As I sat alone
through the motions of days
my gaze oftime wandered
inside, deep within me
and for a brief, lonely moment
I sometime would catch a glimpse
a faded image from a dream.
Upon remnant splinters
broken mirrors of self cognition
I thought I saw what I was
what I used to be
am I still?
A slightly handsome lad
whose confidence filled his words
overweight he might
but dreams does let him fly.
Upon stars his hopes were pinned
charging boldly the unconquerable nights
the sun emblazoned upon his heart
as he struggles to encompass the days
before the coming of twillight.
A poet at heart
a soul of longing and love
sensitive to the touch
to the feel and taste of life.
Armoured in perfect reason
and armed with fearful logic
he would ever stood his ground
upon whatever topic.
What ambitions he had
to grasp this world as his
no distance would dare
nor contentions to his prowess.
As a Colossus he stood
once among his peers
a stern and mighty figure
who led the vanguard crests.
He lived ever for the challenge
to bravely dare the world
for the worst and craven he seeks
to turn the tides and in turn defeats.
Where goes the confidence?
Where goes the dreams?
Where goes the hopes?
Where hides this lad?
For indeed I see him not
but for glimpses that may
those lonely nostalgic moments
when memories are out at play.
I sometimes wish for him
to remember if mine's the name
the pride of all that was
and the remnants of what may
the remains of what I was
used to be
was I ever?
am I still?
Alas he slips about
to appear once and only slight
but to disappear into the dark
and hence to vanish into the night.
Poetic Purgatory
- Monday, November 08, 2004
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Caged beyond my modest means,
lies the crypt of great intentions,
of gilded edges and marbled gleams,
present happiness and tall ambitions.
Within the cemetary of dead dreams,
I find my one and true salvation,
the purgatory of poetic schemes,
where sleeps unlived, my self expression.
Buried I lie soiled, unclaimed,
a soul in longing and shackled privation,
doomed forever to only glimpse,
what life is, was and future portions.
Entombed under the burdens within,
buried by stones, diverse contentions,
awaiting the end with counted chagrin,
languishing in words and poetic mentations.
lies the crypt of great intentions,
of gilded edges and marbled gleams,
present happiness and tall ambitions.
Within the cemetary of dead dreams,
I find my one and true salvation,
the purgatory of poetic schemes,
where sleeps unlived, my self expression.
Buried I lie soiled, unclaimed,
a soul in longing and shackled privation,
doomed forever to only glimpse,
what life is, was and future portions.
Entombed under the burdens within,
buried by stones, diverse contentions,
awaiting the end with counted chagrin,
languishing in words and poetic mentations.
Yesteryear
- Wednesday, October 27, 2004
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"I am the remnant of what I was,
the remains of who I am,
if only for but a while I appreciated all that was,
for all I am now are memories of yesteryear"
the remains of who I am,
if only for but a while I appreciated all that was,
for all I am now are memories of yesteryear"
Fading Seasons
- Wednesday, October 27, 2004
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Where is the promise of spring,
in the fall of years,
Where is the hopes of summer,
in the grey of winters.
Are we not like falling rain,
to fall in much rancour,
only to seep to the ground,
and then be lost forever.
Are we not like dew drops,
such cold caress of elegence,
only to dry away,
by the sun's magnificence.
Are we not like snowy flakes,
such beauteous designs,
only to fall away,
undistinguished in snowy banks.
Are we not like fading seasons,
to wake to every promise,
but to lose all hope and reason,
at the fade of every chorus.
in the fall of years,
Where is the hopes of summer,
in the grey of winters.
Are we not like falling rain,
to fall in much rancour,
only to seep to the ground,
and then be lost forever.
Are we not like dew drops,
such cold caress of elegence,
only to dry away,
by the sun's magnificence.
Are we not like snowy flakes,
such beauteous designs,
only to fall away,
undistinguished in snowy banks.
Are we not like fading seasons,
to wake to every promise,
but to lose all hope and reason,
at the fade of every chorus.
The Song of Martyrs
- Tuesday, October 26, 2004
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O! sons and daughters
I am doomed to never know
O! childs of fathers
lost like fallen snow
O! childs of mothers
whose tears would ever flow
we sing you this song
perched on battle's brows
we sing you this song
on eve of nevermore
Farewell! Fare thee well!
to sons and daughters
that we will never know
to sisters and mothers
farewell we bid you now
to wives and lovers
a kiss of love we blow
Farewell! Fare thee well!
We sing our final song
perched on battle's brow
the eve of nevermore.
Wipe your away tears
still your gentle cries
we sing you this song
with hearts full of joy
So long my little dears
we'll look upon you soon
from the clouds high above
as we float on angels song.
I am doomed to never know
O! childs of fathers
lost like fallen snow
O! childs of mothers
whose tears would ever flow
we sing you this song
perched on battle's brows
we sing you this song
on eve of nevermore
Farewell! Fare thee well!
to sons and daughters
that we will never know
to sisters and mothers
farewell we bid you now
to wives and lovers
a kiss of love we blow
Farewell! Fare thee well!
We sing our final song
perched on battle's brow
the eve of nevermore.
Wipe your away tears
still your gentle cries
we sing you this song
with hearts full of joy
So long my little dears
we'll look upon you soon
from the clouds high above
as we float on angels song.
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