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Best Poems Written by Chris Marchesano

Below are the all-time best Chris Marchesano poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Boy Made Out of Soil & Blood

A boy made of soot and soil,
blood of fire, temperament at boil,

His dreams and wants lie ahead,
Prepared with fortune, crowned on his head,
His tales of toil, belie the truth
He writes, reads like the book of Revelations,

But grasped within lies his pen,
Commandeered from above, divinely sent,
Within this tool, the offer of life,
Repeatedly rejected, he blindly fights,

Instead he authors personal demise,
Seeking his 'death rattle',
Subduing natural rights,

What he weaves, is what he sees,
Warped and molded, life seethes,
of disingenuous problems, sloth, lust,
He relishes it all, he is forced to be,
The boy made of soil and blood,

Heated through jealousy, ignorance he claims,
The misery he bestows transcends the game,
But at the end of the pen birthing history and fate
Lies fingers made of earth, nails of slate,

His wishes of helplessness are refused to be heard,
The boy who writes, sits at the top of the world.

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Of Purely Personal Interest

Held within these hallowed bones, a tempest
Surging in the complicity of night
Dreams and thoughts solidified cease to rest
Sealed fate and ardor no longer hold right

But what force havocs through the human form
Rallying support, red-handed, inflamed
Bloodied and raged it beckons  the storm
Searching my want it liberates and maims

Ceasing the nihilism once alit inside
Splinters and fragments partner, I awake
Aware that being lost is proof of life
Resolve, once muted, no longer at stake

For now, I lie, held within my own war
Awed and breathless, I await whats in store.

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Mistress

I become young and old,
A thousand dreams, emotions, memories reproduced,
Catatonic submission induced,

Within those walls, time, space,
The reproduction of life evoked,
Out of illusion, poetry is birthed,
Realism painted, restrained longing heard,

Underneath it all brutishness awaits,
Shared journeys interrupted,
The air, the light, the world awakes,

But for a short time, the darkness sheaths my soul.
That resides within the space between me and reality,
It has made my young and old.

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Untitled

Past this tree giving life,
Lies the epic war fought in strife,
Bitter lovers now estranged,
Grapple and wrestle, each in vain,

But for the fools who come afar,
Seeking light in the hue of dark,
Eternity awaits, but only for those,
Whose dreams are grasped, ever so bold,

But their wishes lie in wait,
Forever steeped in the futility of fate,
Their dreams misspent,
Their yearnings untrue,
Blinded by the condition humanity construes,

For we who seek divine eternity,
We must be looked upon with the utmost pity,
Essence is nothing in this endless toil,
Two lovers estranged, grapple in mortal coil.