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Oscar Wilde's The Ballad of Reading Gaol
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellows got to swing."
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
"That fellows got to swing."
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.
He does not die a death of shame
On a day of dark disgrace,
Nor have a noose about his neck,
Nor a cloth upon his face,
Nor drop feet foremost through the floor
Into an empty place
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2010
About this poem:
An excerpt from the ballad written by Oscar Wilde whilst exiled in France shortly after his release from Reading Gaol, following his extremely harrowing 'De Profundis', a letter exploring the synchrony of extreme despair and profound spiritual enlightenment (later published as a book), originally written to his lover Lord Alfred Douglas.IF SHE'D SHUT UP U'D UNSTAND AMBER'S RUN
SO HERE'S THE CORRECT VERSION WHICH
EXPLAIN'S "AMBERS RUN"
THE THREE OF US WERE GOING TO SEE TENNESSEE
JUST MY WIFE, OUR SIX YEAR OLD DAUGHTER AMBER AND ME
FOR A MOMENT WE STOPPED IN A CONVENIENCE STORE
AND AFTER THAT I DON'T REMEMBER VERY MUCH MORE
I RECALL A MAN IN SHREDDED CLOTHING AND A SHABBY HAT WHO LOOKED LONELY AND LOST
AND THAT GIVING HIM A RIDE WOULD COME AT TOO HIGH A COST
WE THREE HAD LEFT ALONE BUT NOW THERE WERE FOUR
AND THE STRANGER BECAME ENRAGED AND ME EVEN MORE
THEN SUDDENLY THE SKY OPENED UP AND THUS RAIN BEGAN TO SLOW DOWN THE TRUCK
WHILST TWO ADULTS KNEW WE WOULD ONLY SURVIVE WITH THE LORD'S LUCK
WE FOUND OURSELVES IN THE CENTER OF A WILDERNESS AND AN UNCERTAIN GAMBLE
AS WE MADE OUR WAY THROUGH BRUSH, BRIAR AND BRAMBLE
THE MOMENT I HAD THE CHANCE I YELLED AS LOUDLY AS I COULD " RUN AMBER RUN"
AFTER THAT SLICE OF A SECOND IN SPACE AND TIME GOD'S WILL WAS BEING DONE
IF HE WOULD ONLY TELL US WHERE AND HOW FAR SHE'D GET FOR SOMEONE SO YOUNG
YET MY WIFE AND I HELD ON IN THE HOPES TO WHICH WE CLUNG
THEN INSTANTLY I SAW A CHANCE AND THAT'S WHEN MY LEGS QUICKLY SPUN
BUT UNFORTUNATELY FOR US THE STRANGER WIELDED A GUN
UNBKNOWNST TO US THE MAN SPENT THE DAY DRINKING RUM AND FELL ASLEEP
HE LOOKED SEMI-CONSCIOUS OR IN A SLUMBER OIL WELL TYPE DEEP
THEREFORE SINCE I'M ABLE TO WRITE THIS YOU KNOW MY WIFE AND I GOT AWAY
AND I CAN'T TAKE HEARING THE NAME "AMBER" TO THIS DAY
NOW ONE YEAR LATER FOR US TWO THERE IS ONLY ANGER AND HURT
BECAUSE WE WERE THE FIRST COUPLE TO ISSUE AN "AMBER ALLERT"
(C) 20111...free cee!~
EXPLAIN'S "AMBERS RUN"
THE THREE OF US WERE GOING TO SEE TENNESSEE
JUST MY WIFE, OUR SIX YEAR OLD DAUGHTER AMBER AND ME
FOR A MOMENT WE STOPPED IN A CONVENIENCE STORE
AND AFTER THAT I DON'T REMEMBER VERY MUCH MORE
I RECALL A MAN IN SHREDDED CLOTHING AND A SHABBY HAT WHO LOOKED LONELY AND LOST
AND THAT GIVING HIM A RIDE WOULD COME AT TOO HIGH A COST
WE THREE HAD LEFT ALONE BUT NOW THERE WERE FOUR
AND THE STRANGER BECAME ENRAGED AND ME EVEN MORE
THEN SUDDENLY THE SKY OPENED UP AND THUS RAIN BEGAN TO SLOW DOWN THE TRUCK
