Life depleted, run dry, and from this foolish world departed,
met with darkness rich and pure and open-hearted.
Lamentably short-lived;
for light, past life, breaks harsh and clamorous,
eager to judge, impune, segment us.
Within enamled spheres where convention bids:
"Come live in ignorant, servile bliss!
"Bend to rosy, celestial cheeks and kiss!
"Repel from thee what thou might miss!"
My tongue to tastes both ill and queer,
could not be pressed in to adhere,
for though cherubs sung their fervent song,
their tone, it seemed to me, all wrong.
For to their dulcet tones perscribed,
restrictions ought not be applied.
So to this realm of immediate glamour,
wrought with question and nary an answer,
I delightedly declined, and lo!
the warmth of smiles inverted, so,
repelled by proof of false intention
spat in the face of disapproving light
and masqeuraded beauty,
turned on it abruptly and dove into Darkness,
once more enthralled by its unconditional promise.
A final strike be owed, to this, my unconventiality,
in reponse, flow dictated I followed suit to my morality;
lame currents engorged upon the weaker of wills.
flames sprung up, fought hard to consume
proving futile to fuel fear, or even to wound,
for one unresigned to fate,
though endlessly compelled to take,
the machinations of prior establishment
can shrug free the boorish judgements of knaves and feast
on lavish flavours otherwise belonging to the beast,
who crested the flames before me and bid:
"Let thine comprimised conscience seek in shame,
"Penance paid through strife and pain,
"Since indulgence soiled thy dull, clear brain."
Conscience intact, I shook my head,
and to infernal monster said:
Of indulgence I have had my share,
and regret it not, but proudly bear
experience in what form it take
than abstinence for abstinence' sake.
All the while bogged down by strong suggestion,
keenest eyes would miss that wild dimension-
its brothers and sisters, all born of thought
that creative wiles and wit hath wrought.
Why surrender to contrived damnation
when 'sin' itself breeds exhaltation.
The more one thinks, the more one knows,
the more one's prospective universe grows.
So past the murky veil of life
where possibility makes light talk of strife
and what's in becomes what's out and is
reality in what form you'd give.
With options laid out at my feet
and hung and draped about my reeling head,
I chose to choose and test my hand
at creation to my own taste's demand,
the Darkness whirled on to entice
imagination to even loftier heights,
where my own voice bid:
"It's yours, all this, readily forsaken,
"exchanged, eyes shut, for condemnation,
"take it, keen soul, ripe for creation,
"and weild it to make a bold new nation to shimmer amidst the stars."
Below me, vast, a swirling chasm,
my soul, conjured concept, wrenched in spasm,
a light from far below grew wide,
a globe, a dome, within I spied,
sights far foreign, familiarly known
from dreams recollected, but tangibly sown
in soil as fruitful as my soul is strange,
I watch my dreams and wishes immaculately arrange,
'till down I go, my being pass
through kindred barriers cool as glass,
and stronger than what man can craft
this ethereal film, this rabbit-hole-like shaft.
I drift like a fleck of molten fire,
embrazened by what I see transpire,
the world as I wished it could have been
constantly witnessed but never seen.
Only now do I see our folly, this trifle that holds us back,
from seeing what is, how it should be, and how bliss can make us crack.
A grand design, all inclusive, from whence religion springs,
seeks not to teach, but simply is, as such contends with other things.
We are as they, great and minute, how paradoxically so!
And how the wider we stretch our minds, the greater places we get to go.
Author notes
This is my reconciliation of religion. Its all true, all of it, but their just pieces, incomplete fractions of a whole whose true dimensions and nature we try to reason out through religious constructs. I see the universe, the infinity of alternate dimensions, the possibility of creation as a trait shared by humanity and gods. Death allows us to fabricate out beliefs and dreams for us to revel or dwell in, and since I see the spiritual realm as operating on a similar set of principles as the natural, corporeal world, we would all naturally go there and be able to dart from one manifest reality of an individual's dreams to another. Believing in one religion merely sets you up to conform to one and only one manifest reality, which, I suppose, is great if you want that sort of thing. I want to die the way I live, in transit, in total experimentation mode.
Comments
-
well, i don't think i'm capable of leaving a novel as a comment, but you already know that i really like this poem. the rhyme and the flow add to the overall images. i obviously don't agree with your reconciliation of religions, but other than that, this is a great write. i really like how the stuff you've been reading and studying lately has influenced your style. it's very well done.
-
Incredible, as usual.
Again, incredible, as usual.
It left me speechless, (well there's no one here to talk to but thats besides the point), so I had to read it again a couple more times before I could formulate something partially worthwhile to write in response.
Firstly, Second stanza, third line from the bottom, there is a spelling error, masqueraded*.
Secondly,
"Since indulgence soiled thy dull, clear brain"
I fricken love this line. It caught me the first time I read it, and the second and third I loved it even more. I don't know if the oxymoron was intentional, but the way it sounds both in the mind and aloud is just fantastic, even if it is so simple.
Kudos.
Next, I really enjoyed the language used and the rhyme scheme. It delivers a certain flow and sets a perfect mood for the point you're trying to get across.
The only things I would change is the grammar here and there, maybe it's just the way I'm reading it, but sometimes it seems like the comas make the lines go on for too long, and there isn't time to pause and take breath, if that makes any sense at all. And for some reasons the quotation marks don't seem right being at the beginning of the every part of the sentence, but not at the end. But maybe that's just me being weird.
So after I've written a novel in this box, I will finish by saying this was really really awesome, and definitely a poem to go back and read over and find new interesting things about it in the future.
Anyway,
Call me sometime so we can hang out again, I need to get away from the mall. Also, you're the only one who cares as much as I do on the technical aspects of music and and writing, ergo, I need someone to splurge it all to, since whenever I bring it up with anyone else they simply tell me,
"Shut up Roach, I don't care about the cello part" =P
Fantastic, keep writing, I always need more good reading material.
Roach =)
-
I dare not comment on this in case to ruin the mood! lol The only thing that I can say is in the 4th stanza, about the 5th or so line is the word "whiel". Is that supposed to be 'while'?
Adding your comment:
