Details |
Night Prophet Poem
"Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink" - Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
An everlasting pool. A pool of memories.
Like picking a grape off a vineyard, you choose one to remember.
Then you put it back. No trace of taking it, except your own conscience.
Some sweet and beautiful, some ugly and unpleasant, but nevertheless there.
With age the pool shrinks - the unnatural event of nature itself.
But at the very depth, a layer of feelings remains.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
The outside world waiting,
Full of sublime buildings and parks,
As she sits upon the dusty sheets of the bed,
Eyes bloodshot and hurting,
Stomach rumbling,
Nights spent wide awake,
Days spent within the confines of a small room.
Her mind has a grip on every part of her,
Until its claws make her bleed,
Until she is forced to face her past yet again.
Sadistic, masochistic, pessimistic,
It kills every moment of true joy,
Because how can such a moment be real?
How can it be real when there is
This and that and another this,
To worry about,
To cry about.
This spring comes not with blossoming trees
And the warmth of the sunshine upon one's skin,
But with the ability to understand
The manipulative ways of her mind.
The darkness has become so banal, so cliché,
That she can only laugh about it.
Every single laugh is a victory
For her barbaric mind.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
Tired of sleeping,
Hiding away in the warmth of the blanket,
Thinking of nothing but you,
Listening to the songs you loved,
Hoping I could hear just one word from your lips,
Put my hands on your face,
Kiss you as we say goodnight,
Take long walks on brisk mornings,
Drink coffee by the window,
Laughing about the things that excite us,
Smoke from cigarettes curling above our heads,
Standing side by side,
In love.
It all seems empty.
Emptiness which you left behind,
When you left without a word,
Finding someone else,
Repeating this routine with her,
While I try to replace you,
And find it more and more torturous with each day,
Surrendering to my fantasies,
Which is all that I have left.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2017
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
Little bright cheeked girl,
With long, sombre braids in a navy wool skirt,
Dreamed of Paris,
Sitting on a wooden stool,
Sipping hot lemon water,
Slipping away in a Soviet land.
Years brought inspiration, aspiration, liberation,
And with this one fine day,
In blossoming, plum coloured May,
Fate introduced itself in the shape of a man.
Never did his eyes wander away from hers,
Inciting a pleasant skip in the beating of her hopeful heart.
Words exchanged and suddenly there it was,
A confession he lives in the very core of her dream.
Soon she was there,
Finally alive in the boulevards, soaking up the Parisian air.
The mesmerising beauty of the same idea;
The houses all the same, all equal,
Executed so marvellously in cream coloured stone,
Glowing in the saccharine sunshine of the day.
The cafés where all her childhood idols spent their lives,
Art greeting a person every step of the way.
At night he was by her side,
As they indulged in red wine in the stuffy attic,
Laughing away as she sang a lullaby.
Fate gave her that, just for a while.
Then took it away to be reasonable,
Shielding her from the intoxication of this opulence,
To encourage her to remember this fondly,
So that one day she would return for more.
1st of May 2015
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
For years I have been only pieces
Of who I was before.
Running away from the past,
Which I return to in the still of night.
Cannot help looking back,
When the present is only whispers,
Of what I used to have.
Imagining you here by my side,
Forgetting this time without you.
You hold the best of me in chains
From far away,
As I slowly crumble to ash.
Robbed of my dignity, my vivacity,
This world easily traps me in misery.
With each day as a reminder
That I should not love you,
But that I do.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
Look to the outside, look within,
The penciling trees, the straw of the sun,
Skin white as milk, cheeks turn to cherries,
The gaze falls deeper within.
No more shall this stranger taunt me,
Its eyes glistening with the deep bordeaux of blood,
In which moment the heart begins to bleed,
Consciousness lost in the reflection of another.
Its palms gently caress its cheeks,
Mirroring my every move, my every breath,
A sheeny droplet passes down its complexion,
Yet I feel the sadness bound in my heart.
And still it stares, trapped before me,
Hands gripping the nearby porcelain vase,
Eyes lustrous, almost mad,
It sends the delicate prop against the cold surface.
Crimson, scarlet streams descend gently,
It still stares - bewildered and dazed,
Both our hands seen only through thick brooks of ruby,
And a smile appears.
Hello stranger,
The soul within remains unchanged,
Our gaze saunters and with a final glance of approval,
I turn and gait forth, sensing no more the bothering embodiment.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
Stainless steel makes stainless hearts.
They then make us suffer,
For no one can see the pain inside.
This makes the villains, the joyful devils.
Through them we learn kindness and mercy,
The qualities of life and existence.
Without them we would stay still -
Alone and empty.
They bring us life and love.
Sometimes, through our own fault,
We lose it.
Then life takes charge and we renew ourselves.
Forever more we live, forever more we love.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2010
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
There is a method in your madness,
A vain and venal nature,
You possess and masquerade.
I wish you were a mere memory,
Not the vast, vertigo inducing
Sentiment, which mesmerizes me,
Which murders me.
Monsters, both of us, darling,
Vulnerable and villainous,
Muddling each other's feelings, thoughts.
What my mawkish heart could not bear,
Was your vice,
The way you misled me,
Matching the pain others had inflicted.
Marred by this,
I have lost my vivacity,
Vitiated by your change of mind.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
I rush and tumble, falling forth, falling in depths,
Accompanied by the bursting tune of melodies long forgotten.
Alas invisible I creep behind each desirable and place my touch,
I lull or fulminate them into themselves.
Dressed with feathers, pearls and ivory,
I conceal the fire beneath.
To remain invisible,
Is what is required of me.
Mountains, plains of yellow wheat,
Blue jays in trees,
And finesse red wine,
Compose what I deem my transcendence.
My knowing gaze has noticed all,
Every nuance, every mind altering passion.
I’ve wiped away the distressing tears of my own fault.
I’ve nurtured the lost lives of those succumbed to me.
For I am it; the great despised, the great adored.
Ceases only my touch, but beneath,
The charcoal rocks and pools of grey tears,
Their created idyll remains.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Night Prophet Poem
Shredded rays of honey light,
Chirping melody of petite creatures,
The ambiance filled with rosy cherries,
The day aglow with pleasant memories.
Each year it races in my heart,
Amongst the notions of the past and future soon to come.
I read the scented ancient books and speak the words of wisdom,
And yet the years pass slowly by gifting wisdom stingily.
A swirl of champagne bubbles and melting chocolate cake,
The icing grows thicker with each coming year.
I hear the smile,
I see the laughter,
A day for exultation and selflessness,
My hearts strings thrill with promising escapades.
Night approaches, the sun stirs aflame,
I sit in the cornflower blue chair and gather what I have left.
Memories drift and stir,
A charming day and a sense of another year conquered.
By Martina Adovica.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2012
|