A place about everything and nothing

Poetry

The Rose


A poem I did a long time ago. Inspired by Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came

 

The Rose

 

I

Lightning piercing dark black clouds

Chaos, anarchy and fear abound

The end has come for all but few

The weight of the world is all I feel

 

II

The quest for the rose is not for naught

Trudging on though Childe I am not

Sword, Shield and Armour I wore

I shall not fall” I swore

 

III

Fall thou shalt and fall thy will

A voice, disembodied, a chill

Brandish my sword to nothingness I did

The thing I killed was only time not it

 

IV

“Protect the rose I will, for fear I do not”

“Heed me! To go on then thou art a fool

“If death waits then conquer it I shall”

“Then go! For to the rose thou shalt fall!

 

V

The voice haunting, drifting, drifting, gone

Arduous my task, the life of the lone

Childe I am not, word slinger I am

The rose, the rose, how low must I go

 

VI

Blood, blood, blood, all in my way I slew

The rose awaits, this knowledge I knew

So close to the rose, its whisper I could hear

Doubt, fear, confusion, surfaced as I near

 

VII

“Thou art indeed a fool to come to the rose”

“Show thyself coward” I cried my defiance

Face my adversary I did, for the enemy was me

“Turn back, the rose is not thee’s!” cried me

 

VIII

Steel to steel, dust to dust and blood shalt flow

Perished my dark side was and behold the rose

The beautiful pink rose, defenses long forgotten

So long have I dreamt of it, so long so long

 

IX

Pain, agony, my heart, the thorns pierced my heart

To the rose thou shalt fall, and to the rose I fell

My heart was pierced, crushed, broken by the rose

No more, no more, the word slinger slain by the rose

 

X

Darkness, emptiness, a hollow void, nothing, nothing

Pain, pain, air! Breathe I must, breathe I did

The rain was falling, I laid amongst petals and thorns

Death conquered but the rose was gone. Petals and thorns

 

XI

The rain had stopped but my heart still aches

The rose, the rose, how low must I go?

Petals and thorns, petals, petals, pink petals and thorns

The word slinger to the rose came, his journey never ends

 

 

The Rose

I

Lightning piercing dark black clouds

Chaos, anarchy and fear abound

The end has come for all but few

The merciless sun is all I feel

II

The quest for the rose is not for naught

Trudging on though Childe I am not

Sword, shield and amour I wore

On my honor I shall not fail’ I swore

III

‘Fail thee must and fail thee will’

A voice disembodied, a chill

Brandish my sword to nothingness I did

The thing I killed was only time not it

IV

‘Protect the rose I will! For fear I not’

‘Heed me! To go on then fool thou art’

‘If death waits then conquer it I shall!’

‘Then go! For to the rose thee shall fall!’

V

The voice haunting, drifting, drifting, gone

Arduous my task the life of the lone

Childe I am not, word slinger I am though

The rose, the rose, how low must I go

VI

Blood, blood, blood all in my way I slew

The rose awaits this knowledge I knew

So close to the rose, its whisper I could hear

Doubt, fear, confusion surface as I near

VII

Fool indeed thou art to come to the rose’

Show thyself coward’ I cried my defiance

Face my adversary I did for the enemy was me

‘Turn back, the rose is not thee’s cried me

VIII

Steel to steel, dust to dust, blood shall flow

Perished my dark side was and behold the rose

The beautiful pink rose, defenses long forgotten

So long have I dreamt of it so long so long

IX

Pain, agony, my heart, the thorns pierced my heart

To the rose thee shall fall and to the rose I fell

My heart was pierced, crushed, broken by the rose

No more, no more the word slinger slain by the rose

X

Darkness, emptiness, a hollow void, nothing, nothing

Pain, pain, air! Breathe I must, breathe I did

The rain was falling I laid on the dirt, petals and thorns

Death conquered but the rose, gone. Petals and thorns

XI

The rain had stopped but my heart still aches

The rose the rose, how low must I go?

Petals and thorns, petals, petals pink petals and thorns

The word slinger to the rose came, his journey never ends

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An Ode to the Living Dead


The cold air blew through my open window while the pale specular reflection of the moon shimmered.

I awoke with a start, sweating. My shirt was soaked while perspiration trickle down my face.

