A Poem Thread

WAITING AT THE GATE OF VOID


Burning the muse of heaven;
drawing out cascading screams,
An eternal epitaph of fire,
rings all my dreams.
On the way from Xanadu,
I cross my burning bier
The flames of future caress me,
eternal sentinels of fire.
Witness the prophesy opened out,
raving at the Silent Wall
Seeking to cross into our lives,
barriers break, far or tall.
Gliding on mountain drafts,
absorbing the draughts of time,
Ascending to nether deserts,
Fusing that which is mine.
Journeying to the crossroads,
a deadly sea of unknown,
embrace the nagging doubt,
cross over into the known.
Burning my soul forever,
Sealing my own doom,
The flower of my prayer,
Is in eternal bloom.

COPYRIGHT MINE AND MINE ALONE
 
...some of my latest

that’s it
the sun has risen
or so it seems
it burns it burns
in me

back in time
to night eternal
or caves so dark
that sunlight dies
I must retreat

it burns it burns
so deep

2003 © Avatar
----------------------------

Nighttime calling to the underworld,
sleep I must get to regenerate;
don't think I'm weak,
I must dream.

Don't worry ‘bout the screaming,
I'm just being killed;
in dreams like a mania
my blood is the saint.

Jesus hacked me
with a bloody spear,
he hates me because,
I know he faked.

Back then in Golgotha
he died like a wimp
just to reborn
by his father in sky.

He kissed his birdie
a goodnight kiss,
but forgot to set up
the alarm for the dead.

When the souls of the christians
lied in their coffins still,
in hope to see god,
they turned into dust.

Faith is like blasphemy,
when the stakes are high;
live your life,
and forget the sky.

2003 © Avatar
---------------------------

Advanced soldiers
are marching forth,
wielding weapons
with uranium shells.

In the fifth day they meet
an enemy with steel
daggers holding
in shut down teeth.

Both gods are false,
the death should wait,
but the storm is already
shaking the Earth.

Disarming men,
from heads and brains,
the war is raging,
while the madmen laugh.

Help us please,
give us some bread;
the bunkers are filling,
with cries of the dead.

2003 © Avatar

I come:
seeking, peeking,
slow-falling,
in mist on my knees calling.

must there be you

I collect in my grasp,
grass, honey and dust,
and squeeze them together,
until they shine at dusk.

must there be us

Tears join in lasers,
cutting through diamonds,
crafting white horses,
from dreamy mornings.

must there be me

2003 © Avatar
------------------------------

[blizzard of extasy in pain]

small chunks of my flesh
like happy sparrows launch from my skin
spin arround upwards
fly past my eyes

grasping for air
my muslces shiver in seizures
I breath in a rhytm too deadly fast
and blood has locked itself in the tips of my nails

I look at the parts fly by
and wonder where do they go
such beautiful snowflakes
in a blizzard of extasy in pain

And so wondering I fall
together with my insides falling apart
and collapse like a dying star
all energy shines away

2003 © Avatar
------------------------------
+bonus+
[black metal song]

from pyramids to Baltics
black metal hearts unite
and scream together:
let there be no light

we shout our warcries
of long dead ancestors
and hunt together
with the spirits of the past

howling to the moon
we’re bound to the night
our ancient pact with darkness
shall never die or fade

2003 © Avatar
 
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Pizza tastes good
so do you.



Ok i have written remotely bettr stuff but too lazy to put down:D ...but there are a lot of good poems here
 
If you won't even bother,
Then I can't stand to be.
For the pain is rising deep insode,
But the tears, you'll never see.

My soul feels dead inside.
What is left of me?
What once was nine, so many,
The last one shall soon cease to be.
 
Circle

I have found the ancient mirror
that leads me.
I have seen its ruthless eyes
that always stare,
burrowing their way to the crown I wear.
I have sensed the holy fire
like a blazing cocoon
that offers no judgments
amidst its power strewn.
I have felt the innocent light.
Of clarity in flight over native land
where we are birthed apart
from one command.

I have touched the gentle eye
that outlasts me.
The huge patience upon my brow.
I have offered all my earthly wisdom
for the symptoms of its tongue;
to drop its seeds into the fields that I plow.
I have seen destiny's path
gathering its flock
for the journey of endless spaces.
I have watched futures fall with eyelids closed
and the gnawing tears of torn places.
I have seen the Tribe of Light
return the clock to the black pocket
where all divisions occur.
Where weeds secure the humble land
of fires unlit, yet pure.

I have heard the masters of masters speak
to every cell of my body;
cutting new pathways in flesh
like fear's executioner.
I have watched the galaxies twirl
like star wheels that spiral to the thought
of a holy vision.
I have felt my spirit follow
the one sound that is free.

I have vanished before.
I have taken this body to an inner place
where none can see.
Only feelings can hear the sound of this space.
This sacred place alone
has brought me here to recover the thread.
To see the weaving dance that calls my name
in a thousand sounds.
That draws my spirit
in a single, perfectly round,
circle.
 
Wounds

The air screams
at the sight of blood
and the sound tears
at my ears
a thousand miles away
where the blood drops
are no longer visible
the only wars being fought
are minor
and the weapons
words
that sting
but are eventually cast off
the scars noticeable only to those
who care to look
 
Intoxicated with children's thoughts
I wonder,
why are souls so deep and men so blind?
How can souls be eclipsed
by such tiny minds?
Do we love the damp passageways of Hell?
Where every drop of pale water
that falls from the cavern walls
is unwashed music etched in silence...

My favored dreams have disappeared
astride the backs of eagles.
With wings sweeping downward, lifting upward,
they are carried away like finespun,
elegant seeds
on a crystalline wind.
Without them
I am divinely barren
like an empty vessel denied its purpose.
I can only stare into the silence
ever listening for heaven's murmur.
Knowing that behind the darkening mist
angels are building shelters for human innocence.
Shelters torn from something dark
and gravely wounded.
Havens resistant to all disease.

I thought I was endowed
with a promised beauty
that would free the neglected dreams of a demigod.
That would untie their feeble knots
and release them into light's caress.
But the glorious reins
that had once been mine,
tattered and stained with blood,
have slipped from my hands in disuse
as a web abandoned to a ghostly wind.
I can still reach them.
I can feel their shadow across my hands.
Their power, like an electric storm
wandering aimlessly without fuel,
soon to be exhausted.

This piece of paper
is torn from something dark
and gravely wounded.
It is the mirror I hold up to the blackened sky.
A devious sacrifice.

Leaping from star to star
my eyes weave a constellation.
My thoughts in search of the endless motherload.
My heart listening for the sound
of unstained children dreaming.

The dream wanderer looks back at me.
Calls my name in a whispered voice.
Beckons me with an outstretched wing.

"Fly! Your favored dreams await you!"

The voice boomed like thunder swearing.
My wings trembled with forbidden power
as they searched the wind's current
for signs of release.
Currents that would carry me
to the high branches of trees
suckling the sun in fields beyond my kingdom.

In a moment's interlude
I unfolded my wings and vaulted skyward,
into the blue vestibule.
Sheer speed.
Rivers beneath were brown veins
swollen on earth's legs,
or savage cuts that bled green.
The sun sliced holes in the clouds
with tender spears of crimson light.
The moon was rising in the eastern sky --
an oyster shell
pitted by time.
Lonely winds would rush by
searching for an outpost of stillness.
The earthen dungeon
peered up at me with contempt
like a nursemaid relieved of her duty.

I forgot the ground.
I canceled gravity.
Balanced against aboriginal hopes and fears
I became the shaman who dances
in the spirit waters of ancestors
plucking words and meanings from the cumbrous air.

I thought only of the dream wanderer...
the holy wind that rekindles
my exquisite longing for raw truth.
To seize it like medicine
in a sleepless fever hoping to be healed.
The halcyon spire!
The dusty places of purity.

These wings are torn
from something dark and gravely wounded.
They carry me to my favored dreams
and choke the inertia of indifference dead.
Their strength is perfectly matched
to my destination.
One more mile beyond these trees,
I would fall like a fumbled star
into the moat of a starving world.

My favored dreams will wander again.
In time they will soar to trees of a richer kingdom.
My wings will again follow their flight,
track their heartbeat
and build a quilt of a thousand dreams intermingled.
One more turn of the infinite circle.
The dream slate revivified.
Navigable--
even in the murky waters
and cloudy skies of the itinerant traveler.
The dream wanderer reveals
(with a flip of the hourglass of heaven),
as above
so below.
Create your world and let it go forward
entrusted to the one that is all.
The leavening will prevail.
It is the lesson I learned
with my wings outstretched beneath
the glaring sky.
It is the rawness I seek
untouched by another's polish.


