My lady fair,
And her bear,
Set to sea last winter.
Cold wind blowing,
Neither of them knowing,
Whither the snow had sent her.
But their picnick at sea,
Gave them such glee
As they cared not to question.
They said “Let it blow!
We care not for snow!
Our boat shall be our bastion!”
Everyday watching ocean I,
Gaze upon the horizon wishing to spy,
My lost love, her bear, my lady so fair.
But remembering her joy in departing,
I cannot help imparting,
My joy to you,
Of our love so true,
That she’d never be truly departing.
Note on the artwork:
I do not have written permission to use this piece, as I do not know who the artist is. If you know and/or are able to give me the artists name please let me know in the comments that I may obtain the aforementioned permissions. In…
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The mountain, the ark
The ziggurat. Embark
Upon a path of oneness that time forgot.
The head that floats there,
Those that lead into the air,
An end not unlike a brain and a blood-clot.
My ego death and following joy,
The Infinite stairs that you employ,
Provide the motivation to persue another one.
An imbalance in your being,
Those of the oneness now seeing.
With the guardian of the mountain struck down, I’m done.
This poem was inspired by Lemongrabs part in the Adventure Time episode “The Mountain”. As I’ve had no permission to use any of the trademarked names mentioned, I politely ask that the owners of said names do not “C and D” me. 🙂 please? Okay thanks.
Summer nights all sounds the same;
the rattle of the heat, against the
humidity and the thick of the shame
that settles on the city
eleven floors below.
My skin is sticky with cigarette smoke,
and the wretched weariness
that feels more like dehydration of the mind;
each thought, each movement – an effort
not unlike a dying animal at the end.
The 8.20 train squeals past, reminding
me that I am not dying. I just hate the heat,
and the people that lurk in it –
the sweaty half baked passive happy people.
It’s just me, who needs less white noise.
In a different life
This pain she feels isn’t hers alone.
On this path there’s more than one shadow,
In a different life.
And in that different life, of which she often dreams.
There are hands to help her,
There are arms to hold her,
There is good and joyful news that’s told her.
There is a day without strife.
In that different life.
She stands and stirs from her daydream
Not seeing the faces in between.
The faces of those who wait.
Those who would help, that she does not contemplate.
Then she falls and cries out, to the void she thinks.
And crys again when she opens her eyes,
Surrounded by the faces and the hands of those who try,
And they who love and assist,
Thinking she was alone and not missed,
She never realized that her different life was this.
“So lay me down in the flowing cold,
Sweeping away, I am but a soul.
All that’s left, the beauty around me
It’s its own beholder; it surrounds me.”
So what is given her but fear and lonely dread?
All hope abandoned here, once immersed, one is dead.
But to rise above the waves, one can dream,
And she surely does.
Though little more than that it seems,
Her safety she dearly loves,
Enough to stay on is this mainland,
But will she live with her head in the sand?
What she’s left with is what the water gave her.
Which is little more than enough to enslave her.
Floating by, amongst, beauty that draws in,
She rests her mind as she dreams within.
An elaborate take on my fear of water, and partially inspired by the Florence and the Machine song: “What the Water Gave Me”