WHILST TWO ADULTS KNEW WE WOULD ONLY SURVIVE WITH THE LORD'S LUCK
WE FOUND OURSELVES IN THE CENTER OF A WILDERNESS AND AN UNCERTAIN GAMBLE
AS WE MADE OUR WAY THROUGH BRUSH, BRIAR AND BRAMBLE
THE MOMENT I HAD THE CHANCE I YELLED AS LOUDLY AS I COULD " RUN AMBER RUN"
AFTER THAT SLICE OF A SECOND IN SPACE AND TIME GOD'S WILL WAS BEING DONE
IF HE WOULD ONLY TELL US WHERE AND HOW FAR SHE'D GET FOR SOMEONE SO YOUNG
YET MY WIFE AND I HELD ON IN THE HOPES TO WHICH WE CLUNG
THEN INSTANTLY I SAW A CHANCE AND THAT'S WHEN MY LEGS QUICKLY SPUN
BUT UNFORTUNATELY FOR US THE STRANGER WIELDED A GUN
UNBKNOWNST TO US THE MAN SPENT THE DAY DRINKING RUM AND FELL ASLEEP
HE LOOKED SEMI-CONSCIOUS OR IN A SLUMBER OIL WELL TYPE DEEP
THEREFORE SINCE I'M ABLE TO WRITE THIS YOU KNOW MY WIFE AND I GOT AWAY
AND I CAN'T TAKE HEARING THE NAME "AMBER" TO THIS DAY
NOW ONE YEAR LATER FOR US TWO THERE IS ONLY ANGER AND HURT
BECAUSE WE WERE THE FIRST COUPLE TO ISSUE AN "AMBER ALLERT"
(C) 20111...free cee!~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Feb 2011
About this poem:
IF YOU READ THIS VERSION FIRST THEN YOU MISSED THE WHOLE POINT OF THE POETRY..IF YOU READ THIS THEN THERE'S NO NEED TO READ IT AGAIN...SORRY, MY NEIGHBOR IS RASTAFARIAN AND INVITES ME OVER ALMOST NIGHTLY TO DO WHAT RASTAFARIAN'S DO AND THE MUSIC THEY PLAY...I HAVE EVERY BOB MARLEY SONG EVER WRITTEN AND RECORDED...SOME NEVER GOT ON ALBUMS...WHY, BECAUSE THE MAN HAD MORE SOUL, AND BELIEVED IN ALL THE RIGHT THINGS.....AND HE DIDN'T FORGET THE POOR!BEWARE AWARE THREE TIMES
WHAT FINALLY BROUGHT A BOY JOY
There stands thee with a secret in your locket
and a man’s phone number in your pocket
You’re too pretty for descriptive and alliterative ‘English phrases
And I wonder , do you go through men like phases?
One day he’s in fashion the next day a fad
And you don’t suffer well men who make you mad
Part of you I’d worship, the other half teach
As you had a goal for years you simply had to reach
And quite honestly I admire that as quite a great deal
Always knowing how to touch then learning how to feel
Because somewhere in the center of an adolescent was desire
But how to tell mom and dad , because it’s not like her to be a liar
So she awaited for the time to be precisely right
And when all the obstacles were no longer in sight
The lady began jumping hurdles and vaulting them all
And so many men in line begging her to call
I can’t imagine the heart rendering kind of pain
While I would watch as the moon would wax and wane
The lovely as a young boy wishing he could wear Barbra’s dress
And then someone might ask if he wants to confess
Yes, you’ll confess, you’ll admit you beat them all
After all, they weren’t the ones so many men yearned to call
So now sit’s a gorgeous woman and a lady refined
But at age ten what must have been going through a young BOY’S mind ?
© 2011.…~free cee!~ ’
There stands thee with a secret in your locket
and a man’s phone number in your pocket
You’re too pretty for descriptive and alliterative ‘English phrases
And I wonder , do you go through men like phases?