Dream Wanderer
 
On this, the shortest day of the year,
I have journeyed to the Great Plains
to build a fire for you.

The night air is cold like a cellar
cut from ancient stones.
But I found some wood among the deserted plains
buried under the grasses and dirt,
hidden away like leaves
that had become the soil.
After I cleaned the wood by hand -- its dirt beneath
my nails and the fabric of my cloth
I sent a flame
combusted by the mere thought of you.
And the wood became fire.

There were hermit stars that gathered
overhead to keep me company.
Your spirit was there as well
amidst the fire's flames.
We laughed at the deep meaning of the sky
and its spacious ways.
Marveling at the flat mirror of the plain
that sends so little skyward,
like the hearts of children denied
a certain kind of love.

You played with spirits
when you were young among these fields.
You didn't know their names then.
I was one.
Even without a name, or body,
I watched your gaze, unrelenting to the things
that beat between the
two mirrors of the sky and plain.

I believe it was here also
that you learned to speak with God.
Not in so many words as you're now accustomed,
but I'm certain that God listened to your life
and gathered around your fire
for warmth and meaning.
In the deserted plains he found you set apart
from all things missing.

Dear spirit, I have held this vigil for so long,
tending fires whose purpose I have forgotten.
I think warmth was one.
Perhaps light was another.
Perhaps hope was the strongest of these.

If ever I find you around my fire,
built by hands
that know your final skin,
between the sheets of the sky and plain,
I will remember its purpose.
In barren fields
that have long been deserted by the hand of man
I will remember.
In the deepest eye of you
I will remember.
In the longest night of you
I will remember.

On this, the shortest day of the year,
I have journeyed to the Great Plains
to build a fire for you.
 
NIGHTMARES


The lamp burns dim.
Upon a mountain rim,
Fire burns;
Coiled, snaking; like a serpent,
Mephistopheles of our dreams.
Dark, perverted, subservient;
Slave to some nether power.
Arising like a phoenix,
from the wells of our darkest,
deepest, innermost desires.

Terrible foe of sleep,
Haunting, pursuing.
Denying peace, denying rest,
an eternal cycle of fear,
apprehension, suspense.
No end in sight,
a vertical cliff edge almost,
if pushed over,
condemned to eternal vertigo.

Harrowing, possessing the ability,
to extricate perspiration.
A fused medley of emotions,
blurry, escaping the far-reaching grasp,
of memory.
Leaving behind an abstract nothingness.
Transcending all boundries,
the normal, weird, paranormal;
A bony hand; grasping,
at the slightest opportunity.

It has possessed, destroyed,
made psychotic,
An irony of our world;
an abstract nothingness,
cursed,
with dread power.

Reflections of our inner selves,
Our nightmares are eternal.......
 
SUSPENDED EXISTENCE ( THE REALM OF THE ASTRAL PLANE )


Lost in the west,
desert of my dreams.
experience of the purple,
the Axis churns out reams.

Ash of the hand,
tires like brutal badland.
smokey waste of ire,
past remnants of hot fire.

Spirit my old friend,
cast from me my mirth.
invade me, possess me,
draw the timelong firth.

Religion of the ancients,
unravel the old mine.
I seek the desert plains,
slowly slips...my time.

Face me, cunning wind,
blow yourself away.
the mist still haunts,
and parts the hateful day.

The Axis parts death,
the haze up my veins.
Melancholy, sweet child,
in the end..who gains?

Am I a picture to you?
sinew of despair.
The Astral plain of mine,
is suspended in cool air.

The Doors of perception,
open to fleeting ears.
Estranged, bitter love,
bring forth unnumbered tears.

Utter, dark Void,
fills my waking time.
Past, come back,
My only goldmine.

Dazzling white of naught,
my own end of time.
Spirit, dear friend,
Now I am you, and you are mine.
 
The Mind's play ground

Where Dragons soar

Where Hobbits burrow

And where darkness gathers.

Is a place that some can't comprehend

It a place that forms the face of every book that can ever make anyone think.

Why?

In this place is where Imagination lurks,

It's where the mind eye is set free from a leash binding it to stress and anxiety.

This is the only place that creativity is grown and inspiration is acquired.

This place is Fantasy.

