Posts tagged "Poetry"
  1. Notes: 1 / 4 months ago 

    Plague Carrier

    Act I

    At mid-morning an outsider was seen stumbling towards the village gate
    with the jerky, halting shuffle of someone whose every step was pained
    The watchmen there saw that the man was in a hideously diseased state

    and ran to him so that if he was contagious could be better ascertained

    Warily keeping a few paces away, they curtly hallooed the stranger
    but he answered not and limped on to the guards’ agape surprise
    They then sternly asked if his sickness was an infectious danger
    but the man just plodded on with a hazy obliviousness in his eyes

    In a fevered stupor or not, his unwelcomeness still had to be conveyed
    for he could transmit his affliction, and cause an outbreak’s devastation
    and they could not, even by pity, from their duty to safeguard be swayed
    Nearing the village entrance he made the watchmen fulfil their obligation
    Assembling before him, each rested a palm on the handle of his blade
    and their leader commanded him to stop or face a violent confrontation

    The man, as they feared, kept moving towards their line, insensible to all
    Clearly, they had to knock him down if they were to stop the dogged fool
    One grabbed his scabbard to use as a bludgeon to force the man to fall

    and came at him with it raised to strike a blow, not glad to be so cruel
    A solid whack to the legs dropped the man, but yet onward he did crawl
    The watchmen were astounded that he remained as stubborn as a mule

    They could only watch in astonishment as on went his intractable advance
    He was dragging himself between their legs, gaze still focused on his aim

    The guards, uncertain what to do, offered each other a bewildered glance
    Having got behind them, the man arose quickly for someone who was lame
    Dropping the pretense, he bolted through the gate, seizing his brief chance 
    and had already entered the village before the first watchmen could exclaim

    The walkways were sparsely crowded because it was the sabbath day
    but there were enough people walking around to suit the intruder’s needs
    Each unfortunate person he encountered on the paths became his prey
    as he rubbed his pustuled hands in their face in the most terrible of deeds
    For he meant to infect all he could before the opportunity was taken away
    as the vengeful guards would be very eager to see if this monster bleeds

    The watchmen only stopped him after he’d subjected many to his pestilence
    When cutting the evil madman down, no measure of mercy did they provide
    It escaped notice when with brutality they compensated for their negligence
    but heavy tears were streaming down the slain aggressor’s face as he died

    Act II

    The resulting village plague was as horrific as any the extant annals recorded
    Though the disease persisted relatively briefly before it withdrew and passed,
    it visited upon its victims the lifetimes worth of pain bubonic agony afforded
    and, like hoarded spoils, into open graves deposited the corpses it amassed
    The dead interred in earthen vaults were plunder which fate dutifully awarded;
    gruesome currency paid to its assassin which in long, unkind eons stood fast

    When the blight subsided, unafflicted villagers rejoiced in euphoric celebration,
    On their knees they praised the heavens as they were overcome with ecstasy
    They’d stayed pious and God spared them, inspiring their grovelling adulation
    The elders, revered as wise and just, labelled the contagion ‘born of destiny’:
    it was divine punishment against those heinous sinners worthy of damnation
    By priests this account disseminated with their convincing rhetoric of zealotry

    Reverent throngs sat nodding, mindlessly imbibing untruths at their pews
    They stifled their shame so they could stomach this boldfaced deception

    Mourn the lost or find asylum in lies? They had not the courage to choose
    So they rejected the decision before their conscience could raise objection
    The departed’s legacy they besmirched, which no extenuation may excuse,
    but they were shielded from aching grief which was an invaluable protection  

    A father spurned the gutless flock as for an immoral salve they did quest
    Hearing them sing so fervently to avoid even thinking about their betrayal,
    he reflected that for sordid relief their righteous instinct they’d repressed
    They were so pitiably broken but he could only despise them without fail
    for, no stronger than them, he’d still endure his anguish at duty’s behest
    Grieving was a torment but it was due and proper, and not right to curtail

