Visitor Board

Feb 27, 2012

Happy Birthday SB :)

I saw the soaring eagles
In her somber, subdued eyes
Because she spun clothes with strings of faith
Even when she was surrounded by lies.

I saw the murky depths
Of the darkness in her heart;
Even though her smile was bright,
Their artificial nature pierced one like a dart.

I saw the golden glow in her raven mane
A halo visible to those who watched closely
Because she'd leave beauteous happiness
On those who would tend to walk morosely.

I heard the melody in her words,
A ballad of balmy characteristic,
She has a habit of giving you security
When you're tortured by worries mystic.

Your words to me preserved in a diary
I'll keep forever locked in my mind
So when the need arises for me to my wipe pathetic tears,
Comfort will I in your words find.

Congrats on becoming official legal, Sue! I'll never forget how much you've helped me, and all of the crazy conversations we've ever had! 

Feb 25, 2012

Why Do All Good Things Come to an End?

Young to old,
Cherished to sold,
Logs of wood to fire,
Satisfaction to desire,
Lovers to friends,
New beginnings to new ends,
Happiness to sorrow,
Today to tomorrow.

This endless loop, this shattering blow,
This fluorescent desire that seems to glow;
This urge for happiness, crushed with passion
Brutally demolished in such a cruel fashion
Your eyes are open to this decrepit sight;
You can't win against it, not even can you fight.

Plagued by laughter, by the nuances of friendship
By the thought of those you were joint to by hip,
By the grass green and the sun pale yellow,
By the cool mountain wind that carries your bellow,
By cherished memories that fade to grey
By opportunities that walk away.

A sitting duck --- in limbo, stuck,
Running out of veritable luck,
Holding back tears that threaten to descend,
For all good things will come to an end.

Feb 18, 2012

Temptation's Hand.

Through these windowpanes
That I never noticed were so caked in grime,
The outlines of rough images become defined,
Blurriness settling into an ethereal design.
Curtains of shadows flit past
And freeze fluidly in a shape, magnified, tall--
That looks eerily like a beckoning finger.
I turn my eyes away and stare at the wall.
But dust are these perilous pretensions,
That blind my sight when those beckoning shadows appear;
There are moments of piercing clarity
When illusions begin to disappear.

A beckoning finger,
A Siren's hypnotic voice.
Urging me to leave behind responsibilities,
And to turn a deaf ear to the presence of a choice.
A beckoning finger,
Evoking memories of a free world,
Grass as green as emeralds, sky a cerulean blue,
A white flag of freedom, fluttering in the wind, unfurled.

It whispers promises of quenched desires
In the murky depths of sleepless nights.
"Succumb to me," that voice murmurs,
"Fall from your climb to un-scaled heights"

And when that voice disappears, and the shadows at night,
And the mind submits to the grave concentration of life,
Though your climb to commendable heights is almost complete,
But for the last step: a steep hike in the midst of wildlife;
Determination divine, breath strong despite your struggle,
The beckoning finger returns, cutting through it with a knife.


Please tell me if you get the connection between the picture and the poem :)

Feb 7, 2012

Masochistic Tendencies

You can spitefully holler my name
And expect me to kneel at your feet,
You can thrust a silver dagger through my heart,
And I wouldn't mind it, it's true.
You could burn me
But I'd still smile lovingly.
You could hurt me,
But I'd still stare at you singly.

Wretched, cruel, twist in nature
Where there should be burning, red-hot rage
There is the soft, fairy quality
Of love, deep rooted in the book of my life, every page.
You could use me like a miserly tissue
Crumple me and spit on me,
But these silly, stupid masochistic tendencies
Will never become a burgeoning issue.

Feb 6, 2012

Oh, Look. Utopia.

The visions I see, the visions I feel,
Why must they be tinged with fantasy,
And leave me reckless?

They leave me helpless,
A newborn calf standing on her toothpick legs.
Why must I have to taste the flavourless dregs?

Those daydreams take away from me
All semblance of reality
I wake up to a utopia so doctored.

Though behind my eyes, I see a perfect world
In reality, it's laced with famine and disease,
More holes than Swiss cheese.

But in the mountains where the buttery sunlight reigns,
In the sorrowful heart which happiness feigns,
Amidst a field of tulips,
Red, yellow and blue;

In the holy water that runs through rivers deep,
In the fertile soil within which the aromatic rain seeps,
In the eyes of a winner,
Eyes hazel and true...

I pleasure in such a fantasy;
But when faced with such happiness in reality,
Enriched with the belief
I have found utopia.
Under our feet.

Feb 3, 2012

Pulling at the Heartstrings

Rotating the rusted knobs,
Flicking the string,
Five more left to put in.
Five more left until she is human.
Strings are gently knotted, and harshly pulled to the end,
Where she lovingly secures them.
Lovingly, for they have never experienced such gentleness.

One breaks. A flinch drowns her face,
A tear breaks the guarded defense her eye. 
The ghost of the pain
Is too much of a phantom to efface.

The strings,
Were so abused in her body; Before,
When they were in her heart,
They were played, until she was aching and sore.
When they were in her heart,
Her soul suffered so deep an injury,
They snapped, healed, and became bruised.
And she couldn't muster the energy
To tend to them.

Now they are stretched taut on her instrument,
She never had so much control of them as she does now---
Testing, a gentle pulling of a string,
And the air is filled with the sweet sound of shock---
The shrill pitch of euphoria,
Then the bass of sorrow and depression,
The melodious twang of freedom
And the underlying notes of indescribable happiness.

The house was so quiet before,
Mrs Higgins from next door thinks.
It used to be filled with screams of agony.
And now, the windows are tickled pink with beautiful music.
She is tugging at them. At her own heartstrings,
Giving them the love they were denied all along,
Expressing their identity,
Because inside her heart, they were abused and oblong.


Template by:
Free Blog Templates