Every time I begin now it is with the same question:
how long has it been?
the same sentiment pervades within.
What happened to the rhymes inside and
by what method were they quelled?
The forest of my literary ambitions
seems to have been felled.
Once I was a poet –
Queen of syllables and lines,
now I am a spectre
forgotten by these times.
The dredges of these words I write
were formed with no conviction
they are emptied of all passion
recovered from addiction.
Beloved, you have entered into my life
through a gate
of whose existence I was unaware.
Words cannot describe the gifts you have brought
and the gift you, yourself, are to me.
Many forms of tears have fallen
from these eyes over the years but
when you looked at me
a new emotion filled
the wellspring of my heart to overflow.
You are the fulfilment of my prayers,
the quenching of my thirst,
and a glimpse into the depths
of Heaven's love.
Boy, these are words you might never hear,
but, just because they remain unspoken, don't imagine
that they are not felt.
Moment to moment, your sullen, pouty face
evokes in me irrepressible joy,
I tease you to see that flash of irritation in your eyes,
to hear that mutter under your breath and to know
that I know full well what makes you tick.
When those chubby, uncoordinated fingers first clutched my own
I never again wanted to let them go,
but little by little, I watch you grow,
and it's almost time to stand back,
to let you spread your roots
so you can reach for the sun.
When I'm old and grey and no longer able
Tiger cub, ablaze with inner fire, you
bring to mind lines composed by one more eloquent
strange that there too spears were the weapon of choice.
All teeth and claws and barely restrained enthusiasm,
you greeted me with a declaration of war
sparked lightning in my fighting spirit.
Such a challenge
to curb, tame and realign your potential
but I'll prove to you who's the boss.
It wouldn't be fun if it were easy.
Tiger cub, before you lose that naive ferocity
I'll show you to be but a kitten.
But isn't it just raw fish, you ask,
it surely can't be terribly hygienic?
I look at your face to see if that comment was in jest
or posed with any seriousness.
I truly can't tell with you.
But before I begin in earnestness
to explain to you your error
I must judge whether the sparkle in your eyes is merriment
or just your usual vibrancy.
I pause.
Surely, with your cosmopolitan and refined tastes
you do not need me to explain sushi?
A simple wire transmitting sound
Sends a signal that bridges oceans.
A half-dozen words formed in a moment
Breaks down barriers hiding secrets.
Like a boomerang they return to shore
And now everyone knows.
They tell me that 'I loved not wisely but too well'
and far too deeply to tell the difference
between intoxication and lucidity.
The sparks that drew us both,
that hissed and spat at close contact, that fanned flames
and submerged us both, each into our own lunacy,
could scarce have stood the test of time
even if we'd been able to try.
Our love was a chemical conflagration
never designed for permanency but as explosively beautiful
as self-immolating fireworks.
(And should others catch on fire, what harm
could there be to follow Nero?)
But their rigid laws did not like that we might blaze
a path of our own.
Some time has passed since ink last flowed from my pen to paper
scratching out inelegant words to transcribe thoughts that gnaw grey matter.
The sounds I utter from these lips have, of late,
been unintelligible,
an enigma,
keeping secrets is now a favourite game.
I live out emotions and aspirations I do not name.
Myriad feelings that remain in me concealed
approach an end time,
all will be revealed unto their sight
and secrets, precious secrets that I nurture in the darkness
will come blazing into light.
Them
And us
We are separate
We stand forever divided
Our opposing values threaten war
We have never sought to compromise
Their customs and culture are unknown entities
They, themselves know little of who we are
What good does it do me to wish vainly?
Often I desire a bridge formed across this dark chasm
Such hopes have flight only in the darkness of the night
They wither and die by the light of day, turning to dust
I look across at him sometimes to find him, too, looking at me
Since we have never spoken, it may be that he looks at me gravely
Likely he considers me an enemy and wonders for what reason I stare so frequently
Yet ,
Birth of the Past
I, born of ice and fire, carved my place in existence,
celestial bodies collided with my gravity,
I was young, barely millennia old,
yet unformed.
I had the power to create, to destroy,
like a toddler given toys, I played:
I turned barren land into life,
made oceans into deserts,
deserts into forests, and forests back into oceans
I gave and took.
With practice came wisdom,
so I sought balance
between life and death,
ruin and construction,
I was crafting a masterpiece,
without thought of completion.
But I have time for I am Earth,
and my future is eternal.
Trail of the Present
Once moulded of sand a
Every time I begin now it is with the same question:
how long has it been?
the same sentiment pervades within.
What happened to the rhymes inside and
by what method were they quelled?
The forest of my literary ambitions
seems to have been felled.
Once I was a poet –
Queen of syllables and lines,
now I am a spectre
forgotten by these times.
The dredges of these words I write
were formed with no conviction
they are emptied of all passion
recovered from addiction.
Beloved, you have entered into my life
through a gate
of whose existence I was unaware.
Words cannot describe the gifts you have brought
and the gift you, yourself, are to me.
Many forms of tears have fallen
from these eyes over the years but
when you looked at me
a new emotion filled
the wellspring of my heart to overflow.
You are the fulfilment of my prayers,
the quenching of my thirst,
and a glimpse into the depths
of Heaven's love.
Boy, these are words you might never hear,
but, just because they remain unspoken, don't imagine
that they are not felt.
Moment to moment, your sullen, pouty face
evokes in me irrepressible joy,
I tease you to see that flash of irritation in your eyes,
to hear that mutter under your breath and to know
that I know full well what makes you tick.