    By visions of his dying daughter any mental quiet was soon replaced
    She’d just begun walking when the plague inflicted on her a hellish end
    As death approached, her spirit was by endless misery rapidly effaced
    Catatonically dazed by pain, no sound or sight could she comprehend

    In her mind she suffered alone as in her perception he was displaced
    Sobbing, he’d comfort her, a heedless husk his love could never mend

    When she could withstand no further ravage from the pestilent assault,
    her life force depleted and she was even denied a peaceful expiration
    A violent seizure preceded her last breaths and did only abruptly halt
    as a vile slush of bloody vomit asphyxiated her in a final desecration

    He buried her with haste as he couldn’t bear to look upon her remains
    Her delicate, flawless flesh had been destroyed by monstrous corrosion
    The plague targeted her pureness to ruthlessly defile in its filthy flames
    Had she died unblemished, still immaculate she would be forever frozen

    With his daughter gone, he had nothing for his wife perished giving birth
    Now he’d get drunk and lightly drag a dagger’s blade across his chest,

    contemplating that with one quick plunge he’d be freed from this earth,
    and rejoin his beloved; his mind decreed he do it but his hand did protest

    Unable to kill himself, he’d beckon death and then for it he would await
    Packing reminders of his loved ones, he left his onetime family home
    In the village, he saw its fools still sought the amnesia of the prostate
    He ventured into the wilderness, a purgatorial plane he would roam
    In its solitary seclusion, the reaper he’d tirelessly provoke and berate
    He’d dare the great nothingness to erase him whilst he walked alone

    Trudging along, he rested only when exhaustion brought his collapse
    Often he wistfully studied his sacred mementos in a delirious trance
    Though he taunted death, it didn’t come, didn’t fall for amateurish traps
    It looked on amused, uninclined to oblige the wanderer of this expanse

    Maybe time, disinterested master of all things, would grant him his repose
    Soon enough, when very weak, he could do nothing but fall and not arise
    He was pleased as this meant oblivion had his scent in its unworldly nose
    So he lay envisioning a glorious reunion when his soul rose into the skies
    His essence drained away and, to his delight, on came the deathly throes
    He willed himself to fade faster, so eager for the rapture after his demise
    For his lot was harrowing and he was infinitely glad to escape his woes
    Elation illuminated his countenance as he succumbed and shut his eyes


    As his eyelids flickered open once more, and he saw the familiar sky,
    he was incredibly enraged, instinctively trying to let out an angry roar

    but he found that though he willed his mouth to move, it wouldn’t comply
    In fact, his mind’s commands could elicit his limbs to respond no more

    As if controlled by some ghostly hand yanking hidden puppet strings,
    he was compelled to sit up and look around, to discover his awful fate

    He was marred by weeping boils and buboes which the plague brings
    Seeing this, a maelstrom of fury arose inside him, one unlikely to abate,
    for he realized that he would be forced to give the pestilence its wings
    It had isolated him to use him as a carrier, and an outbreak he’d create

    He fought it, but whatever power possessed his body rose it to its feet
    and made it walk in the direction, he soon realized, of a nearby village

    Trapped inside his rotting flesh, he’d spectate as the cycle did repeat
    The plague was nature’s destructive agent and he would help it pillage
    Nothing could be worse than this, than this process that he’d complete
    All that he could do now was dwell on his daughter’s once angelic image

  2. Notes: 1 / 5 months ago 

    What they discovered, and what they lost

    Those disused sewer tunnels which ringed the city outskirts round,
    were billed by schoolyard miscreants as a worthy stomping ground
    Long empty and neglected, they concealed a myriad of juvenile misdeeds
    which these reprobates gleefully employed to satisfy acutely crude needs
    This faction was well heeded when this asylum’s virtues they’d expound
    for their counsel on creative delinquency had been precedently sound