One day he’s in fashion the next day a fad
And you don’t suffer well men who make you mad
Part of you I’d worship, the other half teach
As you had a goal for years you simply had to reach
And quite honestly I admire that as quite a great deal
Always knowing how to touch then learning how to feel
Because somewhere in the center of an adolescent was desire
But how to tell mom and dad , because it’s not like her to be a liar
So she awaited for the time to be precisely right
And when all the obstacles were no longer in sight
The lady began jumping hurdles and vaulting them all
And so many men in line begging her to call
I can’t imagine the heart rendering kind of pain
While I would watch as the moon would wax and wane
The lovely as a young boy wishing he could wear Barbra’s dress
And then someone might ask if he wants to confess
Yes, you’ll confess, you’ll admit you beat them all
After all, they weren’t the ones so many men yearned to call
So now sit’s a gorgeous woman and a lady refined
But at age ten what must have been going through a young BOY’S mind ?
© 2011.…~free cee!~ ’
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2011
About this poem:
because i learn restraint, dignity and pride from her. When she walks down the street holding my hand i compare her to other women and i'm telling you, i never asked for her doctor's name, BUT MY HAT'S OFF TO HIH! AND "YES," SHE SAYS "EVERYTHING WORKS."
online now!Chloe’s Sighting
Chloe flung off her pillow bed
Howling growling towards the shed
What moved so in the shadow dark
To make her jump so high and bark?
We gathered to the window sill
And looking over the side hill
It stood by a towering spruce
A big and young and curious moose
Rain falling upon his lanky stance
We watched him in our silent trance
Away he slipped a fleeting ghost
Until all we saw his hindmost
And disappeared in growing fog
Back away towards the cedar bog
And slowing smiling from within
Broke our faces into a wide grin
Howling growling towards the shed
What moved so in the shadow dark
To make her jump so high and bark?
We gathered to the window sill
And looking over the side hill
It stood by a towering spruce
A big and young and curious moose
Rain falling upon his lanky stance
We watched him in our silent trance
Away he slipped a fleeting ghost
Until all we saw his hindmost
And disappeared in growing fog
Back away towards the cedar bog
And slowing smiling from within
Broke our faces into a wide grin
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2011
About this poem:
Our dog is always on guard
The Countenance of Character
All that we
are
The sum of
the soul
The joy and
pain
The living and
the dying
Is recorded as
a living testament
within the
countenance
A mirror
of innumerable
reflections..
character..
At times, glancing
through the windows
of the eyes..
At others, a gesture,
a pose, a half
hidden smile
Telltale signs of
an entity born
of blood and
sririt
Yet whose habitation
is veiled to
itself and hidden
under the wings
of eternity
Yet, how does
one survey so
vast a panoply
of mind and
spirit when
the soul yields
not its secrets
readily
The soul may
reveal to the
disinterested
passerby a
momentary face
of stone
while to others
the key to its
inner universe
is offered with
a smile
Who can know
it?
Perhaps the tears
of a mother fall
through doors for
which there is
no key..save the
master locksmith
To gaze intently
into a face
To look
To turn away
then look again
And alas!
The face of a
thousand sorrows
have vanished,
and the visage
of a settled
contentment befalls
you
Strength molds the
chin of the
father
The frolic of
indecision flush
accross the faces
of undying youth
The never never
land of children
will be summoned
by the nature of
time and character
will awaken them
to become warriors
The face of the
moment is characters
living clock where
minutes become hours,
days, and years..
and years bow to
to the dust as
all flesh must
And who knows
that character
will not sit
in columned halls
of the master
locksmith..
are
The sum of
the soul
The joy and
pain
The living and
the dying
Is recorded as
a living testament
within the
countenance
A mirror
of innumerable
reflections..
character..
At times, glancing
through the windows
of the eyes..
At others, a gesture,
a pose, a half
hidden smile
Telltale signs of
an entity born
of blood and
sririt
Yet whose habitation
is veiled to
itself and hidden
under the wings
of eternity
Yet, how does
one survey so
vast a panoply
of mind and
spirit when
the soul yields
not its secrets
readily
The soul may
reveal to the
disinterested
passerby a
momentary face
of stone
while to others
the key to its
inner universe
is offered with
a smile
Who can know
it?
Perhaps the tears
of a mother fall
through doors for
which there is
no key..save the
master locksmith
To gaze intently
into a face
To look
To turn away
then look again
And alas!
