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Poetry and Problems

Tuesday, 30 June 2009

Nachzehrer

A crystalline cup, brimming with blood,
Raised to the lips of a dying hero.
Drink deep, my love, forget your soul's pulse,
It will do you no good where you go.

The moon is a charmer, seductive silver,
Come, let us run in her rays.
Flow over the ground like night wind's inhale,
You are beautiful! Scarlet and grey....

Bare your heart, child, beautiful flame,
Let me quench your sweet life with my hands.
I'll let you feel more than you've dreamed
If you'll free yourself from life's demands...

Has anyone else heard the legend of the vampire who only bit heros and leaders, turning them undead? He raised an army of all the old legends, and no one wanted to fight them... they did, of course, but they didn't want to.
This morning in the garden...

Before you get creeped out by this, it's supposed to be for a story... and probably supposed to be slightly creepy.
Oh, my lady. I caught sight of you this morning, out walking in your garden. The roses are most beautiful, but none as luscious as you, my lady.
The dew was heavy on the leaves this morning, each droplet shone like a tiny, diamond sun. But none shone so bright as your eyes, my lady.
The new-born sun was bright this morning, warm and soft, it soaked into my heart like the goddess' blessing. But more beautiful, still, was your smile, my lady.
I know that I am a shadow, no more a part of your life than the mice out creeping in your garden. But even shadows have eyes, even mice have souls, and I have you, my lady.
A monologue

Look at me, scum! Who are you, in your pristine clothing, standing over the frame of our fallen hero? I may have once known you, but you are nothing to me now. How dare you denounce him, who gave eerything he ever had for our good? How dare you try to steal his glory and bare his private shames. You are a buzzard, plucking the meat from his corpse, leaving the bones to bleach in the sun.
Have you no honor? Hae you no pride? Where he led us, you would drag us. If a shepherd dies, does his dog then own the sheep? Leave us, and speak to us no more. For all you tried to bring our lord to your level, you were not fit to guard his back, and you are not fit to lead us.

Tuesday, 19 May 2009

Azerack

Sometimes I wonder if you reach out to me like I reach out to you. In chaos, I seek your wisdom, although I have not seen you in so long, and have not spoken to you in longer. I miss watching the sun rise with you, talking all night, learning from you, sometimes speaking as if we were equals, although you were always my teacher. Now eyes watch me, my every move is recorded. But still I reach out to you, my mentor.

There's a certain kind of fight
with no making up.
There's a certain kind of sleep
with no waking up.
There's a certain kind of pain
that never goes away.
There's a certain kind of darkness
that never becomes day.

Have you ever cut yourself
So deep that it won't heal,
Ever tasted fire,
Tasted blood, tasted steel?
Ever listened to the shouting
that echoed in the night
Wishing that somehow
Your words could make things right?

There's a certain kind of strength
in not breaking down.
There's a certain kind of honor
in staying off the ground.
There's a certain kind of glory
that's impossible to see
And in the darkness, in the quiet
There's a certain kind of free.
Azerack

Sometimes I wonder if you reach out to me like I reach out to you. In chaos, I seek your wisdom, although I have not seen you in so long, and have not spoken to you in longer. I miss watching the sun rise with you, talking all night, learning from you, sometimes speaking as if we were equals, although you were always my teacher. Now eyes watch me, my every move is recorded. But still I reach out to you, my mentor.

There's a certain kind of fight
with no making up.
There's a certain kind of sleep
with no waking up.
There's a certain kind of pain
that never goes away.
There's a certain kind of darkness
that never becomes day.

Have you ever cut yourself
So deep that it won't heal,
Ever tasted fire,
Tasted blood, tasted steel?
Ever listened to the shouting
that echoed in the night
Wishing that somehow
Your words could make things right?

There's a certain kind of strength
in not breaking down.
There's a certain kind of honor
in staying off the ground.
There's a certain kind of glory
that's impossible to see
And in the darkness, in the quiet
There's a certain kind of free.

Friday, 15 May 2009

You Just Don't Understand

When you're young, you say it to your parents. When you're older, you'll say it to your spouse. People throw the phrase "You don't understand" around as if it were a sin. But really, how can you expect anyone to understand another human's views? Each person has a whole lifetime full of different experiences. Completely understanding someone else's motives under these circumstances. Add the fact that you, as a person, seldom want to explain the whole reason why you do something, considering that somewhere in the millions of reasons you are who you are, a large chunk is always exceedingly either dishonorable or confusing.
The fact is, the older you get, the more unique experiences you get, and the less likely it is that someone will actually understand you completely. In other words, it drops from impossible to laughably impossible. The most that you, as a person, can do, is try to root out the nasty little thread of your being that demands to be understood. And when it comes to your friends, don't pretend to understand if you don't. Just love them.

Sunday, 08 March 2009

The way home

When you find yourself alone
Retrace your steps, there's one way home
Close your eyes, open your mind
Only the dark can make you blind

Sing to me, wind's symphony
remind me what it's like to be
wrapped in a loving embrace
To small to see my own god's face

I feel you, soft upon my skin
But words and smoke both can be sin
Don't leave me here, not alone
Please, comfort me and take me home.

Monday, 23 February 2009

Human unoriginality

Think about this:
Since surnames are passed down from generation to generation, there are a set number of surnames, right? But first names should be nearly infinite. Still, however, in large groups and organizations, it is more reliable and less confusing to call people by their last names, simply because humans are so bloody unorigial, we choose the SAME NAMES.

Ok, that was a little wierd, wasn't it?

Saturday, 03 January 2009

I really doubt that anyone will either read or understand this. It's another five-minutes-to-write-on-four-hours-of-sleep poem. . But good luck.

Have you ever had
one of these days
when you feel your soul
just seeping away

You put on a mask
because you must smile
But those bared teeth
Snarl all the while

They say life is to live
but I don't believe it
You die once at birth
and then you relive it

Because woe never dies
And love only ends
Stone walls don't disguise
They only fester your sins.