“…were found Dead”

I was bathed in cold shifting light as the tele near my bed flickered with static .

“Suicide rates have continued to increase despite efforts….”

Shifting images of people shuffling to work tore through my retinas and into my brain.

“Get off the road you damn Nutter!” A baleful horn and an angry fist.

Dead….

I lifted my leaden feet and lurched towards the station. Everyone goes to the station sometimes… Everyone….

Alive….

Pain wrecked my body as the world rolled over me.

Falling…

Smashed against the bottom of the steps I picked myself up and nursed my injured arm.

“Watch it asshole! You are in the way!”

Nobody cares. The world cares not for those it leaves behind.

For the world turns with every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every year.

It turns away, never to look back.

Shuffling forms filled the train. Body heaped upon bodies.

The smell of decay flows down from the top and into the station.

Dead…?

I stand amidst the bodies innumerable. Vacant seats and vacant minds.

I walk…

Rundown and barely serviced. My apartment, my home.

My tomb…?

“…there has been a drastic rise in the number of people claiming that ‘the end is nigh’. Authorities are clamping down… “

I look at the mirror but a stranger looks back.

There is sadness in your eyes I told the stranger

My vision blurred and it was moist

Dead… but still alive…

Out the window they were walking

Always walking, walking, walking

I lived…

I live…

I die…

The wind blowing through my hair as I run laughing through the streets.

People stop and stare and I laugh at their bewildered gaze

Let them trudge on in the thick mud of drudgery

Let them walk the path they walk forevermore

I dance with the walking dead as they shuffle through their life

In my breast beats a cold furnace and I’m more alive than ever

But I am dead inside… My heart a frozen mass…

I am the living and the dead… for I am an ode to the living dead.

Work by Petros Ghebrehiwot


Upon My High Tower


 

 

The High Tower

I sat atop my high tower, aloof and proud

Looking down at my envious crowd

With disdain and contempt I greeted them

For they are the soulless and the damned

I sat atop my high tower seated upon my throne

My subjects are many but I needed none

For only I alone have the will to see the stars

To see beyond the heavens and my mortal bars.

I sat atop my high tower, without mate nor peer

I have seen the stars but no one sees my fears

I look down from my high tower, my home, my prison

My vision of the stars were my prize, my poison

 

I sat atop my high tower longing for release

My only company were the ghost of the decease

I suffer alone the knowledge won from the heavens

Though all is revealed to me, my soul lays barren

I sat atop my high tower screaming

The crowd stirs but no one is listening

No one sees my anguish, no one hears my cries

I sat atop my high tower, in the tower I shall die


Beauty


Beauty


What a beauty you are

Personified you are not

Pictures you are not

How perplexing

How confusing

Oh beauty what are you

Torment me so

Hurt me so

Your nature eludes me

For words you are not

For pen do you no justice

Nor are you an action

For the ballet makes you weep

You are not the voice

Even when nature sings you praise

Oh beauties real are you

Or just a dream

A dream for fools

Fools who claim to know you so

Accusing you to be all that is holy

All that is right

All that is good

Beauty you rouse me so

I burn for you

Yet never capture you

Oh beauty you make me feel

To tear with emotion

To seethe with rage

To laugh with joy

To make me human

Oh beauty what are you

Are you real or just a dream

A fleeting dream that comes and goes

Like ages old and new

Beauty where are you

Are you the soul that burns for thee?

I chase a dream

A dream for beauty

But you are a dream

You are not real

I searched for beauty for naught

For there is no real beauty

I am beauty

I am the thought

I am an idea

I am a dream.


The Tree


The bus spurred to life with a puff of smoke

As I watch the world slip by me

The lone tree sways in the evening breeze.

No glance nor thought cast upon it.

Its name long forgotten, its meaning non-existent.

It was but a tree, a nameless tree.

But it whispered to me of a forgotten time.

Where air was sweet and man at peace.

Fields of roses where butterflies dance.

I danced with the butterflies, I danced with the tree.

But when I fell,  all I could smell,

Was the acrid air of burning wood.

For man have forgotten the name of nature.

I look yonder, the rose fields gone.

Butterflies dancing in the flames,

The old tree lay charred and cold.

The bus ground to a stop once more,

All I could see was a world that has forgotten.