Poetry

I draw deep breathes of my life
While stars discuss about trascendence
And sun’s drowned in it’s own blood
Far from here, in a country I can’t see.

Indeed, really wise words, these by Kipling :)...
 
Hey, you won't dare to let this thread fall, will you??

Looking at the mirror
With a sad, mispelled smile
I see a stranger's face,
His eyes telling stories
About his useless, tormented life.
He thought he was loving,
But his love was dirty mud
His unshaved cheeks
Telling about his sleepless nights.
But the smell of rusty water
Blurs this dreamlike feeling away
Is it the fern of the hot vapour
Or is it me seeing myself?

Okay, that's poor and kinda depressing, but it's the last I've written. Sorry. I even cut myself while shaving...
 
pulsating red masses


Escape incapsulate the I-solate what still to less does shine
Equilibrate deny destroy
Recalibrate it all again tergiversating to the end
Struggling against the undertow

Soliloquize once more to rearrange analyze what this time
To change everything eraise your head
The atrophy has brought me to my knees metamorphosing just to please
And with the retry comes the doubt
Collapse break down try to break out

There's an ocean fed by a river cartharsis-bled
And in it on my self-built pole am I
So drown into the Pulsating Red Masses
Just raise your wings come and join the mass

I've thread my way all through myself
To dig new holes within for shelter ever getting more unstable
Ever getting even more
Unstable so fragile so weak
So eradicate the thought and release

So drown into the Pulsating Red Masses
Just raise your wings come and join the mass


now this is also a VERY depressing one (it was the worst time of my life back then ;) ) although i guess it is not too easy to understand for others...
you asked for it, malveaux! :lol:
 
Tempest Within


Mourningrise again

And the dawn revealed the sun
And with all its igneous pulchritude
Did its scorching ardour burst

In a raging firestorm
Everything beneath is burned
By the mirth ablaze

Thus another day forfeited his life
Has drowned into the horizon
With illuminant obsequies
It vanishes and dies on

And the dusk yielded the moon
And with this sombre ascension a tempest arose
In this bleak austerity

Cataclysm breaking forth
In this frigid deluge the ardency drowns
These wretched shiverings

Clouds wreathe the days
Bleak tempest within


if it's up to the two of us to keep it up, i'll fell free to do my duty
:)
this is an older one, back when i wasn't able to write anything in english without a dictionnary... hey, i was fifteen then:lol:
 
Out of the window
Mist enshrouds the soil
sounds become opaque
trees become older,
and sun's skin get pale.
Im lost in myself
looking behind me,
list'ning to my steps
as I know I'm alone.



Yeah, I'm glad to have you here, Terria :).
 
Semiotics


Another dream
Another beautiful golden dawn
Another hope i clinged on to
Lay smashed before me
Another smile
Another homicide in thought
The downfall of another dream
another murder in my head

Tongues are too weak
With them i can’t express the need
That burns within me
A relentless, evergrowing flame
That feeds on dreams
Stored up, unfullfilled for years
Rotting in the attic
Bitter petals grow

The blood is on the wall
All the blood i ever spent for you
I hope that you can read it

but don’t you come any closer than that
would you mind keeping the distance
my skin’s too thin for you
so stay away


seems to grow to one of the strangest "dialogues" I ever had speaking through pictures... yeeeehaaaaaaaaaaa

may chuck rest in peace
 
the distant word

A distant word spoken, never outspoken
not faith nor truth are held within
and this voice is never heard by men
of faith or men of truth
behold the distant word, never spoken
yet truly outspoken
hold on
The distant word, can you speak the word?
can you think of the voice, is it hollow, is it lustrous?
is it empty as the spoken word is?
forming sounds between teeth and tongue
to speak the word, that might overcome distance
to speak truth of faith of the faith of truth
to speak is to lie to me
to lie, to be
and this, the distant word, the unspeakable word
the faithless, untruthfull word
spoken
is it thus bereft of meaning, is it hollow a deed to speak
the word
the word one speaks, never without cruel intentions
the word that should only be spoken
by angels
and never be heard by man
the word that gains with distance, to overcome
and greedily regrets, having ever been spoken….
why is it , only a word, that we fear?
at night - speak not to me, the word….

to contribute,

if you understand german, or a simply interested : www.neosophia.de
 
@criminal: na das is ja mal interessant mein jung... schön, schön schön das ganze seitending!!

by the way: true wisdom comes from learning pain

and i have known paaaaaain (i love that one; nevermore's politics)

but we aren't here to quote. wait a second.
 