    Yet the three boys now assembled at the barred aperture’s rusting gate
    were not likewise ruffians, and had only overheard those that were state
    that this underground labyrinth, which promised the freedom of seclusion,
    could be accessed if one only had the guts to proceed with the intrusion
    For it was said that the puny padlocks which fastened close the gateway,
    habitually replaced by some uncaring custodian thinking only of a payday,
    could easily be smashed and bludgeoned off using a nearby heavy rock
    ‘Key’ was tauntingly graffitied on it for the pretense of security it did mock

    The city’s administration knew these old sewers were a troublemakers’ den
    but, with such nuisances off the street, would overlook this fact now and then
    to buy a respite from their misbehavior and the complaints of their neighbours,
    Plus, with them displaced, their wrongdoing escaped the notice of the papers

    That evidently no one cared who ventured into this abandoned maze
    had emboldened the teenaged trio caught in that adventurous phase   
    which arises when suddenly summer vacation’s long and lazy days,
    at first such rare and liberating prizes, find their novelty soon fades
    Still they felt a scrupulous hesitance when standing at this entrance,
    as many prohibitions against trespassing arose in their remembrance,
    So, though ignored and plainly unenforced, the breaking of these laws
    was a prospect which still inspired trepidation and gave them pause

    As they stood in the weedy patch situated in front of the sewer’s entry
    they fought their conscience’s dictates until feeling all the more intently
    that urge towards rebellious independence which boys can feel so strongly
    when thinking they’re denied some harmless entertainment rather wrongly
    This sentiment swelled within their chests, overcoming lingering objections
    and, newly resolute, they destroyed the gate’s clearly nominal protections

    Cautiously venturing one by one into the tunnel’s menacingly gaping opening,
    darkness swallowed them and they struck matches to aid their eyes in focusing
    Their vision adapted and they forged ahead, soon compelled towards noticing
    that the ground was, at this early point, densely carpeted by assorted garbage:
    mostly bottles, wrappers and cigarette butts but as a very special garnish,
    torn pages from glossy smutty magazines were here and there discarded
    Kicking through this rubbish, they peered downwards and covertly regarded
    these images of the female form which was so mysterious and uncharted
    Once these treasures ceased, they rambled on, far from where they’d started
    and upon seeing how far inward they had gone, they then grew faint-hearted

    Striding on in silence and peering nervously beyond their flames’ paltry reach,
    no one attempted conversation, afraid of any trembling present in their speech
    Sheer bravado was all that pushed them forward, each unwilling to turn back
    lest they betray a disgraceful yellow belly and with jibes be ruthlessly attacked

    A full hour of wandering through this convoluted tunnel system now passed
    as they traversed a web of snaking passageways that was bewilderingly vast
    Knowing that finding their way out may eventually prove somewhat complicated
    the boys were uneasy but, by the spooky location, also immensely fascinated
    and wanted to sustain the gratifying thrill provided by their daring exploration
    and, confident they each felt this way, basked in solidarity’s bolstering elation
    There was little to engage their imagination though, for as they strode ever onward
    they saw only grimy walls and rodent carcasses starvation had once conquered

    At this point, boredom was rapidly setting in as ever aimlessly they still paced
    The excitement of braving the sewers dwindled and each boy’s mind now raced,
    thinking how to suggest that they ought to now quit their scouting and turn around
    for they had roamed so far and what more could conceivably be gained or found?
    As fate so enjoys preempting choice, it picked this moment for an awful revelation
    One boy retrieved the last big box of matches, finding it empty to his consternation
    Sharing his discovery with the other two, an aghast panic gripped them all very tight
    Counting those they still had, they saw they had only enough for fifteen minutes’ light
    Realizing the trouble they were now in, each keenly felt that paralyzing suffocation
    which their claustrophobic frenzy caused, killing any impetus with exasperation
    How damnably foolish they had been, out loud they all angrily collectively reflected
    No one knew where they were adventuring; from all society they were disconnected
    They faced this dire situation alone and, even worse, as fully isolated as is often deadly
    Getting trapped down here like entombed rats was an outcome none of them did envy

    In voices laced with dread they debated, resolving to retrace their footprint’s trail
    fast enough to outrun their matches’ depletion and the onset of lightlessness’ veil  
    So off they ran, stooping low to study exactly what the ground told of where they’d been
    Though they’d sometimes tread lightly, meaning their boots’ imprints could not be seen
    and frequently walked in circles which made their backtracking effort even more trying
    They also had to protect their matchheads’ flames, which seemed quite intent on dying

    As they hurried at a speed befitting their hysteria, each boy battled with mounting terror
    To perish in this ghastly catacomb, blind and sick with hunger and interred here in error;
    it would be enough to make any hardened evildoer shudder for it is a truly horrible demise
    and, when any man encounters it, can decisively sever the most treasured of worldly ties

    One boys’ father was stationed on the dark continent during the second great war,
    and, long since returned, had related to his son a ditty verse from his troop’s lore:
    When once we were charged by a savage hippopotamus,
    well we sure turned tail quickly, kicking up a lot of dust
    As we fled towards the camp we hollered and we cussed,
    praying that it’d only eat the poor fellow running next to us!
    These lines currently occupied his mind, and summarized what they all now thought
    Swept up in fright and desperation, they saw their deaths and their families distraught
    They wished dearly to elude this eventuality, even if here their companions must remain
    It was a wretched impulse born of simple cowardice and their characters it did stain,
    but knowing this, they felt it nonetheless, for even guiltiness couldn’t reverse this stance
    as they would certainly abandon their friends if their chance to survive it might enhance

    They had but a few matches left now, and were running at full pelt, delirious with fear
    It was so hard to know whether the opening to the outside world was far or very near
    They could do nothing but dart along with their eyes downcast, tracking their way out,
    and pray to soon reacquire their lost freedom whose true value they had learned about

    It was the beginning of the end when the lead boy let out a shout of overjoyed relief
    as he scanned the ground underfoot and glimpsed that which earned his disbelief:
    bare breasts on a crumpled magazine page, which he seized to show the other two
    They shared in his infinite delight; that the home stretch approached they now knew
    Setting the sheet alight to act as a makeshift torch, the trio used the litter as a guide
    and shortly afterwards came across the looming opening which let them back outside

    Bursting out of the gate, they bent over and panted from the exhaustion they’d incurred
    They didn’t hug or cheer, too soberly ashamed to embrace or even speak a solitary word
    For they realized that everything had changed and couldn’t help but show it on their face
    When gravely endangered, each discovered they would gladly let a buddy take their place
    Knowing this, and sensing the others knew it too, their friendship could never be the same
    Though not to be acknowledged, an unsullied trusting bond they couldn’t possibly reclaim
    Costly as it had been to do, they’d learned that self-preservation is always our first priority
    When confronting the falling scythe, comradeship is an ideal deprived of all moral authority
    All men must face the eternal truth that we all ultimately stand alone when fatefully imperiled
    Being at the very cusp of early manhood, they wondered what this experience might herald
    They would go on with a better understanding of human nature’s key animalistic mimicry:
    with the beast’s endeavor to, at any cost, live another day we’ve such a remarkable affinity!

