We wander and trip between the trees,
Lost in the silence of the breeze;
Walking within the valley of lies,
Right beneath their judging eyes.
The moon’s light guides the way,
Hidden within the shadow play;
Snow falls in sheets around us
As we follow our well-worn trust -
And as they wait for our final fall,
I wait for you to answer my call.
Steeper and steeper we still stumble
Over fallen branches of this jungle;
Every step is designed to stagger,
Yet you skip along with a swagger
Holding your hand to me in peace,
Your shining eyes failing to cease.
Slowly we move nearer the truth,
Hope building with aging youth;
Soon we come to an empty clearing,
The end to which you have been steering.
There we embrace for an endless age,
Writing the last lines of our page,
So yellow and torn from the past:
A fool was I to think it would last?
“Old romantics are dead and gone,”
You whisper like a sing-along,
“Where do you now go from here?”
You ask in a voice filled with fear.
And I reply hoping you will see,
“In this valley we are free.”
Your responding tear says more
Than any words you uttered before,
And all I am left with as you depart
Are snowy footprints we left at the start.
One-by-one, staring eyes leave
Content with seeing what they always believed -
An inevitable end to a shock romance
That began with a stroke of happy chance.
Blinded by faith and belief in love,
I always thought that would be enough.
Showing posts with label uneven syllables. Show all posts
Showing posts with label uneven syllables. Show all posts
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
All the Old Friends
Oh, there’s my old friend Karma,
A broken scene as the interest soared.
Cutting through pretension to grant an extension
To a time and place without record.
Oh, there’s my old friend Hope,
Temptation is truly the fabled sin.
Appeasing forever those with endeavour
So they always have reason to begin.
Oh, there’s my old friend Love,
Intervention of the well-worn friend.
Inhaling to choke on those flames you stoke
With shortened breath to comprehend.
Oh, there’s my old friend Silence,
Thickened walls offer no reprieve.
Yelling to pray while I watch as you sway
In a drunken attempt to deceive.
Oh, there’s my old friend Lies,
Trickling stream of an age-old river.
Sitting on your throne while the film is shown
As you wait for me to deliver.
Oh, there’s my old friend Logic,
Calculating prowess a point of assault.
Though you control parts of my soul
In you I can see no fault.
Oh, and there’s a new friend, Being,
Realisation cracks the white mask.
I open my eyes to reveal our guise
And find you already took me to task.
A broken scene as the interest soared.
Cutting through pretension to grant an extension
To a time and place without record.
Oh, there’s my old friend Hope,
Temptation is truly the fabled sin.
Appeasing forever those with endeavour
So they always have reason to begin.
Oh, there’s my old friend Love,
Intervention of the well-worn friend.
Inhaling to choke on those flames you stoke
With shortened breath to comprehend.
Oh, there’s my old friend Silence,
Thickened walls offer no reprieve.
Yelling to pray while I watch as you sway
In a drunken attempt to deceive.
Oh, there’s my old friend Lies,
Trickling stream of an age-old river.
Sitting on your throne while the film is shown
As you wait for me to deliver.
Oh, there’s my old friend Logic,
Calculating prowess a point of assault.
Though you control parts of my soul
In you I can see no fault.
Oh, and there’s a new friend, Being,
Realisation cracks the white mask.
I open my eyes to reveal our guise
And find you already took me to task.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Invincible
Arms outstretched in a victory as false as his pose;
deceit spins through the air but is lost in the
tranquillity of the sea and the absconding aromas,
elements and senses teasing him with their freedom.
And as he stands there in a seemingly painted
picture of glory unrivalled, voices whisper in his ears
that his only consistent character trait is inconsistency,
that he can scale as many hills, receive as many cuts,
earn as many scars and throw as many stones
as he pleases, but that he will never be invincible.
He stands on the opposite side of the cliff now,
overlooking the ocean glimmering like gold
beneath the basking rays of the sun, which hangs like
a flaming orb waiting to be blown out; a sign of the
impending climax to his tale of thoughtful inaction.
And friends regale him with tragic stories of time’s
continuous murdering streak, forever unpunished
because the accepted wisdom is the tick-tock of
all the clocks can never stop and that age - not even
a guarantee - will occur upon hearing too many clocks.
Yet sometimes it seems time takes an age to pass,
in those moments of unheralded brooding in the
newfound wilderness of well-worn pathways
holding keys to the isolation he craves daily and nightly.
And he knows he will lose all of what he breaths in now,
this unusual, unfamiliar feeling of serenity and oneness
with a world so willing to overindulge on gossip and
death and politics and scandal and all the trivialities
for which we should not have one minute to spare as life
spins on its axis, not invincible either as the poles shift.
