My poetry, a healing journey back to myself.

Requiem

Time is a whip,
It’s severed screams
Mock rigid bones beneath
The dream. Beloved, I cast
Bloody runes, flailing in the
Dark where sad shreds
Of youth still cling, mute in
The misery of age, reeling
In a cowering rage as love
Lies battered, bound to the
Grieving dead.
 

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Shalimar said:
My creative voice has been largely silent the last few months, but now I can write again. It is not cheerful, but raw, intense, often painful. Release is a huge relief.
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ohioboy said:
I can relate my friend, may your pen be prolific.
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Thank you my friend, This is my first effort. I just finished writing it. Poured out of me like a molten waterfall
 
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Slavery

Warn your brittle angel
Slumping in the park, crippled
Into slack redemption, all
Bitter breaths now tortured
Out in triplicate to pay this broken
Debt to you.

Who set my wings to breaking? I
Thought your lies were chains enough
To charm these dessicated wounds which
Stake a claim, while gouging out my
Stumbling gift to you?

Must I bend pale promises,
Wrapped in feathered hope to build
Transparent lines of fractured pain-
Skinned words, roaring down the
Weeping grass
To be rendered unto you?
 
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Shalimar, in this crazy world we live in, many people rely on, and at times is their only reliance, to create from within for a companion.
 
Shalimar said:
Requiem

Time is a whip,
It’s severed screams
Mock rigid bones beneath
The dream. Beloved, I cast
Bloody runes, flailing in the
Dark where sad shreds
Of youth still cling, mute in
The misery of age, reeling
In a cowering rage as love
Lies battered, bound to the
Grieving dead.
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Excellent. It is a deeply felt and very well expressed poem! It reminded me of this poem :

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --

Edgar Allan Poe
 
Paco Dennis said:
Excellent. It is a deeply felt and very well expressed poem! It reminded me of this poem :

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --

Edgar Allan Poe
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I recognized that poem right away. It is included in my Poe book by Dr. Shelley Costa Bloomfield.

"Poe himself describes whatever dark vien in his nature shaped his adult life in a poem discovered by E.L. Didier, the Editor of Scribner's, who published it in 1875."
 
Brake

Bend, and
Savour slowly a
Dense desire wound
To the curve of
Death, each sultry
Memory of collected
Scars a sweet despair.
Lost in a splinter of bones,
Fleshy smiles dig
Deep in fractured curiosity.
A whip of breath
Cracks loud, bleeding
For Love.
 

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