The face of a
thousand sorrows
have vanished,
and the visage
of a settled
contentment befalls
you
Strength molds the
chin of the
father
The frolic of
indecision flush
accross the faces
of undying youth
The never never
land of children
will be summoned
by the nature of
time and character
will awaken them
to become warriors
The face of the
moment is characters
living clock where
minutes become hours,
days, and years..
and years bow to
to the dust as
all flesh must
And who knows
that character
will not sit
in columned halls
of the master
locksmith..
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Apr 2011
About this poem:
Just reflecting on faces and the amazing but deep stories that they tell.A kind of romantic description of abstract qualities..After turbulence
Some trials on my way,
have been tough, may I say.
Still the outcome was worth the struggle.
You by my side, and happiness is double.
You light up my days.
I love you all the ways.
I trust the feeling stays,
when the years pass away.
Double the love and joy.
I guess the meant to be boy,
you were and will be.
With you I feel free.
I sky dive in the wind.
There is nothing hindering.
I fly free, touch the sky.
No longer, I ask "why?"
Everything went, as it was meant.
My loving thoughts I send,
to those whose will is bend.
"Look at the spring, the snow has melt.
And believe in life, after turbulence."
have been tough, may I say.
Still the outcome was worth the struggle.
You by my side, and happiness is double.
You light up my days.
I love you all the ways.
I trust the feeling stays,
when the years pass away.
Double the love and joy.
I guess the meant to be boy,
you were and will be.
With you I feel free.
I sky dive in the wind.
There is nothing hindering.
I fly free, touch the sky.
No longer, I ask "why?"
Everything went, as it was meant.
My loving thoughts I send,
to those whose will is bend.
"Look at the spring, the snow has melt.
And believe in life, after turbulence."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
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The Death Of Old McGee
Underneath the basement floor, I buried old McGee,
When I was young, just twenty-four, and he was forty-three.
Fifty years have passed by since he met an end so grim;
I've often thought to move his bones, and what remains of him.
Yet even now the townsfolk watch this little house, and stare;
And speculate upon his absence, and his daughter, fair.
Fair she was! And all who knew her, knew what he had done!
Yet they left her pleas unanswered; help, they offered none!
I was young, an able hand, new travelled from afar,
A green and willing stablehand, my guide a western star.
His daughter soon was known to me, as was her evil plight;
McGee then learned about our tryst, and came to me one night:
He thought to beat me like a cur, to kill me if he could!
Broken, bleeding, bloody, I grabbed up a stick of wood!
Oh, McGee, how I recall your face, corrupt with rage;
Your coarse, unshaven jowl, your breath fowl as Sodom's cage!
Struck, the first blow sent your yellow teeth about like dice!
Struck, the next blow laid you low, and scattered wee straw-mice!
Struck, the third blow shattered every wit inside your head!
Struck, the fourth blow to be sure your wicked soul was dead!
The peace that followed, like her life, was short and bitter-sweet;
Her grave lies near a meadow-stream, where grass and sunshine meet;
Wildflowers grace her place of rest, the tears of angels glimmer;
As rainbow-dew upon the grass, their iridescent shimmer.
The slow, long years have worn away her pain, her flowered barrow;
A stately elm now marks her place, a place for lark and sparrow:
Forever she will breathe sweet air! And how the bright sun longs!
While old McGee in darkness withers, trapped where he belongs!
When I was young, just twenty-four, and he was forty-three.
Fifty years have passed by since he met an end so grim;
I've often thought to move his bones, and what remains of him.
Yet even now the townsfolk watch this little house, and stare;
And speculate upon his absence, and his daughter, fair.
Fair she was! And all who knew her, knew what he had done!
Yet they left her pleas unanswered; help, they offered none!
I was young, an able hand, new travelled from afar,
A green and willing stablehand, my guide a western star.
His daughter soon was known to me, as was her evil plight;
McGee then learned about our tryst, and came to me one night:
He thought to beat me like a cur, to kill me if he could!
Broken, bleeding, bloody, I grabbed up a stick of wood!
Oh, McGee, how I recall your face, corrupt with rage;
Your coarse, unshaven jowl, your breath fowl as Sodom's cage!
Struck, the first blow sent your yellow teeth about like dice!
Struck, the next blow laid you low, and scattered wee straw-mice!
Struck, the third blow shattered every wit inside your head!
