The End.

The death of the Philosopher.

 This is the end... 

 

The philosopher is dead...

The quill turned loose from his fingers - descended into the dead lands of poetic dysfunction. Ink translated hallucinations. Fashioning percipience into nightmares, innocence into enigmatic psychosis.

 

Empyrean wines contrived from his blood. Arcadian winds twined his breath, resonating anguish through history. Time greeted him like an old friend and grew old together. They become senile together.

 

When time lost its wisdom, the fires no longer burned.

 

Paradise incarcerated the philosopher - for he had no tale to tell. No rhyme burdened his tongue. A forlorn writer whom words had long forgotten. His stories had become the same, developed throughout a planetary life, into silence.

 

The tranquil silence became his asylum, the one to listen to his decaying sanity. Intoxication numbing the sobriety of psychological hysteria. The man had become exactly who he sworn never too. A poet perpetually imprisoned in his own mind.

 

This is the end...

 

The philosopher is dead...

 

Cast his ashes into the waterfalls laden by his beauty. Tuck him in his coffin in the rain, weep no more. His oceans were vast and immortal. He is the wind, the rain and snow. The blue and white fairytale sent to protect. Send him a goodnight kiss; remember his last breath as his lullaby.

 

A sacrificial martyr, beguiling sceneries painted in blood. The pendulum swaying to his silent song, a gesture of respect for an old friend - as time bids farewell to his companion. His stories will echo through the blood of our ancestors, and the wolfs cry. Native tongues will know your name, the lost child of hope.

 

This is the end...

 

But, the philosopher shall live forever.  

Reviews

[Wolf_Lord]

I am humbled by your ability to weave superior nomenclature together. You build up your poems from humble beginnings to such intricate webs of interrelationships.
I actually had to look up planetary to understand the significance: of, relating to, or belonging to a planet or planets. Thanks so much for sharing this. Wolf ,'', ^@@^ ,'',

[Low Lights]

Honestly, I really like this poem. It feels good in its own right, and it has a feeling that it would also fit in a much bigger story -- the idea I get from this is that you could do this for a living! I have no other words to describe this than the feeling of sadness, melancholy and the feeling of... loss? I can easily tell, just by reading this, that a lot of thought and feelings went into this, and that is something I can really appreciate. Great job!

[FaeryQueen]

great write, so much imagery here!!!

[Eisho Shu]

Interesting, this also give me a weird spiritual feeling at the same time.

[stargirl23]

i liked this a lot.. it does seem like we live in a time where so many people are aware and can think for themselves that philosophy does seem to be dying, as it were

[Greg]

I like it. Ideas are a philosophers children.
"Time greeted him like an old friend and grew old together. They become senile together," is
my favourite line in this piece.

[brian_tx]

Very cool. Loved how the philosopher lives on because he had a philosophy--something that never dies. Made me think too that he only lives on if he is remembered. philosophers who are dead and forgotten. We only live on when our thoughts and lives give meaning to others. Deep stuff K!!!

[hcarson]

''ink translated hahallucinations''..really like that!! i like the entire poem, lovely word use creating a lovely flow to the poem that doesn't jarr. very intelligent mind behind this i'm guessing..lover of history?...well done, great poem :

[t.m.]

I love this. It gives me an odd but not unlpleasant sense of nostalgia.

[Hikaru]

I like it thanks for subscribing it to me