Tag: My Poetry (Page 1 of 2)

In the twilight of the days, in the evening of the year, as inebriated fools hail the fading sun and curse the coming darkness, I whisper into the cooling winds, my words wandering across the earth. The earth comes to rest for another cycle, as the colors flee before my cold. I am approaching on whirling clouds of grey and gloom, quickly gathering into the storms ahead. Darkness looms above, as shadows grow below, nothing escaping the darkness that comes upon the land like a mad torrent of unforgiving anguish.

My cold chills to the bone any caught outdoors. I blast forth from the depths of men’s fears, swallowing up the bright summer days and the colors of the fall, washing all life of its warmth and painting the world in white. Men cower indoors, huddled about together before fires, trying to stave off my chill, trying to bear my wrath for another season, shivering through the long nights and longer storms as I vent my cold fury upon all who would dare to venture forth amid my sovereignty .

Behold, mere mortals, the rancor of my reign! Curse your curses upon my head if you will, offer me supplication from your scant stores, wail into the howling darkness your entreaties for forgiveness, but you will know no mercy. I am King Winter, and you will taste my death, trapped in the darkness of my grasp. Struggle and flee, my chill gales will pursue you, will gnaw at you, will bring you down into numb submission, and will tear the last warmth of life from your frozen bones.

Only when the land is dead, and the chill has sunk into the rocks and dirt will I depart once more. Only when I have had my fill of your misery, only when I have scoured the leaves and chased the joy from all who survived my vengeance, Only then will spring come to know the land. Only then will men emerge and whisper of my cruelty. Only then will men and beast return to the land. Only then will they once more claim lordship upon the world and build and breed. Only when my menace is a memory will they farm and flourish. But men and beast alike would do well to remember that seasons come and seasons go, and seasons pass and seasons grow. Tarry not long upon the land, for in the autumn of the year I bide my time, and once more the dark clouds grow upon the skies above and once more my words wander forth, heralds to be headed, to be feared, to be dreaded. Signs and portents of the fall of light and warmth should be heeded, for once more I will know my glory and life will know what cruel consequence cold can carry.

Two steps to the left, another to the right,
Twist and turn, spin and dance,
Jerk and shake, twirl and slide,
You are trapped in the trance.

A little of this, a little of that,
Too much to do, too many to meet,
Smile and shake, laugh and chat,
They stand in line to greet.

You want to do it all, every bit,
Experience the world all at once
In a second yet still enjoy each part.

Perchance to taste, perhaps to take,
A chance to create, to contribute,
To mark your mark, to live a dream.
Nothing can stop you today.

I want to see you naked in the first light of a newborn star.
I want to see you fully clothed in the fading light of day.
Dreams born, dreams worn, dreams shorn and forlorn.
I want, I need, I wish, my greed, my lust must feed.
Nothing matters, except everything that matters.
Nothing matters, except everything love shatters.

What is must be, what is has been, what was will be.
Scream into the heavens, they will not hear.
Cry into the abyss, there is nothing there.
I grasp, you cry, you persevere, we die.
Memories. Memories over mementos.
Memories made, memories matched, memories memorialized with life, memories lost.
Memories over moments.

A madness of words and emotions, never enough, never ever enough.
A madness of reason and reaction. Motions of melancholy and memory.
Fear, trepidation, a new life, an old life, a short life, a new life.

There is nothing certain, there are no tomorrows.
Today is a day like any other day, it is.
What is done in this day is yet to be defined.
Let’s define it a good day.

There was a home once. It was filled with people, and life, and joy. Once. The people left. Now it is a house.
There was a house once. It kept the world at bay. It was safe, it was secure, it was sound. The windows were broken. Now it is a cave.
There was a cave once. Its walls were made of wood. The wind and rain and bugs and birds wore it down to dust. Now it is no more.

Within the garden of my mind,
There are many trees you’ll find.
Some bear fruit, and some do not.
Those that don’t die and rot,
And are replaced by those that do,
So those that don’t are far and few.

And even those that do not bear,
Even these trees do their share,
For in their mighty boughs up high,
There are myriad lives you’ll spy.

Darting about, fast and fleet,
Tiny hands and tiny feet,
Dancing just out of sight,
Stealing dreams for spite,
Little lives, little thieves,
Slipping fruit up their sleeves.

In the garden of my mind,
Fruits of fancy flourish,
ripen, and fall, baskets fill,
Until I discard my very will.

But the little men of the trees,
Laugh and dance amongst the leaves,
Tipping baskets, Picking fruits,
Shaking trees, uncovering roots.
So much fruit is lost this way,
But the little men continue play.

Again fancy frolics forth,
Freeing fortified finites,
Breezily blowing baser ideals,
Into the garden’s heights.

There, clouds of dreams foment and foam,
Pouring torrents of terror into the trees,
Giving fright to the little men,
Frightened fancy turns and flees.

In the nightmare of the storm,
Fear and doubt now take form,
Fruit is smashed and trees are torn,
Baskets and little men alike forlorn.
All about is laid to ill,
Until the storm spends its will.

And the little flowers of imagination,
Broken at the stem,
Laced in a garland,
And thrown away on a whim.

Storms arise and storms dispel,
Some trees stand and others fell,
And in their place new trees arise,
A dozen sprout for each that dies.

Within the garden of my mind,
There are many trees you’ll find.
Some are old and some are new,
Some are dead and some are true.
But old dead trees come to ground,
And rot away till naught is found.