Struck, the fourth blow to be sure your wicked soul was dead!
The peace that followed, like her life, was short and bitter-sweet;
Her grave lies near a meadow-stream, where grass and sunshine meet;
Wildflowers grace her place of rest, the tears of angels glimmer;
As rainbow-dew upon the grass, their iridescent shimmer.
The slow, long years have worn away her pain, her flowered barrow;
A stately elm now marks her place, a place for lark and sparrow:
Forever she will breathe sweet air! And how the bright sun longs!
While old McGee in darkness withers, trapped where he belongs!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2011
About this poem:
Just some old-fashioned rhyming.The dry oak tree
I repost it here so people can find it easier...
_____________________
Once upon the time there was a large, dry oak tree standing over the cliff, watching in desperation the sun go down behind the clouds soaked in blood... and darkness fell upon his heart... there was no hope for the dawn, it was late now, far too late... the night has arrived and life's goals are gone forever... There was nothing to live for, no-one to care for... The journey had come to its end...
Yet, the dawn had arrived when a bright white dove found rest upon his branches. His soul was filled with sparks, his heart was thrilled from joy he never felt...
How long the sun will shine, I do not know... Or that the morning dew will quench the thirst of empty hearts... or the blinking stars sprinkle their lights into the darkest corners of souls...
How long?...
Life is mysterious and relationships are complicated... wounded birds falling from the sky hear: 'Go, heal each other!', and they cry: 'Don't touch my wounds! Keep away! It is hurting! and they hurl down to the ashes in pain and blood...
Slowly but surely they are drifting apart... wounds bleed and leave scars when healed... being frightened they desperately grab after the other with their sharp nails...
Why is life so complex? Why are we so hopeless when there is so much beauty around us? When there is so much to appreciate about each of us...
A year has passed and the dry oak tree that in the past in desperation
watched the sun going down had found life again... life, beautiful beyond imagination... a year that was worth waiting and hoping for, that was worth living...
_______________________________
Copyrighted by Revealer24 on CS
_____________________
Once upon the time there was a large, dry oak tree standing over the cliff, watching in desperation the sun go down behind the clouds soaked in blood... and darkness fell upon his heart... there was no hope for the dawn, it was late now, far too late... the night has arrived and life's goals are gone forever... There was nothing to live for, no-one to care for... The journey had come to its end...
Yet, the dawn had arrived when a bright white dove found rest upon his branches. His soul was filled with sparks, his heart was thrilled from joy he never felt...
How long the sun will shine, I do not know... Or that the morning dew will quench the thirst of empty hearts... or the blinking stars sprinkle their lights into the darkest corners of souls...
How long?...
Life is mysterious and relationships are complicated... wounded birds falling from the sky hear: 'Go, heal each other!', and they cry: 'Don't touch my wounds! Keep away! It is hurting! and they hurl down to the ashes in pain and blood...
Slowly but surely they are drifting apart... wounds bleed and leave scars when healed... being frightened they desperately grab after the other with their sharp nails...
Why is life so complex? Why are we so hopeless when there is so much beauty around us? When there is so much to appreciate about each of us...
A year has passed and the dry oak tree that in the past in desperation
watched the sun going down had found life again... life, beautiful beyond imagination... a year that was worth waiting and hoping for, that was worth living...
_______________________________
Copyrighted by Revealer24 on CS
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2011
About this poem:
This is about the complexities of life and relationships - and all the more, about hope.Moving on
Sorting through the stuff as I am packing... and the reality of break-up strikes like lightening from the clear sky... It is no more. Gone. What started so beautifully drowned in misunderstanding and suspicion.
Why?... Why such a mistrust? All your accusations were groundless, yes, I am not perfect, but I am not like you made me out to be...
Pride flames up on both sides, walls raised to the sky, protect yourself, I am right, you are wrong... you don't love me!!!... I do... but I am weak... I don't know how to do it better...
Who cares about the little one... her little eyes wide open and does not understand why she is not loved... What's wrong, she asks... Cleaning up the house, she is told...