The place where Dragons soar,

Hobbits burrow,

and Darkness gathers

© Copyright 2003
 
Now the darkness gathers,
Now the light is gone,
come in peaceful slumber,
sleep until the dawn,

awake my friends and come to see
that darkness comes from you and me
 
Just wondering

How often I've wondered, if maybe I should,
and then I've wandered as far as I could.
I've querried the stars in the dark of the night,
and shouted at the sun in the blue, burning bright.
I've gone in harms way for my country and God,
and not asked for praise, for glory or a nod.
I've questioned my leaders and powers on high,
and gotten no answers or signs from the sky.
I've plumbed the depths of my mind and my soul,
and prayed for deliverance from depression's deepest hole.
I've ridden on the wind, and swum in the sea,
trying to find myself, I've searched endlessly.
the questions Ive asked flow far, wide and free,
but the answers don't come though I search endlessly.
who am I, why am I, where do I go,
do I matter as much as the wind or the snow
will I ever find out why I was put here,
there is no reason is the answer I fear.
so til my time comes and I'm no longer here,
please keep the food coming, and pass me a beer.
 
Piscean Dreams

Drown my soul, spirit of the night,
in champagne visions of one heavenly sprite,
sway tidal waves of ethereal thought,
haunt my mind, daunt me not.

Draw luminous pools, my amorous school,
I’ll swim deep within your glorious rule,
flow through rivers of emotion so real,
change my mind, learn to feel.

Drink of my ocean, sweet essence of life,
force these aqua drops into blooming rife,
bathe in the rush of their celestial falls,
free my mind, crush the walls.

Dive completely, my heart’s true bliss,
sink clear to the core of life’s blue abyss,
blend our elements to this marine theme,
brush my mind, paint this dream.
 
There was some poison i could drink
and ive often thought i'd taste it
but my mother bought it for the sink
and drinkin it would waste it
 
Lark’s Infirmary

On the branch of a severed word
the whistle of a wingless bird...
is deafening.

To that ledge in eternity
the depth of my infirmity...
is quickening.

I shift to save my searing eyes
from the burn of infernal lies...
awakening.

It’s not the ache of broken rhyme
but the sheer waste of singin’ time...
that’s sickening.

Forever thought I’d feel the same
but the light of your tender name...
is darkening.

So soon, luv, I shall fly away
t’wards colors of a brighter day...
into evening.

-N-
 
Deadness

The planets are dead,

the stars are dark,

the universe is old, old, old,

is it contracting and warming up,

or expanding and cold, cold, cold.

Where are we in the scheme of things,

are we dead or dying out,

or are we alive and trying to survive,

by packing up and moving out.

What will transpire in eons to come,

will we evolve into something anew,

or will we simply cease to exist,

and become part of a universe stew.
 
This Will Not Pass

I get down on my knees and pray
that this will be my final day.
And all the words you try to say
are telling me it's all okay.
But it's not okay I want to die.
It's not okay and you can't lie
and try to say it's all alright.
That tommorow will be warm and bright.
You cannot say that this will pass
and that this pain will be the last.
One day you will come to see
what this pain has done to me.
I hope that day is not too late
to stop me from this path I take.
 
shite. this thread is still alive?:eek:
ahh... might as well.


WANDERING THROUGH THE FORGOTTEN LAND, HEEDING THE CALL OF DREAMS


the evening of dawn surrounds us,
cool breeze caresses the face.
the wonder of greenery is manifest,
induces us to star gaze.
catch the gleam of the sky,
bathe in ancient starlight.
look out for the cruel hunter,
gleaming, composed, starbright.
old trees sway and shiver,
remembering the time long past.
the time when they were lord and master,
when we were lower than the grass.

enchantments stream from the hills,
banners of still honoured memory.
pillars of the earthy earth declare,
their still honoured might, forsaken frailty.
the winding river spells itself,
snaking through field and hill.
bringer of draught, bringer of what-not,
thirsty cups does it gladly fill.
swift cutting of heart, the stony valley,
shifty river's accompliced pathway.
striations of time preserve themselves,
deposited slowly, day by day.

blue upon blue, the sea calls,
undying, ancient friend.
jewels of the world hidden forever,
with troubles no mortal can mend.
the deeps of the sea wait and roll,
the pathway to the ancient west.
my dreams ride with it, live with it,
forsaken youth passes the test.
the ocean sapphire glimmers and glitters,
gift of power abstract and high.
the waters gurgle and bring forth their message,
the time of the flood is nigh.
 
Airavata, you have painted a very nice, tranquil picture in my mind with your poem.

Very well done, and I hope there will be more.
 
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