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Best Poems Written by Kyrill Sazonov

Below are the all-time best Kyrill Sazonov poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Black Hole

I was the center of attention.
A bright prodigy,
born from a cosmic cradle,
collapsed under the gaze
of a million demanding stars.
dreams and expectations crushed
by bending their rules of nature. 
Now it all revolves around me, 
not them, us, nor you,
only I in singularity.

Details | Kyrill Sazonov Poem

Mourning Glory

As light breaks through mountain ridges
It touches upon pastures and cobblestone bridges
On top of the summit, tall it’d tower
a small and reclusive edelweiss flower

With kin of his own, for those were with the trees below
He was accompanied solely by the light, wind and snow
The light didn’t engage in conversation and was rather taciturn
Save it for a morning greeting, and his moonlit return

The snow would often mutter and grind,
But unlike the trees would think, he was warm and kind
The most loquacious of them all, was without a doubt the wind
She told stories so wild, edelweiss couldn’t have ever imagined

Thus their lives were composed of tranquility and bliss
Until one day however, something was quite amiss
the snow croaked to the wind, to which she did not take heart
Enraged, she stormed so strong it could sunder even the trees below apart

In response the snow started to rumble and tear 
His avalanche dragging edelweiss down, in a fit of despair
After the wind bore witness to the passing of her friend 
Tears of bitter grief would violently descend

High in the mountains, where the wind still howls out in search 
Dear trees, have you perhaps seen my beloved flower, and what of the snow?
I think edelweiss got lost in that fateful storm, replies a birch
regarding your other friend, spoke the oak, was drowned in your sorrow.

The wind could not help but continue to grieve
But thankfully the light was there to console and relieve 
As the light pierced through her clouds on mountain ridges,
Upon those now distant pastures and cobblestone bridges.

Details | Kyrill Sazonov Poem

Wanderlust

Remind me of the sea that kisses the coast of Algiers
Where the tides are soft and the winds all but fierce
In that country past the strait of Gibraltar
Where the trip to Casablanca didn’t halt her

Taking a plane past the eye of the Mediterranean Sea
To the cheek of the Atlas Mountains in Jbel Ayachi
Tell me again, what you called the world’s left brow,
I believe it was either Kiev, or the city of Moscow

You journeyed on to the scarred eye of the Aral Sea
Where only sand was left to remind you of former glory.
Greeted eastward by the buildings of Ashgabat.
Which had a shade of white quite akin to that of Masqat.

There in Florence, where we visited the Sistine 
Telling me you would soon be leaving for Argentine
Abruptly you went from the Chilean hills of Santiago
To concrete spires of New York and Chicago

Was it there that you heard an oriental song?
A melody you chased all the way to Hong Kong?
Though I might’ve confused myself with Singapore.
I’m quite certain it was either that, or Kuala Lumpur.

Fondly I think of our first kiss in the vineyards of Roubaix
Reminiscing me how strongly I miss your warm embrace
Making me hope that you’ll snap free of your peregrine
For I will patiently wait for you at gates of Berlin.

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Psychotherapy

Dear Patient, Welcome to the asylum of your mind.
Let’s get rid of the boundaries to which you’re confined.
Let’s sit down and discuss your medical record: 
Schizophrenic disorders, Anxiety, hemorrhages,
all documented in one-hundred-and-forty-nine pages.
There are some treatments we haven’t explored.
 
Do you feel like you’re in constant company?
People told me about your constant soliloquy.
A feeling that someone’s around you, spectating?
The voices: are they advising or debating?
Is it more like a monologue or is it a dialogue?
To who is it that you constantly talk?
 
Son, Why won’t you leave the dead behind?
Within the asylum of your mind?

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King of the Hill

He sits on a throne;
a green and mounded hill.
a velvety yellow crown
on a cat without teeth.
Waves are gently blown
on a carpet of grass,
in the palace of nature.
as if a royal envoy
brings forth a message:
"summer has come,
king Dandelion."

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Time Will Tell

Time will tell, just gently listen,
to the sound of gears and sprockets
conveying a concept quite complex.
ask it a question and watch the position,
of the needle telling you what you want to know,
as an unstoppable force compels it to do so.
You cannot make it go faster, nor can you stall;
The clock house’s burden that befalls us all.
When the orchestra of chimes combine,
commanding suns to dusk and fates to intertwine,	
the pendulums sway starts to slowly decline.
succumbing to the weight of everlasting time,
The logic of the herald of order will fade away,
telling us lies, but the truth at least twice a day.

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Game of Fate

Every week a card is played,
four suits as seasons tell;
seers seeking signs and omens
for soldiers gambling their lives.
Summer hearts bleed for a king’s ideology,
red queens of winter and blood diamonds. 
Spring spades digging trenches and graves of war
for infantry boys, bearing 
black clubs, lances and rifles as they fall.
causality cuts lines in fate, 
making kings and commoners equal
in the games of war they partake;
All play with the hand they’re dealt,
only some see the deck shuffled again.

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The Sound of History

I turn on a relic from an age gone by.
A record squeaks and slowly starts to whirl,
taking me back to an era long past.

The room fills up with strings and brass;
a sound of history, starting off audaciously and bold.
It dwells off, turning timid with a flirt of flair.

A rhythm that shared unique similarities,
making me surmise I put on a broken record,
which cordially invited me to a passionate waltz;

A ballroom with dresses woven by silken emotions.
decorated ceilings and aquarelles painted with sentiments 
of the gone times of gallantry and masquerades.

No room for stoic expressions, only archaic facades,
which slowly fade away as the music dies,
making the phantoms of history return to their graves.

Details | Kyrill Sazonov Poem

Sinful Sonnet

Courtesans and concubines
pristine ladies on neon signs
performing with pink panache
indulging in pleasures of the flesh
a rose-scented soft temptation
invoking desires and infatuation
crimson lights and skin like satin
inviting to a realm of forbidden passion
where sirens and succubae 
sing songs that satisfy
docile demons and superficial saints
peculiar clients with specific tastes
no judgements in our den of delights
only leisure and unforgettable nights