Saturday, February 12, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
We pray but that our souls might find release,
From all the turmoils of this earth;
To run from chaos, search for peace,
And from such solace find rebirth.
Why, Heaven high, your gaze avert from here
The veil not from thy sacred face?
Are we not worthy, timeless eyes to bear,
Or, longing, gaze on perfect grace?
Return not thence to shadows like the day
And teach us all the mysteries
Of how to love and how to pray
Before we perish on the breeze,
Or sink beyond the western seas
Into the shadows far away.
I composed these verses quite a few months ago while going through no small amount of stress, mostly self-induced. My goal at the time wasn't so much to write anything acceptable, but just to vent my recurring negative thoughts and emotions onto paper. Well, more precisely, onto my iPhone, where most of this poem was composed (fun fact: the first draft was written in about 15 minutes on a scissor lift suspended about 40 feet in the air). It isn't an intricate poem. Honestly, it isn't even one of my favourites, but it expresses my entire year (2010) almost perfectly. Hopefully in the passing of this new year, I shall grow wise enough to at least partially answer some of the questions I have. Maybe I'll write something more about this in the future…
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Why fare these men on so unseemly forth?
What drives them day by day to carry on
Amidst the tumult and the chaos of
Insanity so manifest in form:
In hatred crawling deep beneath the skin,
In carnal parasitic lust encroached,
In loss and love and tragedies adorned
With screams and cries and desperate ruined souls?
The earth has borne for oft' and ever it
Has swept its way around the scorching sun
These multiplicities of mournful fates,
These heavy yokes that shackled bind men's souls
Enfeebled by the choking mortal strain,
But they enslaved do wage this war against
The fortunes dolled to them from birth to death
And rising up, the very gods they dare
Ingloriously strike against with arms
Rebellious raised up to the heights above.
Omnipotent, scarce imposed be these gods
(Despite the valour beating in men's hearts)
By beings barred and bound from touching the
Celestial sea that spans the midnight realms
Above and floods into oblivion.
Relentless, bold, yet doomed and dying stand
They thus, these mortal men in mortal lands,
Far-thrown to distant suns and cursed to die,
In aeons darkness damned eternal lie.
What hope have you? What hope is there to hold?
In vain you strive on fighting to the end,
In death you pass, to never wake again:
A flame forever dimmed by bitter cold,
A fire that once raged on, ever bold.
But now the narrow path of fate does bend;
No virtue can such loathed lanes amend.
To death you slink and down into the grave,
Yet still you shout, "I'm saved! I'm saved! I'm saved!"
This is a poem I completed only just a few days ago but began working on toward the middle of December 2010. It all began on an extremely long bus ride back home to Louisville, KY that lasted about 15-16 hours. I was listening to music at the time (Silversun Pickups, if I recall correctly) and gazing out of the window and across the Georgian horizon on into the sky. I started thinking about the world and, more specifically, mankind and its relation to the divine. The final version of the poem (which bears not even a single line of the original) was completed a few nights ago in the darkness of my unlit room around midnight. Like the circumstances that prompted its conceptualization, the poem is one of brooding contemplation. However, it is not my contemplation that is necessarily presented, but the contemplation of an unknown individual who is analyzing the human condition and the circumstances surrounding mortal existence. But this begs the question, "Who is this narrator?" I leave the answering to you, dear reader.