  3. Notes: 3 / 6 months ago 

    Nomad of the Endtimes

    At long last I slowed and stopped, dropping to my knees,
    aghast to be now divested of all my preceding strength
    I gazed upon a distant mass of swaying cindered trees
    and felt upon my cheek the sweltering dusty ‘breeze’
    which was doggedly pursuing me with its putrid stench
    of incinerated flesh at those dissipated lives’ expense
    Still kneeling, I readied in my mind a myriad of pleas,
    seeking answers for evils as undoubtedly were these,
    with which I may petition the fates evidently displeased

    Soon animated by an anger as irrepressible as it was fierce,
    I peered upwards, into the very heavens my scrutinizing pierced,
    and roared my pleading questions to an empty, heedless sky
    which answered my desperate litany with an ever silent reply

    Delirious as I was, I didn’t expect any retort from providence;
    still I hated its maddening hush, upheld even now, even here,
    when all consciousness dwindles, lent no means to persevere,
    when extinction eyes humanity as final token of its dominance,
    when oblivion inches ever closer, to make our world disappear
    In a hostile, lifeless universe our spawning was so anomalous,
    and yet we earned a foothold, began forging all our monuments,
    but now disaster struck, making mausoleums of each metropolis
    Our end much like our beginning: of no cosmological consequence

    I thusly understood the full horror of our species fading away
    Our merciless desolation really permits no one to be blamed
    as destiny made mere puppets of those responsible for this day,
    for the exact moment of our departure was always preordained
    Nature will seize and rot our corpses, a great debt to it we’ll repay,
    and time will crumble all we’ve ever built with patient, slow decay;
    all signs of our presence will be erased, Earth belatedly reclaimed,
    it’ll be as if we never existed, or once been fashioned from its clay

    This epiphany pained me more than all my wounds together
    Not only will we be dead, but omitted from all of history forever
    A drowsiness came over me and I let myself fall onto my back
    Faintly aware of pooling blood, I saw my tourniquet was slack
    I’d traveled far, seen so much and here ended my endeavour

    I lay in a newly mushy film of ashes staring at the stars up high,
    which twinkled as they always have and as they also always will,
    thinking could I be the last of us this airborne filth has yet to kill?
    Unbuckling my filter mask, I flung it away, heaving out a heavy sigh,
    I knew it mattered not, as my end drew near and I had had my fill
    and duly earned the right to the quiet surrender I must now abide
    Breathing deeply of the noxious air, and stifling an unseemly cry,
    I contemplated how nothing truly changes when I have finally died

  4. 1 year ago 

    The Last Bard’s Tale (Part I) [REDUX]

    [This poem is a redux version of the original, combined with the fragments I had already written for its sequel, a fair bit I wrote for it now, and radically revised versions of my Under Exalted Heels poems. I amalgamated it out of, let’s say, necessity, and though the two universes seem incongruent, I’m proud of how the poems all ended up melding beautifully. So let’s just pretend I meant to do this all along. The virtue of this poem will dictate whether I get to do what I really want to do; it’s that important, and I’m (theoretically) that confident in it.]

    Prologue: Grandiose promises of yarn-spinning

    "Come traveler, and let me tell you of a forgotten realm trapped in yore
    Fill that chair, and into your mug this flagon’s fine mead will duly pour
    As this is a tale best enjoyed in good company, food and drink galore
    This hearth’s fire will warm us and ours minds shall drift, and explore
    a land that many bards the world over once came to longingly adore
    For, not least, inns all across this land would fill with countless score
    of eager simple folk, a stoic sort so rarely inspired to cheer and roar
    in appreciation of a poet’s well-spun tale, one deserving of ‘encore!’

    This is such a story, though sadly one no longer held in such ardour
    No, it’s been relegated to dusty tomes, whose perusal is quite a chore;
    most libraries ‘cross the continent rarely hold a volume in their store
    So it has now become a victim of obscurity like so many have before
    How is it that rich worldly legendry could be considered but a bore?
    Historians dig for paltry earthly trinkets but tend to so woefully ignore
    that real treasures are found in that, since oft pored over, elder lore

    Wait where was I? Oh yes! This fable which has not its existence nor
    its story widely known, thanks to our mythos forsaken age of sorry war
    Were its preservation to be deserted it may thusly be lost forever more!
    At least if not for the few tales still told of it, ones fiercely embossed for
    drama’s great effect: ‘Adventurers lo! Heed this tale you must not ignore’

