In the Beginning

In the beginning 

there was light

                    a trumpets cry for joy

no eclipse could asunder

the gale breath from our sails

our paths took off on

                         different roads to outer banks

I look for you in every smile,

 in every embrace

the gypsy caravan of my animus

seeks that peaceful

 dove of love

 heatless warmth spins my heart

                          arctic frigid

a  bruised touch scars the soul 

 beyond repair

imparts the spirit with

 dark angels of acrid savor

 tenement ofour being

 now stated of shambles

our shelter of

 paradise

 merely a burnt down shanty

recesses of the conscience

            ...............................envision a revivification

waking essence of massacre and carnage's

accesses/ morose truth

once upon a time character respected

 decorum's decency

led down the groove of polite protocol

                                      and tangled webs

in the end that 

lies in darkness

 

a wounded bitter

                                               pathetic whisper of a whimper 

Reviews

[kublakhan27]

I read this as a lament on the splintering ability of human beings to communicate with each other, everything is virtual now...the heatless warmth was the driving image here for me...the cold feels more real, and more indicative of human nature...the extension of warmth has become a hollow gesture in so many ways...wonderful writing Frieda :)

[Frieda P]

I like your review better than my poem! ;-)

[kublakhan27]

Well if my review is that good, it's only cuz I was inspired so much by the poem ;)

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

In the beginning everything is created by God's touch... in the end it is all tainted by ideals.

[Frieda P]

Hate when that happens!

[The Rock And Roll Cowboy(REBEL WITH A CAUSE)]

me too.

[LA Lorena]

I was going along great until the typo in line 7 of 3rd stanza. :D

[LA Lorena]

This was very cool frieda, I like how the momentum went from the beginning to end, starting with a shout for joy and culminating in that pathetic whimper. Nice job.

[Frieda P]

Blub, what do you want, I think I'm still in a drunken stupor!