(more thoughts from the day at the cliffs)
deceit spins through the air but is lost in the
tranquillity of the sea and the absconding aromas,
elements and senses teasing him with their freedom.
And as he stands there in a seemingly painted
picture of glory unrivalled, voices whisper in his ears
that his only consistent character trait is inconsistency,
that he can scale as many hills, receive as many cuts,
earn as many scars and throw as many stones
as he pleases, but that he will never be invincible.
He stands on the opposite side of the cliff now,
overlooking the ocean glimmering like gold
beneath the basking rays of the sun, which hangs like
a flaming orb waiting to be blown out; a sign of the
impending climax to his tale of thoughtful inaction.
And friends regale him with tragic stories of time’s
continuous murdering streak, forever unpunished
because the accepted wisdom is the tick-tock of
all the clocks can never stop and that age - not even
a guarantee - will occur upon hearing too many clocks.
Yet sometimes it seems time takes an age to pass,
in those moments of unheralded brooding in the
newfound wilderness of well-worn pathways
holding keys to the isolation he craves daily and nightly.
And he knows he will lose all of what he breaths in now,
this unusual, unfamiliar feeling of serenity and oneness
with a world so willing to overindulge on gossip and
death and politics and scandal and all the trivialities
for which we should not have one minute to spare as life
spins on its axis, not invincible either as the poles shift.
(more thoughts from the day at the cliffs)
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Unheard
They sway as they stand, messes unplanned,
spilling, barging, everyone else damned.
Creaking heels break, ground starts to shake,
they kiss and caress, the same old mistake.
Blinding lights awoken, sight’s line broken,
beating, screaming, words are spoken.
Lost within rhythms sacredly assured
are the cries of my disillusioned call.
The deepest words you ever heard
were the words you never heard at all.
Enforced conscription, war’s attrition,
shoulders, elbows, a clubber’s ammunition.
Scrapes the wretched claw, resentful awe,
groping and hoping, and then you saw.
Gripped by grip’s shock, away you walk,
door opens then closes, no chance to talk.
Lost within rhythms sacredly assured
are the cries of my disillusioned call.
The deepest words you ever heard
were the words you never heard at all.
Night’s end too true, thoughts of you,
fragments, pieces, form in the morning dew.
Misplaced memory, entrenched enemy,
dancing, deliberating, a flight to flee.
A phone’s ring, confirms the fling,
She recites, recalls, and starts to sing.
Lost within rhythms sacredly assured
are the cries of my disillusioned call.
The deepest words you ever heard
were the words you never heard at all.
spilling, barging, everyone else damned.
Creaking heels break, ground starts to shake,
they kiss and caress, the same old mistake.
Blinding lights awoken, sight’s line broken,
beating, screaming, words are spoken.
Lost within rhythms sacredly assured
are the cries of my disillusioned call.
The deepest words you ever heard
were the words you never heard at all.
Enforced conscription, war’s attrition,
shoulders, elbows, a clubber’s ammunition.
Scrapes the wretched claw, resentful awe,
groping and hoping, and then you saw.
Gripped by grip’s shock, away you walk,
door opens then closes, no chance to talk.
Lost within rhythms sacredly assured
are the cries of my disillusioned call.
The deepest words you ever heard
were the words you never heard at all.
Night’s end too true, thoughts of you,
fragments, pieces, form in the morning dew.
Misplaced memory, entrenched enemy,
dancing, deliberating, a flight to flee.
A phone’s ring, confirms the fling,
She recites, recalls, and starts to sing.
Lost within rhythms sacredly assured
are the cries of my disillusioned call.
The deepest words you ever heard
were the words you never heard at all.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Act
It’s all an elaborate act,
The pitch,
The body language,
The tone of voice,
The smile,
It’s all just a way of getting people
Interested enough to talk to you…
It is acting on a permanent scale,
There is no respite,
No time for rest,
The smile remains forever intact,
Always coaxing the unsure
Out of the safety of their shells
And into a place of impulse…
Only the eyes can’t act,
Any hint of worry or doubt
That creeps into your mind
Will seep its way through those clear windows,
Exposing itself to those you are talking to,
Infecting them with the same doubts and fears,
Ruining any chance of building bonds and trust…
This is an act far more advanced…
Then any seen on a stage or screen…
The world becomes your eternal stage…
The poker face becomes your eternal mask…
(you can thank my door-to-door selling experience for this terrible poem - however, while it's not the best poem ever written, it gets across what it was like faking a part of your personality and mood whilst trying to sell things to people on their doorstep, and it's an experience I'm glad I got).