    Chapter I: The dystopia fosters a champion

    In a distant kingdom, whose birthright was forged in the paupers’ fear,
    a tyrant ruled over his people with an iron fist and a righteous sneer
    His state taxes were exorbitant and his laws were so unfairly severe:
    the punishments found therein were such that one wouldn’t volunteer
    them upon even a most hated enemy, so brutalizing were they here
    Whilst the King lived in glowing luxury, his subjects were kept austere
    Peasantry in nature were they mostly; rarely could one name a peer
    whose new status as a yeoman was long lived inside of this frontier

    The sovereign’s inner-circle was composed of supposed cavaliers,
    who, in reality, merely acted as the despot’s worldly eyes and ears
    Ironic, in its way, as, amongst the people, their hollow kind veneer
    fooled absolutely no-one, for all knew that their gifts were insincere
    Each was retasked from spy to under-thumb, uncontested profiteer:
    greedy land barons who met any tenant’s pleas of lacking with a jeer

    The King also had a standing army, whom none would greet with cheer:
    for even though their coat of arms bore a nobly valiant soldier’s bandolier,
    these mercenaries did nothing but obey his tyrannical whims each year
    See, outside of the realm’s borders there stood no equal who’d persevere
    against this oppression and seek to invade, and free, this forlorn sphere
    Thus, the situation was grimly hopeless or so it would outwardly appear

    Yet, there was a heroic champion whose coming the peasants did revere
    A child whose birth was prophesied to happen with but a single loving tear
    For his mother would soon thereafter be put to death at the point of spear
    and in her lifeless arms this babe would not cry, to her bosom he’d adhere
    till the soldiers tore him off her to, in awe, dutifully spank his newborn rear
    His destiny was claimed to be, in the verdict of every single salt-worthy seer,
    that when he came of age, this oligarchy, which clearly sought to domineer
    every commoner, would finally be challenged, its blight would come to clear,
    and its end, long since disregarded, would, on the faint horizon, surely near

    Chapter II: The child born of death

    And this boy! Oh this boy! How unseeming could such a special child be?
    For were you to look upon him, a savior you would hard pressed be to see
    Initially a weak, sickly lad who was adopted by a humble pig-farming retiree
    and raised as was the custom: god-fearing, obedient, so inclined to agree
    with any man of the cloth who should offer any divine directive or decree

    It was also noted in his village that no others were as mild in manner as he
    Not that he was meek, or even wimpy, just so unassuming was he in deed
    Though twas not his nature in everything, in one field he was genuinely gutsy:
    with other boys he would roughhouse if provoked (but to no severe degree)

    Thanks to the adept tutelage of his ‘father’, long since a legionnaire draftee,
    the boy had learned basic sword fighting with sticks from a gnarled oak tree
    His grizzled sire taught him much of battle, imparting a considerable pedigree
    In fencing no other local boy could match his skill or daring, his warrior esprit!

    Chapter III: That which always changes, rarely for the better

    Soon though, the boy became a man, in the cruel fashion of the land,
    when his lowly father was abducted after tangling with the lawmen
    over the tyrant’s always increasing taxes and their pitiless demand
    As the boy was out at field, swiping and thrusting at the straw-men,
    practicing his new found art, his papa was taken, shackled in remand,
    and quickly sentenced to hard labour his old bones just couldn’t stand

    The boy returned from his joyful frolics to find the village much abuzz
    with harsh gossip of his papa’s unbroken spiritedness and imprisonment
    The throngs treated the oddball boy with upright suspiciousness because
    it had also spread that the farmer was some sort of political dissident,
    whose child, it was said, was not merely unusual but in truth illegitimate

