In Defense of Beauty

They coiled like serpents from the copse

Thoughts tangled

Souls thorn tore and bleeding in hate

Everyman

A coward

Weeping

Everyman building a lair of ice

Fingers blue of bone

Such as Sisyphus 

I beckoned, Beware!

But words travel weakly when sails are thick

And so they frozenly remain

High over castle

Horse Prayer to the blades of golden mill

 Minds rotten

It has been years, I thought, 

  Since last I’ve peered out over a worthy oil

The likes to which burn in colors raised from the streams of freedom's peril

But copses weave congruent meaning 

Even when misunderstood

And men stand to bleed eventually 

As so they stand to kneel on higher prow

But what of her?

 

Shall we not seed the furrow with nobility and heart?

Quench our thirst beneath skies that also rain

Build a worthy nest high within sure wilderness of falling trees

Pray sleep righteous upon our gardens bequeathed…

It seems to this cup of thought that

We only drink deep when our poisons are inspired

by the death of our ghost.

 

Reviews

[Kristallo]

Words travel weakly when sails are thick... and when the receiver is too absorbed within the myriad of their own thoughts to reach such expressions as the gentle artist has to offer. This piece feels like a man who is trying to break out of the banality of common place sceneries, with bold assertions of duty and nobility, of love and dedication. It tastes of metamorphosis... "We only drink deep when our poisons are inspired by the death of our ghost." Stunning. It was a delight to absorb your meanings in bold, to watch your flame burn in so many enlightening words to guide me through this ever expanding midnight. This piece is wonderful, and quite a lot to deliberate over.

[Priscilla Sayers]

Only wishing that one could find inspiration in the Universe that encompasses us all who have senses beyond sight, sound, taste, touch.... The one whose eyes now bleed blindly but the soul's captor, devoured by what is not loving, just poisoning. Sometimes, I think we gravitate towards misery to bleed with that ever so potent emotion of hurt. You always write with passion, beautifully my friend.

[Alisa Js]

Hello,

The forests are fast becoming nothing more than bittersweet memories of another time...

...questions, always that proverbial question....do we continue to develop and build in the name of progress, or allow nature to reign? Sadly, I think the answer is an obvious one.

Alisa. ;-(