Poetry
Over the course of some time in the author's twenties, much self-reflection and rediscovery has become more apparent to him. The struggle of chronic spinal pain and the extent it has to exhaust one's self— or in some cases inspire an individual— he has been more confident embracing the inner expressiveness by communication of word play through the means of literary interpretation, writing, poetry, etc.
I hope you enjoy... thank you.
"Half Moon"
Fullest the heart
Beats ever loud
Awaits her other
Maketh thy drum cry out
Thy heart eclipsed
Such as half the moon
Thy spirit in bloom
The moon falls too soon
"Winds of Change"
"Peculiar the wind. Gives vestige of life passed, yet delivering grace for new ambition."
"Silence your mind, one of many thoughts and feel my presence. Let it engulf you... so much that your troubles may fade. Let my peaceful encounter strip your heavy mind so and thus leave yourself for a new. Feel the lightness I bestow all around so that you may be it also. Let it all fade into nothingness. Grant yourself this breathe of fresh air and reap its celestial fervor. You yearn for this ever more. So... come... come join me in this peaceful forever."
"Nay The Lady Was Not She"
"Nay The Lady Was Not She"
Nay the lady was not she
Albeit spiritual affinity doth she be
Upon sunny skies, a brisk walk I did take
Hitherto ascend a hill to trod did I make
Tired, heavy; bounds me the fatigue it must
Mine eyes, do they betray me? My mind, can I trust?
Rifled by clairvoyant conception, thy soul sparred
Figure of motherly echoes from afar
Her frame, such as she
Her walk, such as she
Her locks, such as she
Her color, such as she
Race my heart does to see
Hasten my steps weary and tired as I be
My path draws near
As her bearing does she steer
Then cast mine eyes doth I see
That nay the lady was not she
Absent ever to turn thy gaze away;
Vexed be— the pith of birth, erelong to thee.
Death's grip he knows, linger in thy dismay;
Prudence spoils himself, corrupt he be.
Now stands the pyrrhonist with sights amiss,
Of doom, of spite, of wayward enterprise;
Oh be Nature, yes the timeless witness!
Dawns veils of change— be man's greatest disguise.
His heart decayed, prideful steps be thy walk.
He wears thy crown like Ozymandias;
Away amongst from thee Almighty God
Dead was, dead thou long last— dead thou beest.
Long lived thee sought to be suffers he still;
Voided of peace kills him— be thy free will.
“Ode to Despair and Ode to Worlds Unfair”
Shall I have my turn?
From which this heart did burn
To be with one I so desire
Evermore to cherish and admire
An awful pit of selfish disgust
To rather watch the world burn; may it be left in ash and dust
Burning as fierce as this heart once did shape
Enough to set this world ablaze
To leave behind not a single trace
Fate or no fate, tis a warrant for saving grace?
​
Selfish foolish notes of disparity
Naive is me but also to thee she be a rarity
To tell a tale of misery and anguish
Rid this torment of prideful woe I must vanquish
Is this to be for the better?
Once and for all to kill such sorrow and lay my ache in this letter
​
I wish none other; only to be with she
Light be my walk; oh sweet harmony!
Awful it be how she knows not
Of what this heart did have but now to wither and rot
Signals aflare but to she is unaware
And to carry such burden I must now bear
Love offerings be it bounteous; hadst thou waste my time?
Perhaps now to merely leave this all behind
Seek elsewhere or be forever imprisoned to a world unkind
​
Shall I have my turn?
Or be this desire only a selfish one I do yearn
But what is desire without bearing cost?
Deserving am I to still love that which is now lost?
Lost be thyself if thou not break free the clutches of thine own doing
Canst thou cast this sense of treachery and lament for a new thing?
Senseless mutter I persist
For what do my words ever accomplish but amiss
Only now to have visions of wrath; a world on fire, do I truly wish?