    He rushed crying from the hissing accusations of the simple, fearful folk,
    and then made haste back unto the family’s cottage frightfully confused
    He saw, in the distance, the quaint little homestead billowing inky smoke
    and ran as fast as possible till he came across a man leaning on the oak
    With tearful steadfast gaze the man fast embraced the boy and then used
    a shaking hand to draw from out his pocket a small book, when he spoke
    he explained to the boy exactly of what his father had really been accused
    and as the fire quelled, and died in bitter embers, without the wind to stoke,
    he heard of his papa’s secret nature, and of boyish naivety was disabused
    Upstarting, the man took in the awful scene, and tugged tightly at his cloak
    which bore the same peculiar emblem as the book’s cover, which did evoke
    within the boy images of his father’s ring, and thus served to have infused
    the boy with trusting hope, so that the man’s offer of a new life did provoke
    awkwardly falling tears as he voiced his acquiescence with a throaty croak

    Chapter IV: An Ouroboros gestation - a tale within a tale within a tale

    In the man’s stately carriage they did journey into the bustling city’s heart
    The boy flipped through the pages of his papa’s pocketbook and so beheld
    that it housed an arcane poem of his papa’s, one written hoping it impelled
    the reader towards its decryption and thus the secret knowledge it’d impart:

    A king bloated with undue power did tread roughshod over all the human race
    ‘My liege, but what of freedom?’ asked a courtesan still of unquestioned chaste
    He thought hard, then did naught but slap her face, without a moment’s haste,
    and reasoned “In my kingdom, treason is that word, for it will have no place!”

    He claimed to be domineering for a purpose: to free a world of slaves
    who’d otherwise usurp us rational minority with a tribute paid to knaves
    that claim a measly worldly pittance must be the only just remittance
    to meddling Gods who sit setting morbid wagers just beyond our graves

    Our measure of plodding earth seems grand but Royal pastures so expand
    far beyond what the eye can easily see, and if annexed for our due territory
    We would earn that bold undying fame: a noblest legacy of hero’s acclaim
    In Valhalla, a vanguard’s place; they’d erect our cenotaph in godly domain

    Like you, I will not be circumscribed, the wretched King himself I’d surprise
    I implore you brothers: join me in shaking off the humble servant’s guise
    and ascend to meet that rotten bastard in his ill-begotten castle eye-to-eye
    We must become the glorious champions of all our pure and honest kind
    We must show all that the imperial beast can fall and this world we’ll redefine

    Our people’s militia shall assemble, and then initiate our righteous campaign
    against that evilest despot whom fate’s justice has not yet seem fit to arraign
    We’ll seek to claim all his purloined spoils for the kind, docile men of this land:
    to finally place our grass-stained hands beyond the modest arm’s short span

    Our crusade started, adopt skyward glare, seek details of their towering lair
    Probe our enemy sat in airy overlook; revolve round them with roving rook
    Spread word of their coming ruin in every common ear as herald of our advent
    The proletariat will disperse this omen; notched and fired, our first arrow sent!

    Then, in the awful twilight quiet, we shall rend the Heavens from the Earth
    and in this glorious hierarchical limbo we shall long be given a private berth
    The chaos of newly free men’s joyous riot will constitute a debasing hearth
    to cook and crack the damned chains of aristocracy in brashly mortal fire
    We shall unleash the indignantly vengeful beasts who know the king as sire
    Their adamantine hides will flow with molten rage and, honour-bound, anneal
    'til they harden nigh-impenetrable, bearing a blazing crest of unbrittled zeal
    In the grand aftermath of our emancipation the children of revolt shall rile
    the dictator’s fragile union of underlings and minions, who we shall beguile
    with promises of reinstation into power once the autocracy meets repeal
    We’ll task them with sabotage: lend their filthy ears to fill with a subtle bile

    Then we’ll douse our reverently enraged titans in the most potent hellfire wrath
    'tis true the immensely rugged and stalwart resolve the amassed belittled hath
    To convey this intrepidly lion-hearted army’s mission and direct our holy spear:
    I’ll mount the regent’s statue to bellow ‘What is owed the oppressed mutineer?’

