Eternal

The tender bud of hope eternal blooms,
reopening its wonder to our eyes.
The loss of hope occurs when one assumes
the blossom is a bramble in disguise.

Hope can spring eternally, it's true,
but nourishment, essential to its term,
must quickly be applied or hope's debut
will wither like an apple with a worm.

True love is the eternal hope of man.
therein he places all his life in trust,
and if you question why he thinks he can
the answer is, of course, because he must.

So we may fear we've lost a love we need
yet trust that there will be another seed.


or

The tender bud of hope eternal blooms,

reopening its wonder to our eyes.

The loss of hope occurs when one assumes

the blossom is a bramble in disguise.

Hope can spring eternally, it's true,

but nourishment, essential to its term,

must quickly be applied or hope's debut

will wither like an apple with a worm.

True love is the eternal hope of man.

for this he'll place his heart and soul in trust,

and if you question why he thinks he can

the answer is, of course, because he must.

Thus we may fear we'll lose a love we need

yet trust that there will be another seed.

A Good Egg

It happened in the kitchen, out in back
I'm sure you've heard this tragic tale before.
His life was ordered, nestled in a rack
until a footman dropped him to the floor.

A piece of broken shell lay near a chair;
a remnant of a meal that might have been.
and scrambled hopes were scattered everywhere,
yet Humpty tried, in vain, to rise again.

And all the horses, all the ruler's men,
the servants of an apathetic king,
dispite the story that's been heard since then,
just stood around and didn't do a thing.

Hump's widow's not the only one who cried
A carton, yes an even dozen, died.




« Last Edit: Sep 1st, 2002, 1:49am by Sailor »

Quirky

I write a bit of poetry
at times it's rather dark.
But mostly it's just fantasy
produced as just a lark...

inspired by drinking raw tequila
shots and getting quirky
while dining at the finest
restaurant in Albuquerque.



Sadie's .. 4th street, Albuquerque, NM.

Reality Forgot

On winds of sleep in pillow ships

we sail beyond the mind,

to leagues outside the world awake,

impossible to find

for any creature not asleep

(within the conscious zone).

A place existing in the id,

that will has never known.

A realm where all is possible,

of anti-matter thought,

where magic lives and shows us things

reality forgot.

A Musing

The bards desire, a whiter shade of muse,
requires that deep depression be attained.
A genuinely somber tone, the blues,
must permeate the soul and be retained.

You're better off, a human, being sad
as lack of hope intensifies the senses.
The muse will be obscure when one is glad.
Embrace your pain. Oh poet, build no fences!

A weary writer soon divines the well
and draws his muse from willful deprivation
of sleep that he may conjure bliss or Hell,
exhaustion is a path to inspiration.

Exhaustion's good, depression's better still...
if you can manage both you're almost Will.

South Of Clarity

"A constantly revolving parallax",
perhaps, describes the nature of my brain,
unpolished precious stone with tiny cracks
where logic begs emotion to refrain
from taking over processes of thought,

where feelings beg of logic, "take a chance",
in both directions all of this for naught,
which serves to fuel insanity’s advance.

I've given all the time I care to give
to finding what my friends would call "a cure"
and, frankly, it is comforting to live
within the northern border of obscure.

The beauty lies in that the beauty lies…
in vain they search the babble for the wise.