The pitch,
The body language,
The tone of voice,
The smile,
It’s all just a way of getting people
Interested enough to talk to you…
It is acting on a permanent scale,
There is no respite,
No time for rest,
The smile remains forever intact,
Always coaxing the unsure
Out of the safety of their shells
And into a place of impulse…
Only the eyes can’t act,
Any hint of worry or doubt
That creeps into your mind
Will seep its way through those clear windows,
Exposing itself to those you are talking to,
Infecting them with the same doubts and fears,
Ruining any chance of building bonds and trust…
This is an act far more advanced…
Then any seen on a stage or screen…
The world becomes your eternal stage…
The poker face becomes your eternal mask…
(you can thank my door-to-door selling experience for this terrible poem - however, while it's not the best poem ever written, it gets across what it was like faking a part of your personality and mood whilst trying to sell things to people on their doorstep, and it's an experience I'm glad I got).
Friday, June 6, 2008
Frank
Life’s complications,
Its worrying omissions,
Its many dimensions
And worrying superstitions
Choke young Frank like water in a rising ship…
He constantly runs his hands through his hair,
Hoping that something not there
Will suddenly appear
And make everything fair
In a world that quite simply isn’t…
He lives in denial,
Ignoring life’s trials,
Hoping everything will be handed to him
In one large ‘life & coping’ file
That’ll provide the answers he just can’t find himself…
"Who am I really?
Where is my she?
How can I be set free
From the confines of reality?"
He wonders these things everyday in silence…
He wants to try and forget,
He wants to escape his regret,
But his life’s not over yet
And this always makes him fret,
Since he can’t escape the past, he wants the end…
No one knew he was capable
Of being so unstable,
His constant smile was a fable,
One which keeping up was a struggle,
He never understood his place…
"Why am I here?
Why my constant fear?
Why can’t I live with the cheer
That makes people hold me so dear?"
He never understood anything…
In the end, it all proved too much
For Frank to live in a world of fictitious love,
He had enough of living in a sea of lies,
He had enough of being deceived by eyes,
He went to a tower, looked down at the ground…
Upon hitting the bottom...
"My peace was found…"
(I include Frank because Frank is a person who doesn't like to be left out of things, no matter how big or small - also, the narrative interests me, even if it could be argued the varying syllable lengths of each line potentially upset the reader's flow).
Its worrying omissions,
Its many dimensions
And worrying superstitions
Choke young Frank like water in a rising ship…
He constantly runs his hands through his hair,
Hoping that something not there
Will suddenly appear
And make everything fair
In a world that quite simply isn’t…
He lives in denial,
Ignoring life’s trials,
Hoping everything will be handed to him
In one large ‘life & coping’ file
That’ll provide the answers he just can’t find himself…
"Who am I really?
Where is my she?
How can I be set free
From the confines of reality?"
He wonders these things everyday in silence…
He wants to try and forget,
He wants to escape his regret,
But his life’s not over yet
And this always makes him fret,
Since he can’t escape the past, he wants the end…
No one knew he was capable
Of being so unstable,
His constant smile was a fable,
One which keeping up was a struggle,
He never understood his place…
"Why am I here?
Why my constant fear?
Why can’t I live with the cheer
That makes people hold me so dear?"
He never understood anything…
In the end, it all proved too much
For Frank to live in a world of fictitious love,
He had enough of living in a sea of lies,
He had enough of being deceived by eyes,
He went to a tower, looked down at the ground…
Upon hitting the bottom...
"My peace was found…"
(I include Frank because Frank is a person who doesn't like to be left out of things, no matter how big or small - also, the narrative interests me, even if it could be argued the varying syllable lengths of each line potentially upset the reader's flow).
Thursday, April 17, 2008
A Bad Sensation
When it was done,
It happened too fast,
It all rushed by,
And quickly became the past,
Hearts were broken,
Too weak to last,
It hurt so much,
Pain with no contrast…
There was no explanation,
There was no justification,
Just trepidation,
Followed by a bad sensation…
So I’m alone again,
There was no gain,
It was love for love’s sake,
That quickly waned,
Leading to detestation,
And eternal pain,
It did not die,
It was slain…
There was no explanation,
There was no justification,
Just trepidation,
Followed by a bad sensation…
So now there’s nothing but silence,
Because you followed the cue,
You wanted to salvage something,
What else could you do?
There were knives on the table,
At least two,
You looked me in the eye,
And stuck me right through…
There was no explanation,
There was no justification,
Just trepidation,
Followed by a bad sensation…
Which led to mental infestation…
Followed by our ultimate destruction…
(more evidence of the Joy Division obsession that engulfed me around this period - if the end results had been in anyway as harrowing as Ian Curtis' I should've been either proud or worried).