Selfishness and pride flashes fiery arrows, blood flows and cries light up the sky... all the little one wants is her hugs and kisses... not at a pre-arranged time, at visitations, but any time and every time... Where is my freedom, to hug mum and dad when I need them? Who cares about ME??? She will get used to not seeing you, I hear the wise saying... but how will I get used to not seeing her?... pain rips my heart, tears run into my eyes... Yes, we will both get used to the scars... they numb our hearts and tone down our feelings... and deep inside the hurts, like boiling lava, are buried forever... but they are alive... these wounds don't heal... we pretend they do, but we lie to ourselves...
We move on with life... if desolation can be called life... for destruction is left behind and blood flows on the streets... cries are heard, quieter and quieter as we go, until all cries die out...
And I enter the cold, unfriendly world... where there is no hope... fearfully looking into the steel cold face of the future... and wonder... what life is about...
Why?... Why such a mistrust? All your accusations were groundless, yes, I am not perfect, but I am not like you made me out to be...
Pride flames up on both sides, walls raised to the sky, protect yourself, I am right, you are wrong... you don't love me!!!... I do... but I am weak... I don't know how to do it better...
Who cares about the little one... her little eyes wide open and does not understand why she is not loved... What's wrong, she asks... Cleaning up the house, she is told...
Selfishness and pride flashes fiery arrows, blood flows and cries light up the sky... all the little one wants is her hugs and kisses... not at a pre-arranged time, at visitations, but any time and every time... Where is my freedom, to hug mum and dad when I need them? Who cares about ME??? She will get used to not seeing you, I hear the wise saying... but how will I get used to not seeing her?... pain rips my heart, tears run into my eyes... Yes, we will both get used to the scars... they numb our hearts and tone down our feelings... and deep inside the hurts, like boiling lava, are buried forever... but they are alive... these wounds don't heal... we pretend they do, but we lie to ourselves...
We move on with life... if desolation can be called life... for destruction is left behind and blood flows on the streets... cries are heard, quieter and quieter as we go, until all cries die out...
And I enter the cold, unfriendly world... where there is no hope... fearfully looking into the steel cold face of the future... and wonder... what life is about...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2011
About this poem:
Separation and its effect on you and me and the little ones...The Paladin's Lament
The Paladin's Lament
The swirl of vengeful desert dust
and moral rage long simmering
dulls the sound of angel's wing
and hides my hope's light glimmering.
In righteous roar of red-tinged mist,
all peace of mind is gone and lost.
If challenge in this life were fair,
not vigilance by dragon's lair,
if I had just normal struggles made,
not bashing demons on my blade,
the gnashing in my soul would stop
and easy wrongs would kindly drop.
I deftly face old Darwin's knife
slicing weakness from my life,
but facing devils miles wide
with no-one's army by my side
is getting old quite hard and fast;
time's mortal strength will not long last.
If worldly needs did not exist
I'd retire to a hermit's nest,
but with quiet breaking heart at noon
my sinful midnight hand creeps in
delivering me so I may rest,
tears falling after on my breast,
that waits to cherish, love, adore,
if just my pride were not at war.
Alone I fall asleep at night,
alone I wake in morning light.
The swirl of vengeful desert dust
and moral rage long simmering
dulls the sound of angel's wing
and hides my hope's light glimmering.
In righteous roar of red-tinged mist,
all peace of mind is gone and lost.
If challenge in this life were fair,
not vigilance by dragon's lair,
if I had just normal struggles made,
not bashing demons on my blade,
the gnashing in my soul would stop
and easy wrongs would kindly drop.
I deftly face old Darwin's knife
slicing weakness from my life,
but facing devils miles wide
with no-one's army by my side
is getting old quite hard and fast;
time's mortal strength will not long last.
If worldly needs did not exist
I'd retire to a hermit's nest,
but with quiet breaking heart at noon
my sinful midnight hand creeps in
delivering me so I may rest,
tears falling after on my breast,
that waits to cherish, love, adore,
if just my pride were not at war.
Alone I fall asleep at night,
alone I wake in morning light.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2011
About this poem:
I wrote this about 2 months ago. ...I'm a literary glutton for the likes of CS Lewis, Tolkien and George MacDonald, and I enjoy writing a lot when it strikes me.Poems entered on these pages are copyrighted by the authors who entered them. They cannot be reproduced without the author's written consent. © Copyright 2001-2024. All rights reserved.
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