Thursday, 28 July 2011

It Is Finished.

A Bitter Pill

Cold, like ice, but far, far worse. Bitter the taste of bitterness itself. I hear the sounds, but I want to run, to shut my ears and hide, because I cannot face the pain. So I stop my heart, I block my eyes from a sight I cannot face.

She's calling me, and I do not listen; I hear, but my spirit trembles. Fear, bright and garish, loud, a screaming in my head—the fear of loss, of letting go, a thing I will not do. Deep inside I want to touch her, but the years of ache have left me calloused, used to turning away, accustomed to escaping the snare that love so quickly sets. That rule of nature that what we love, when taken, must break us. No, I shall not fall prey again.

And so I run, and I shelter, but in my mind I see her, hear her, and when I reach to touch her I cannot. The body, so broken; the vulgar, base cries for help, which I so ruthlessly ignore; I staunch the avalanche of feeling that threatens me—she, who I so long have loved, I cannot hold. Disgust fills me, and now washes o'er me anew—disdain for my own disgust, revulsion at my weak, so-very-human repulsion.

Of all creatures created best, now of all creatures basest, the actions of my own race fill me with a holy, white rage—anger at who I am, where I come from, the weakness that runs at the very core of humanity. Death, of all things most ugly, and no part of it more so than the threshold between the twin worlds. Her body, ravaged by want of food, heaves and every bone juts sharply from thread-thin skin. Fur, jagged and unkempt, eyes bulging—the beauty has left her cold body, the brightness of life already dimming. And the smell, of sickness, disease, and death. What to love in the creature that pants for breath on a dirty floor, so lonely, so ready to go?

Even as I think it, the wall gives a violent shudder. The ramparts tremble threateningly. I bow my head. The Gate of Weeping makes ready to burst asunder, and a wild grief and remorse at my very thoughts crouches before me. Is there truly no Beauty in her? Why, then, with whose eyes do I look?

She, once so noble, is crowned with the wisdom of years, the grace of elders. She, who bears the shadow of a once-strong and vibrant body is the claimant of a life, long and full and happy; loveliness is not found in the vestige of what lies before me. It is the strength of spirit, even now so bowed down by troubles, and yet so determined, so persevering—trusting, fearful but ready, buoyed up by the knowledge that she has done no wrong and will face no judgement upon the other side. Did I see, or hear, or scent ugliness in her? I stand corrected. She lies glorious, clothed in the memory of happy past, of great deeds, in the graceful mantle of long life.

Thus breaks my bitter heart.


Sunday, 24 July 2011

Twelve Months On

Spurned by love, a love I sought,
But had no skill to own.

Monday, 18 July 2011

What Love Doesn't

I smiled because you knew,
Perhaps you'd always known
Everything about me
Everything there is to know
I smiled because I loved you
And I knew that you loved me
But love wasn't enough, you see.

Love doesn't keep you safe
It doesn't keep me well
It doesn't stop the crushing wheel
The wheel of time itself.
It doesn't keep you faithful
It doesn't keep me pure
And it didn't stop you leaving me
Of that I am quite sure.

Cliché, But Mine

I've run, and I think I've run right past
Whatever it was I was running toward.
I keep on running, and I don't look back
But I've forgotten what I was running for.

It seems to me life's a bit like that,
Sometimes you get going and you're going too fast
Running so fast you're afraid to fall
...But if you don't stop now you might lose it all.


Sunday, 17 July 2011

Child

Never mind what I told you, child,
Forget all that you can
It's a cruel world I've made you, child,
Full of broken plans.
Don't listen to the rain, child,
It only turns to mud
Forget about your pain, child,
Try to look past the blood.

Somewhere, beneath, there's a faded smile
The vestige of something beautiful
Somewhere behind the broken glass
There's a child, waiting to be asked

You're all that can save us, child
We don't deserve your love
Make our world clean again, child
White as a new-hatched dove.
Lessons are wasted on the young
And useless on the wise.
But what if they're pointless for anyone?
That'd be a nasty surprise.

Wednesday, 13 July 2011

It All Ends

There was a rumble, and it was thunder;
Sprang the lightning from God's great hand.
Then crashing in almighty splendour
A thousand angels, a holy band.
Sang God's hosts an awful chorus,
Joined by rows of cherubim;
The king is coming, riding for us
In his hand a flaming brand.
Clad in stars and ringed by Saturn
There He stands, aloof, on high
Causing all the world to know him
The one who lives, the one who died.


Friday, 8 July 2011

Read This

http://www.sennapoem.blogspot.com/

That's the link to a new blog by a friend of mine from Wales. Check it out, become a follower, and give her some encouragement and critique!

Thursday, 7 July 2011

A Piece of it

Kenna shook her head, looking away from his eyes. “I have said what I will say, and you do not listen. So go, and leave me alone, for I will be alone.”

Tal knelt and plucked a flower from the ground. It was a daisy. She sighed and pushed him away—though she was not unfriendly. “You have made your choice, Tallidwr,” she told him. “I will not stop you.”

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

More than a moment wouldn't do
Any less and I would miss it all.
Turn back and see what I have in my hand,
I'm holding it for you.
There's sun here and it's warm,
Won't you come out to play?
I know sometimes you're frightened
But I've driven them away.

And now it's safe
To do what we're here to do.

Tuesday, 5 July 2011

And it wasn't till she turned back I realised, I didn't want her to go at all.

Monday, 4 July 2011

Flailing at Failure

Bitter the taste
of long-dreaded failure
Ill the cup I drink

Soon, soon a prisoner—
and my gaoler:
The thing that makes me think.

Saturday, 2 July 2011

Cracking Camels

One more straw, this camel might crack;
Another feather could break his back
Too much, too much, I say too much!
If it's wrong it happened and I tell you such
A week full of blessings I've never had
From grim to worse, and worse to bad.
Though I'd like to say it's done that would be premature
But if I want it to get worse well I know for sure
All I've got to do is say that it's over
Life's sure to get worse before it gets better.