.

Even the start will fizzle out

As realities chisel out

Our unique way to weasel out…

.

  Hour 2.

.

Although he doesn’t once flinch and stands upright,

Of wondrous brilliance he must feel fright

Surely before this incredible shower

And though he might not for a second cower

Emanating from this incredible sight

Must surely recognize the power

The most grounded and blasé fellow

Even the coldest and most distant,

Taking away all known constant

Everything is nothing, bright and mellow

Explodes the world, in an instant

In blues and greens and reds and yellow

Something so very raw, so very real, so very sheer,

That feeling growing in his chest, so queer,

Even the common man is able to tell

Resound the muffled cries of the old bell

Inaudible by those who can hear

In a cry of a hundred million decibel

…

In a cry of a hundred million decibel

Inaudible by those who can hear

Resound the muffled cries of the old bell

Even the common man is able to tell

That feeling growing in his chest, so queer,

Something so very raw, so very real, so very sheer,

In blues and greens and reds and yellow

Explodes the world, in an instant

Everything is nothing, bright and mellow

Taking away all known constant

Even the coldest and most distant,

The most grounded and blasé fellow

Must surely recognize the power

Emanating from this incredible sight

And though he might not for a second cower

Surely before this incredible shower

Of wondrous brilliance he must feel fright

Although he doesn’t once flinch and stands upright,

.

 Hour 1.

.

Just so you know:

I do not.

For time has passed,

All you taught

Me has vanished

Into dust

And I will not

Remember

What it was like

To feel trust,

I will not fan

The ember

Of this dying

Memory,

Let it crumble,

Let me run

From all this pain,

Bravery

Is not my strength,

It’s no fun,

Oh please let me

Surrender,

This is my loss,

Past splendor

Can fade away

I regret

Nothing of this,

Never threat

Will change my mind,

I have met

My fulfilled self,

I have set

These eyes on me

And never shall

Anymore,

Go, take my mind,

Break my corps

But I cannot

Bend the knee…

.

Here.

.

As you begin, only nothing

Into a pillar of something,

But bit by bit, oh everyday,

You are to steal the dust away

.

Here, less and less means more and more,

Lighter stone means heavier heart,

As you dig out the purest core

What is broken leads to the start,

.

There is beauty in destruction

Which is sublimed by your action;

A carver’s work is peculiar

.

For the greatest pieces of art

Are made from bits you take apart

As if the truth made you liar.

.

Not entirely sure I’m completely satisfied with this poem, it still feel like rough piece of stone. I may have to carve it some more yet.

–

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXreKP-T5M0

.

Upon the cliffs of Evermore

Under the sky and the lone cloud

Rests a dragon, old and weary,

– Aged he may be but ever proud –

Feasting upon wild blackberry,

To those who wish to ask but bore

Him he reserves a simple choice

Give him a word or keep your voice;

Many regret what they have told

Tongue is silver but silence gold.

.

Another poem written in the workshop, based on set words and the fact we had to add in a popular saying. Simple but I like what I’ve done with it in such a short time. Enjoy.

.

I walk a steady and long pace

While you prefer to slowly trace

The small alley, the tall building

Thus I end up often biding…

.

A short poem prompted during creative writing class today. It was supposed to be about a trait/a habit that unnerves us in an other person we know or knew. This is what came to mind…

.

She dances, though not for them,

Gracefully and skillfully,

And from this such great strengths stem,

A forged softness, painfully,

She dances not for others,

Oh the sake is purely hers,

For the simple joy of life

Endlessly she turns and twirls,

Faithfully she jumps in whirls,

All is shared with her soul wife,

The bright smiles and the loud laughs,

The sad frowns and tearful weeps,

The blisters and the small coughs,

The failures in boundless heaps,

Sometimes she runs and she shouts

When there simply are no outs,

When her groans are desperate calls,

When she stumbles and she falls,

Oh the eyes are not the worst,

She has long learned to close hers,

No the pain comes from the first

Still too far from her fingers,

Yet she cannot remain still,

She can never have her fill,

The passion is in her veins

And the steps break all the chains,

They may throw poisonous stings,

They may whisper in the dark,

They may mock her for her lack,

But an angel’s broken wings

Need only a single spark

To ever keep growing back.

.

What a feeling! ♪

.

When night is dark and full of terrors

When you are alone with your errors

When all will and strength have long vanished

And you are all but tired and famished

Broken into a million pieces

Ended by a somber world of pain

And pressure that always increases

When you missed the passage of the train

And must walk alone a thousand miles

Then your salvation becomes those smiles

No matter who they are or must be

Of the world-bush, they are the berry.

.

Probably a bit too short, rough and incomprehensible but heartfelt. At the image of the muse.

.

A silent stroll on plains of sand

Alone with the wind and the clouds

As the mind explores newfound land

And the soul bleeds away from crowds,

A moment lying on the sheets

Beautiful music playing loud

As avatars accomplish feats

That make hearts swell and spirits proud,

In a chapel of empty seats

Only the faith keeps up the shroud

And to a world of flat-out cheats

Nothing matters but those who bowed,

At night under the far dreamland

One reaps what the sunlight has sowed

And in those moments feels the hand

To which their own being is vowed.

.

Sometimes it is important to be a wanderer above the sea of fog.