It happened too fast,
It all rushed by,
And quickly became the past,
Hearts were broken,
Too weak to last,
It hurt so much,
Pain with no contrast…
There was no explanation,
There was no justification,
Just trepidation,
Followed by a bad sensation…
So I’m alone again,
There was no gain,
It was love for love’s sake,
That quickly waned,
Leading to detestation,
And eternal pain,
It did not die,
It was slain…
There was no explanation,
There was no justification,
Just trepidation,
Followed by a bad sensation…
So now there’s nothing but silence,
Because you followed the cue,
You wanted to salvage something,
What else could you do?
There were knives on the table,
At least two,
You looked me in the eye,
And stuck me right through…
There was no explanation,
There was no justification,
Just trepidation,
Followed by a bad sensation…
Which led to mental infestation…
Followed by our ultimate destruction…
(more evidence of the Joy Division obsession that engulfed me around this period - if the end results had been in anyway as harrowing as Ian Curtis' I should've been either proud or worried).
Monday, December 3, 2007
Diamonds & Gems
Those lights in your eyes,
Could brighten any dark sky,
They light the way,
Come what may,
Dark passages and caves,
Illuminate under your rays...
Those diamonds and gems...
People claim sunrise upon seeing them...
When matched with that smile,
You can be spotted from a million miles,
They shine so bright,
You never leave my sight,
From no one, can you ever hide,
So bright are those glorious lights...
Those diamonds and gems...
Wishes are made upon seeing them...
Those lights will shine forever,
They are too bright to ever say never,
They are like an everlasting fire,
Burning brightly, blinding liars,
Seeing them is like a dream,
Certainties suddenly aren't what they seem...
Those diamonds and gems...
Tears flow upon seeing them...
They shine like headlights in cars,
Maybe brighter, bright as the stars,
Smiles are raised wherever they go,
To places of misfortune, they give hope,
All frowns are turned upside down,
Those eyes are the jewels in life's crown...
Those diamonds and gems...
Hearts glow upon seeing them...
(whenever I read this back I'm convinced I was re-reading Emerald at the time of writing it 'cause it wreaks of Emerald wannabe, even though Diamonds & Gems is probably better in the sense that it has more fluidity).
Could brighten any dark sky,
They light the way,
Come what may,
Dark passages and caves,
Illuminate under your rays...
Those diamonds and gems...
People claim sunrise upon seeing them...
When matched with that smile,
You can be spotted from a million miles,
They shine so bright,
You never leave my sight,
From no one, can you ever hide,
So bright are those glorious lights...
Those diamonds and gems...
Wishes are made upon seeing them...
Those lights will shine forever,
They are too bright to ever say never,
They are like an everlasting fire,
Burning brightly, blinding liars,
Seeing them is like a dream,
Certainties suddenly aren't what they seem...
Those diamonds and gems...
Tears flow upon seeing them...
They shine like headlights in cars,
Maybe brighter, bright as the stars,
Smiles are raised wherever they go,
To places of misfortune, they give hope,
All frowns are turned upside down,
Those eyes are the jewels in life's crown...
Those diamonds and gems...
Hearts glow upon seeing them...
(whenever I read this back I'm convinced I was re-reading Emerald at the time of writing it 'cause it wreaks of Emerald wannabe, even though Diamonds & Gems is probably better in the sense that it has more fluidity).
Friday, August 24, 2007
Bright Nights
The disappearance at night of your wonderful bright light,
Doesn't stop your entrancing voice whispering to me during the night...
During those dark times my hearts calls out to you,
Even then, I see that magical smile belonging to you...
It's not the dusty bed sheets that I smell when lying there,
What I smell is the scent of you and of your luxurious brown hair...
Even when I hug my pillow so tight to me,
I imagine it's you squeezing me just as tightly...
So when I wake up hoping to see your beautiful face,
I'm always sad to find only a pillow in it's place...
I hope one day that it will be you who is lying next to me,
Then my nights will be just like days, shining just as brightly...
(Bright Nights stands for two things - the first sign of change in my style of writing, and as an example of my supreme naivety upon entering college).
Doesn't stop your entrancing voice whispering to me during the night...
During those dark times my hearts calls out to you,
Even then, I see that magical smile belonging to you...
It's not the dusty bed sheets that I smell when lying there,
What I smell is the scent of you and of your luxurious brown hair...
Even when I hug my pillow so tight to me,
I imagine it's you squeezing me just as tightly...
So when I wake up hoping to see your beautiful face,
I'm always sad to find only a pillow in it's place...
I hope one day that it will be you who is lying next to me,
Then my nights will be just like days, shining just as brightly...
(Bright Nights stands for two things - the first sign of change in my style of writing, and as an example of my supreme naivety upon entering college).
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