A poem I did a long time ago. Inspired by Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
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
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
“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
“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!“
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
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
“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
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
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
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
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 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.
I lifted my leaden feet and lurched towards the station. Everyone goes to the station sometimes… Everyone….
Pain wrecked my body as the world rolled over me.
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.
I stand amidst the bodies innumerable. Vacant seats and vacant minds.
Rundown and barely serviced. My apartment, my home.
“…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
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.
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
What a beauty you are
Personified you are not
Pictures you are not
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 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.