A Solemn Masquerade

He who is the answer and the reason
- a grimace behind his mask-
His tongue’s a cataract of poison
Weeps being mistaken

He who is the bearer of the light
- smiling behind his mask-
Burns their faces and their hearts
But still he yields the night

All is just a solemn masque
And everyone takes part
Can’t you hear their snickering
All of us perform a play
And all the world’s the stage
So learn your part

He who is the bearer of the light
- weeping behind his mask-
His spine is bent under the burden
Dreams of walking freely

He who dances on and on
- chanting behind his mask-
His feet have had no rest for aeons
He’s afraid of standing still

All the world’s a stage
And all of us are merely players
In this solemn masquerade
Soon, much too soon
All of them will vanish into thin, thin air
So will we

He who’s in between under the surface
- there’s nothing behind his mask-
Forget about him and dream well


i LOVE this thread :)
 
WoW! Already two pages!!
How nice :D.

Hey, Terria, this is not the first time I read the 'dharma-bum' appellative... what does it exactly mean?

Du kannst es auch auf Deutsch sagen, wenn du willst ;).
 
To all@ I read all your poems last night and I have to say that they are very beautiful :)
.....don't expect any poetry from me,I am not artistic at all :cry:
 
-Tranquility-

Light reflects off shimmering myriads of thought
A glow illuminates the soul
Rotated and deciphered
Laughing the fallacies from your mind
The bitterness sets in
Thoughts of the lights bane reflect in your eyes
It is cold with no return

Shivering in your thoughts
Hands grasping for endless ideals
Search of anger and wrath strays
Your mind bends
A coral sea of memories sets in
Muscles relax into tranquility
Peace sends you into an abyss of hope
You are home
 
@malveaux: i took this whole "subterranean dharma-bum" from jack kerouac , one of the beat-poets, the BURNING ONES grrr i love their work (william burroughs and allen ginsberg were the other two)
"the subterraneans" and "the dharma bums" were both written by kerouac in 1958 and both are in a way, about finding home. it's all about them poets searching their "dharma", their energy, their fire in pure hedonism that was linked with a certain inellectuality (them being GOOD writers) and it's just great it spoke right to my vagrant soul i am not able to really tell you what i mean but i'll leave it for now.
 
Okay, thank you very much :D... I think I'll be searching some anthology of these poets' poems... I miss having never read anything by Kerouac..

You'll forgive the insistence of my questions, but... is it you the guy in the photo, Terria?

A distant bell tolls.
It’s slow heartbeat
Tells the whole song
Of my restless soul.
A joyous tune,
A tune of mourn.
But as I’m in the dark,
I can see light outside.
That’s what hope is made of.
 
On the toilet I sit

And the toilet I sit
And I'm taking a shit
My cheeks are parted
And I just farted
Ooops what the hell
That big log just fell
And if I don't right now flush
The odor shall me crush
As I grab for the paper
I am hit by the paper
That's always a hit
On the toilet on which I sit.
 
On the toilet I sit

And the toilet I sit
And I'm taking a shit
My cheeks are parted
And I just farted
Ooops what the hell
That big log just fell
And if I don't right now flush
The odor shall me crush
As I grab for the paper
I am hit by the vapor
That's always a hit
On the toilet on which I sit.
 
You could have simply edited it, if it's so important for you to let us read this... thing.
I have the slight impression, however, that it's somewhat in contrast with the overall mood I and everyone else intended for this thread.
Not that I dare to critic your impressive poetic sensibility, and your very french-like finesse, but I think you could do us a favor by deleting this shit and posting it, say, in the hate pit, if you really feel the need to express yourself like that.

Che coglionata...
 
:lol:
i was looking forward to reading your answers to this "poem", so i didn't post one for myself. some people sadly can't distinguish between a serious and all of these joky threads.
keep up the good work U2, i can't offer you any poetic input at that time, but i like reading yours a lot. since you both speak german, did you ever write something in that language? it's way more difficult than english (at least for me...) although i'm native-speaking.