When those chubby, uncoordinated fingers first clutched my own
I never again wanted to let them go,
but little by little, I watch you grow,
and it's almost time to stand back,
to let you spread your roots
so you can reach for the sun.
When I'm old and grey and no longer able
Tiger cub, ablaze with inner fire, you
bring to mind lines composed by one more eloquent
strange that there too spears were the weapon of choice.
All teeth and claws and barely restrained enthusiasm,
you greeted me with a declaration of war
sparked lightning in my fighting spirit.
Such a challenge
to curb, tame and realign your potential
but I'll prove to you who's the boss.
It wouldn't be fun if it were easy.
Tiger cub, before you lose that naive ferocity
I'll show you to be but a kitten.
But isn't it just raw fish, you ask,
it surely can't be terribly hygienic?
I look at your face to see if that comment was in jest
or posed with any seriousness.
I truly can't tell with you.
But before I begin in earnestness
to explain to you your error
I must judge whether the sparkle in your eyes is merriment
or just your usual vibrancy.
I pause.
Surely, with your cosmopolitan and refined tastes
you do not need me to explain sushi?
A simple wire transmitting sound
Sends a signal that bridges oceans.
A half-dozen words formed in a moment
Breaks down barriers hiding secrets.
Like a boomerang they return to shore
And now everyone knows.
They tell me that 'I loved not wisely but too well'
and far too deeply to tell the difference
between intoxication and lucidity.
The sparks that drew us both,
that hissed and spat at close contact, that fanned flames
and submerged us both, each into our own lunacy,
could scarce have stood the test of time
even if we'd been able to try.
Our love was a chemical conflagration
never designed for permanency but as explosively beautiful
as self-immolating fireworks.
(And should others catch on fire, what harm
could there be to follow Nero?)
But their rigid laws did not like that we might blaze
a path of our own.
Some time has passed since ink last flowed from my pen to paper
scratching out inelegant words to transcribe thoughts that gnaw grey matter.
The sounds I utter from these lips have, of late,
been unintelligible,
an enigma,
keeping secrets is now a favourite game.
I live out emotions and aspirations I do not name.
Myriad feelings that remain in me concealed
approach an end time,
all will be revealed unto their sight
and secrets, precious secrets that I nurture in the darkness
will come blazing into light.
Them
And us
We are separate
We stand forever divided
Our opposing values threaten war
We have never sought to compromise
Their customs and culture are unknown entities
They, themselves know little of who we are
What good does it do me to wish vainly?
Often I desire a bridge formed across this dark chasm
Such hopes have flight only in the darkness of the night
They wither and die by the light of day, turning to dust
I look across at him sometimes to find him, too, looking at me
Since we have never spoken, it may be that he looks at me gravely
Likely he considers me an enemy and wonders for what reason I stare so frequently
Yet ,
Birth of the Past
I, born of ice and fire, carved my place in existence,
celestial bodies collided with my gravity,
I was young, barely millennia old,
yet unformed.
I had the power to create, to destroy,
like a toddler given toys, I played:
I turned barren land into life,
made oceans into deserts,
deserts into forests, and forests back into oceans
I gave and took.
With practice came wisdom,
so I sought balance
between life and death,
ruin and construction,
I was crafting a masterpiece,
without thought of completion.
But I have time for I am Earth,
and my future is eternal.
Trail of the Present
Once moulded of sand a
Perhaps it is not my fault that
I live an averagely comfortable life
and you do not.
Maybe I was not the direct cause of
your misery.
It could even be that I am not
the one who should be held responsible.
But I cannot pass you by.
Perhaps it is the way your hands
weep as they drag
your belongings behind you.
Maybe I can see the tendrils of home still clinging to
your coat.
It could even be that you
remind me of my grandpas stories of the Depression.
But I think it is the dignity in your eyes.
Perhaps it is helpful that I
order an extra burger when I know
Ill be passing your way.
Maybe I will remember to grab that spare
A barrel of hay
sits at my feet,
and from within,
voices call,
beckoning to me
to join them.
They are goblins,
playing hide and seek -
a favorite game
among many.
I wish to join them,
but responsibility
weighs heavy
on my shoulders.
Neighbors
mock me,
pointing and laughing
as I try to explain
to the goblins that
I can't play -
I have to be grownup.
They call louder,
but still too softly
for the neighbors to hear.
Their jeering taunts
finally reach my ears,
and those same ears burning
at how foolish I have been,
I run
far, far away.
There were no goblins -
there was only me.
Standing, feet warm in this sand
Beach baring such crystal clear within the depths
Perhaps these are all my tears I have wept
The chill which was is no longer in the air
with you a caring warmth is shared
Sitting, cuddled in a rocking chair
Nothing was welcoming me only unruly darkness
Perhaps was the case of a unrelenting depression
A simple message was sent
A smile swept on by that lasted to night's end
Walking, cursing the cold snow
This weather left me numb and alone
perhaps was my stupidity for venturing out on my own
There you were in an empty street
You welcomed me to the passanger seat
All these times, melting away my l
The Elite Master of Eloquence by ElairaHunter, literature
Literature
The Elite Master of Eloquence
Once more I claw up, rung by rung,
the ladder of success
yet enchanted by reality
sometimes I still digress
from the paths of rank and file
where commanding over all
I seek to lift my sconce up high
beyond any recall.
Words are trusted minions,
soldiers on parade,
neatly pressed and smartly dressed
a proud and true brigade.
Enlisted into lists of rhymes
and honed to my intents
the Quest Queen sends her men to war
to conquer Eloquence.