No-Key
Glandeuse Pinéale
- Inscrit
- 17/12/06
- Messages
- 138
One day I want to publish; it's my only real dream (well part of an overall dream).
If you want to offer harsh criticism, I welcome it.
It takes the harshest heat to make the most delicate things sometimes, poetry is one of those things.
--------
Upon the desk an old harmonica lay
black and chipped away
to reveal a once silver undercoat,
particularly around the washers,
shaped like copper flowers.
When you press it to your lips
like your only true lover,
it will burn you with something quite
implacable and makes you want more
of that burn which ignites all
the fireworks and gasoline stored in your soul
that keep quiet but now let out their whole
message, a scorching choir,
of a wild wailing note on fire,
getting fat on your life giving breath,
ascending heavenward and higher.
-------
Our gaze leveled on the horizon tilt
tread by the outlines of war-masters
their hands set upon the hilts,
of deadly weapons clashing useless
like thorny roses left to wilt
upon the golden doorstep of the alchemist’s tower
which glistened sick beside a dieing sun
In this portentous hour
Brooding listless ‘neath an early moon,
drinking the evening sour,
tempting men from every walk and land
with riches, love, and power.
--------
Before there were feet, there was earth.
Before there were lungs and mouths,
there was air and water.
Before there were eyes,
Before there were noses,
Before there were lovers,
There were skies
There were roses,
There were Springs.
And still will these remain,
When the our last voice sings,
For this is how I know,
That man is but a measure
of these things.
If you want to offer harsh criticism, I welcome it.
It takes the harshest heat to make the most delicate things sometimes, poetry is one of those things.
--------
Upon the desk an old harmonica lay
black and chipped away
to reveal a once silver undercoat,
particularly around the washers,
shaped like copper flowers.
When you press it to your lips
like your only true lover,
it will burn you with something quite
implacable and makes you want more
of that burn which ignites all
the fireworks and gasoline stored in your soul
that keep quiet but now let out their whole
message, a scorching choir,
of a wild wailing note on fire,
getting fat on your life giving breath,
ascending heavenward and higher.
-------
Our gaze leveled on the horizon tilt
tread by the outlines of war-masters
their hands set upon the hilts,
of deadly weapons clashing useless
like thorny roses left to wilt
upon the golden doorstep of the alchemist’s tower
which glistened sick beside a dieing sun
In this portentous hour
Brooding listless ‘neath an early moon,
drinking the evening sour,
tempting men from every walk and land
with riches, love, and power.
--------
Before there were feet, there was earth.
Before there were lungs and mouths,
there was air and water.
Before there were eyes,
Before there were noses,
Before there were lovers,
There were skies
There were roses,
There were Springs.
And still will these remain,
When the our last voice sings,
For this is how I know,
That man is but a measure
of these things.
rayer:
