedrals
of vaulted nights
you can hear it breathe
through pore holes
rising up out
of the red earth.
Far away,
corralled inside coastal cities,
a nation grows deaf
on the din of its own noise.
Blinded by the dazzle
of unresting lights,
it floats the continent
dangling clots
of shallow roots.
Categories:
unresting, city, culture, earth, history,
Form: Free verse
It’s a tryingly featured world to be in,
In which every restless heart minds
Pleasant principal affairs of its own;
Where spurned soul no solace finds.
It’s an unresting space to occupy,
Where every stirring brain thinks
Of its own idiosyncratic concerns;
Where tired limbs totter on brinks.
It’s an interesting place to have share
In unique diaries of fellow sojourners,
Sparing oneself yet giving some part
To other mortals of diverse manners.
It’s a pretty striking existence to pass
Best seasons doing stuff you’ll leave,
And still feel okay despite knowledge
You’ll lose all fiscal efforts that peeve.
Categories:
unresting, conflict, crazy, emotions,
Form: Rhyme
Since gales do by Nature’s arm blow
In dizzying storms far from the shore,
So even choiceless boats must move,
As unyielding gusts so restless prove.
Not every motioning vessel afloat
High waters as ship or small boat
Chose to tease furious ocean tide,
Or test mild sharks' waspish pride.
Some swift sea-faring boats would
Anon stop if winds in unison stood,
And relish a sober long-wanted rest
From hard sails by another pressed.
The wavy sail isn’t necessarily sweet
Just because that fast-voyaging fleet
Seems to glide over bubbly bounds
In unwillingly smooth gleeful rounds.
Remember gusts by Nature’s arm roll;
And mortals' temporal boats must fall,
Or rise along sternly unyielding trails
Left by glum oceans' unresting gales.
Categories:
unresting, abortion, adventure, allusion, betrayal,
Form: Rhyme
The thought I found home in
was the silent voice
of my unresting soul
as it stretched its enchanted wings
at last
Categories:
unresting, imagination,
Form: I do not know?
Awakening from slumber it thrashes around,
that which was once, now completely unbound
It shouts at earth with an unsettled mind,
it bashes and smashes destruction entwined
The might of the wind, the cold and the rain,
together they tether to the roamless terrain
The wind that it calls brings a tear to the sky,
not the smartest of wings refuses to fly
A defeating gasp, it's point is not made
a fury above, a beast enslaved
Twirling and twisting young parentless leafs,
the darkness now blankets the fallen trees
It's voice just a whisper as it falls to it's knees,
the rain trickles through the sullen breeze
It's anger now spent as it tries to sleep
calm yet unresting, over the shadowy deep
No sources used.
21/12/2014
Categories:
unresting, analogy, anxiety, earth, nature,
Form: Rhyme
Jack the
Ripper,
He walks &
talks,
Like an
ordinary
person.
Is he a
psycho
murderer,
Or a serial
killer,
Maybe a
famous actor,
Or a police
constable.
He is
bloodlust
terror,
One who
possess skill
of invisibility,
Now he is
Legendary,
The renowed
london
bridge,
The place of
unravelling
horror,
An unknown
destiny
reached,
Or a mystery
of the Ripper?
Over a
century past,
From the first
victim to the
last,
The
speculation
goes on.
That his work
not done.
But where
does this
puzzle lead,
Of the many
of his
unresting
dead,
Still not a
trace of him
been found,
Only the
memory of
Jack the
Ripper
stills
haunts....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Categories:
unresting, mystery
Form: Epic
A butterfly's steady and respectful dance draws the eye,
The unnaturally slow beating of it's wings against the air,
Thick and heavy with stale and decaying ashes,
Air that would dry and choke the softest of lips,
The setting of the funeral shroud-black insect on a grave
A weathered and torn stone is it's mourning ground,
Aged and dominated by a sinister glowering skull,
Tall white angels of wax burn silently and sternly,
Standing around the stone, creating a softly glowing frame,
Breaking the darkness as a divine chorus of light
This is the only comfort to be found in this scene,
This grey shadow-drowned yard is an audience of souls,
Legions of the unresting that took eternal peace,
Transformed it into perpetual imprisonment,
And sentenced the spirit bound inside it's casket's walls
Benieth the veil of night,
This immortal trial is carried out,
No rest in the grave and no hope of release,
Just the inital moment of the soul's awakening,
And the realisation of death
-MXC
Categories:
unresting, death
Form: I do not know?