Words

My words betrayed me today,

Again.

It seems, as of late,

They have found their own voice,

Their own wit,

Their own bitterness.

My words are consuming my whole being.

Or maybe,

In those words,

I’ve finally found the voice,

Which is truly mine.

Civil War

Just to drift away and fade into an ever-sretching white light,

Away from doubts,

And into the bliss,

From the life I have started to despise.

There is a hidden strength among my shivering words,

Words that shy as they leave my stuttering lips.

A strength to wander and explore the unknown.

To drift into the ever-changing whiteness of the unknown,

That question,

The life altering confession,

Which I’m shying from making to my already aware heart,

Is a game of my pragmatic mind.

A mind, whose soul purpose is to guide me in this world of uncertainty.

Whom should I deny the benefit of doubt?

My mind,

My heart,

In a struggle for power,

They are in a continous tug of war.

This,

This is my

Civil war.

In Outlying Shades of World – Poetry

It was the year of Great War, a year one might call an abyss in time. In those outlying shades of the world, a sudden bringing of ancient and modern came into absolute contact. There was born a child, in those bitter, mortal cold shores. A child who later became caring yet blind by his rage. A broken child of fragile and responsive organisation. Of discomfort, positive pain and ultimate injury. He was the child of legends, legends ever heard by rustic men.

The Chill Of Late November Night – Poetry

On this silent night, my whispers, they echo,

Splitting the chaos of solitude.

The chill of late November night,

Bolstered with confessions,

Rip apart the music of peace.

What confessions?

Withered Thoughts of Existence

My iron lady,

My metallic lady,

Running silent,

Running deep,

I’ll abandon my soul for you, my love.

I’ll scream, I’ll breathe the agony.

The sound of existence,

Of perseverance,

Of essence of life,

Airy spirits of harmony touch among the shadows.

The Answers Faded

In stillness of time paused

In moment that we rejoiced

On the mountain of cold tears

We faded into each other.

In the moonless darkness of death

In the water of the soul that men breathe

Among the shades of evening that they seek

We escaped.

Before the moment of echo

Under the whispers of question

In the air of discord, the answers faded

In that moment we parted.

The old reason escaped.

Just the thought of crossing the question

Shivered us

And we merged again.

Persistence

An amorphous flower 

Devours itself, 

Within the infinite roots of

Persistence, 

In silence, 

By broken water. 

In imperfections, 

It reignites its existence.