Asking

Asking once more for an awkward assertion,
Begging for blindness, borrowing time,
Calmly you call me, craving coercion,
Dwelling on distance where damage is mine.

Everything evil, you expect subversion,
Forecast the future though falling apart,
Grateful for nothing, a gift to be certain,
Harrowing history colours your heart.

Injured and ignorant, empty inversion,
Justice for no-one, a jury will judge,
Killing me slowly, a kind of corruption,
Loving me never, a looseness of lust.

Maybe a miracle, magic uncertain,
Nothing for nothing, hoping for nought,
Offering peace with an obvious option,
Promising all but policing all thought.

Questions unanswered with quiet emotion,
Rough the response to reality roared,
Softly you sing to me, songs of seduction,
Tunes for the tuneless, talent so flawed.

Uselessly begging for utter immersion,
Vanquish the self via being unkind,
Wearing the badge of my wounded condition,
X-rated thoughts in an X-rated mind.

You are the cause and yes you are the reason,
Zealot I call you, the zeitgeist of mine,
You are the problem and you the solution,
Zero my hope of a calm zen-like mind.

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Snapshot 7

I want to find a door, a door that no one has opened.
It will be hidden behind leaves of the deepest, truest green, through which the sun cannot penetrate.
Old, weathered, warped by years of neglect.
Written on the door will be the words “for you”, and I will know that it doesn’t mean for me, but in fact for you.
So I will bring you to that door. Hand in hand, we’ll walk toward it and I will admonish you to be careful, to be mindful of the dark shadows and the unseen trips and traps.
We will pull apart those leaves, branch by branch, and scatter them to the wind so that it snows green.
And then, with the door before us, it will be you who opens it. I do not have the knack of it.
Behind the door… what will you see?
Clouds, ball bearings, rivers on Mars? Fantastic animals or a million tiny flowers?

I just know that for years, the door will have been unseen, and will now only open to your touch. Behind it’s aged wood, such dreams and nightmares and untold stories will be seen, and if I promise to look after you, maybe you’ll walk through that door into a brand new world.

For Nought

And so, for nought, did I gift my heart,
For nought did I leave my past;
Did no words writ, by poor man’s ink,
Make marks so stained to last?
Why so, did she, remove herself?
Did she no longer love?
With my all gifts, I could not bring
A light from heaven above.
And so, for now, I let her be,
For now I grant her time,
May one day soon, before too long,
She may return as mine.

Beauty 

Such beauty,
Ne’er seen before ‘neath glancing
Moon;
What blessing,
Given to such poor wretch as I,
When all about me be poor and
Unseen?
O, gracious saintly sight,
Be you ever grateful for that,
Granted so, that may cause the very
Moon to hide her face in shame.

Sleep

I love the language of Shakespeare. The forms, the words, the ebb and flow of his speeches and scenes. I wish I had the smallest modicum of his talent, to be able to craft words in the way he did. All I can do, in my own silly and unworthy way, is to try and write things in the flavor of his language.

In deepest night,
Whilst sleep did so evade me,
Such wicked vision with malice
And cruelty did come, to mine eyes.
O, could man such as me stand
A sight so evil? But in all darkness
Abound, one more dark picture
Could not any more disturb this
Countenance.
Sweet wine doth lose its potency,
Dark poppy, with its heavy smoke,
Doth fail in all its ability.
All thoughts of restoring sleep
Are driven, as the wind doth drive the
Clouds, away and far, by these scenes
So shown to mine eyes.
O torturous mind, why must thou
Bring to me such unwanted and
Unwarranted scenes? Be at peace, you,
And grant this man only sleep, in all
Its blessed majesty. Sleep, and only sleep.

I Bring To You

This is quite similar to an older poem I wrote, but I think it’s different enough to merit the ‘new’ tag. I hope you like it.

I bring to you
A world in pause,
An empire in a moment;
Unending light from
Every star,
Falling snow in crystal jar,
A love forever potent.

I bring to you
A summers day,
Four seasons in a heartbeat;
The spring in beauty
Laid before,
Autumn’s rain as down it pours,
A winters cold replete.

I bring to you
A time unknown,
A legend of the ages;
The tales of history
All for you,
Ancient stories false and true,
Our past in fragile pages.

I bring to you
My every word,
All images I conjure;
My poetry and
Prose laid out,
From whispered sigh to angry shout,
A world that’s built of wonder.

This Is So

And another new piece today. My muse has slipped her gentle hand into mine again, and away she has taken me. Although her voice may have been a little dulled for this one, as I’m not overly sure of it. But I hope you like it, and thank you all once again for reading my work.

A cool regard of all I am,
Such hard dismissive stare,
Should not induce such hope in me,
Nor cause my blood to course through me,
And yet with you
This is so.

A lack of interest cast toward,
As though I’m never there,
Should not encourage joy in me,
Nor cause my heart to beat in me,
And yet with you
This is so.

Such cutting words with evil wit,
That spear and pierce and wound,
Should not to me as music be,
Nor cause me joy and ecstasy,
And yet with you
This is so.

With actions showing true intent,
Not hiding that so felt,
Should not grant hope of dreams to me,
Nor light a flame of what might be,
And yet with you
This is so.

We love the one that hurts us most,
Not able to resist,
The punishment of want undone,
A story stopped before begun,
And see with you
This is so.