    Our defiant force of valour all assembled, given sharp and flame of a finest steel
    We the hallowed flag bearers as the common man charges ornate palace gates,
    are blessed architects of a grandiose plan perfected whilst beneath a royal heel
    Revolution cometh; the swine sat haughtily upon a wicked throne we will displace
    The meekly downtrodden have arisen, and the King before us shall finally kneel!

    He read in awe, struggling to comprehend as his schooling was but brief
    It was clear though, from the poem’s frequent annotations found therein,
    that in many of the words some sort of special second meaning lay within
    The implication were startling, inspiring in the boy an astounded disbelief
    for it seemed that his father, instead of farmer, was to a spy far more akin

    For the poem his father had once penned was apparently being covertly printed
    as pamphlets to be distributed to rally known political dissidents in that manner
    of clandestine conscription by which dormant armies, via a single central planner,
    are assembled and given their instruction by a cryptic code that the poem hinted
    So that a secret plot may be dispersed and all gathered under revolution’s banner

    The carriage bumped over cobblestone, and yanked the boy from his imagination
    As the massive city came in view, an excitement flourished within his boyish mind
    For he was his father’s son and now bequeathed leadership of rebellious design
    The days ahead would see the boy learn even more about the vast orchestration
    So that the very first step of the plan was absolutely clear: his father’s liberation!”

  5. Notes: 1 / 2 years ago 

    The abhorrently treasured remembrances of abomination’s veterancy

    Despite now being in bohemian refuge, poetry has nonetheless recently become very taxing for me, both mentally and emotionally. What once fueled my words is, somewhat thankfully, absent. Still, I apologize for the lack of output. I mean to write more.

    Such vast and enduring foes I had sadly chose to carelessly amass
    amid all of those fierce campaigns from a now fast embittered past
    Clashes arose in bloodlust; a grievous but alluring sort of warring craft
    and what of those once adoring claims? Only prose truly knows, if asked
    Yes, remains of bloodied annals impartially disclose these awful facts at last
    Damning evidence, now known solely to repose, of a genesis finally unmasked
    Things wordlessly eternally resaid, in venomous soft eloquence, of a finery contrast
    Proposed in trying elegance of undying aghast throes whence blood unjustly splashed

  6. Notes: 1 / 2 years ago 

    My Didactic Wounds

    I’ve began to ponder, as my bedside candle flickers, fades,
    if bonds now no longer shall persist as their bitter charades
    For my heart launders their oft ugliness in hindsight’s grace
    Am I made stronger to guard pain my mind might debase?

    Sorrow reset, reinvented as regret is tempting, it must be said
    Yet mistakes I forget always beget themselves thrice ahead
    So I fret I must endure the awful debt of brave acuity instead
    Missteps ventured are offset by their lessons and not retread
    People I’ve met, and upset, can be excised I may have pled,
    but their influences remain to abet a future threat to spread
    Waking frenzied, wet with sweat, is what they’ve since bred

  7. Notes: 7 / 2 years ago 

    Crimson Wisdom

    I am infatuated with death, especially those it leaves behind
    They covet a breath which is their very loss perfectly defined
    and if squandered degrades a prize lost eternally to the dead
    Land wandered by ghosts; trails which are no longer truly tread
    Words recounting oaths, dirges and tales cease to be duly said
    Us living bear mounting urges to discount the wisdom of the bled
    Puzzling it is to know you should meet repose yet silently implore
    the spotter of your silent blue plead to return to how it was before
    If you spy streams of florid blood seeping underneath my door
    please now be relieved that you need not fret for me anymore
    Sorry, I did a bad thing, a thing I shared I wouldn’t even dare
    Still, it’s only gonna sting a moment, so I couldn’t really care

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This humble writing blog is where I unburden myself of the ideas which occupy my mind from time to time. It is that and nothing more, though also nothing less.

I welcome feedback, criticism and comments.

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My name, if you think it important, is Ryan.

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