Dasein

Shall stylite summits redeem desolation, chained to static skylines?
Is it liberation that nulls emptiness, or the threat of definite decline?
Ain't I better left with voices in my head, chained instead to cement confines?
To recover peace in their formless privacy, what wordsmiths obscenely define.

Why this verbose irony then you ask, and I remind as such is being,
Our history of fusions turned bestial divorces, and dreary reconciling;
Torn between the lust of shared poetry, and the wisdom of silent solitude,
Dubious we march past ancestral paths, abashed in witless fortitude.

Yet it isn't the world which lades me tonight, but words I've held for days,
Words worn weightless by supposed truths to secure prevailing ways,
That the windows chant now to smother silence, while roofs sit high and hollow,
And we'll sing songs in praise of the bloodless earth if it remains so by morrow...

What end's to be drawn to this enslaved romance, drifting in Eternal Dasein?
As dour depths breed moans perverse, to survive the stormy serene;
No catharsis to purge the prose of misheard, those mute condemned to be free,
So I'll let words escape patented pages; may they rain as orphaned poetry.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I will return tomorrow and read more Swagato. I am off to my nightshift job.
"What end's to be drawn to this enslaved romance, drifting in Eternal Dasein?
As dour depths breed moans perverse, to survive the stormy serene;
No catharsis to purge the prose of misheard, those mute condemned to be free,
So I'll let words escape patented pages; may they rain as orphaned poetry."
Orphaned words. I liked these words. Thank you my friend for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote