by Panik! » December 13th, 2012, 6:02 pm
Wooo. I wrote more. No, but most of these poems have actual substance and meaning to me.
Old Friends
A noise,
Subtle,
A mouse across the floorboards,
Wakes you in the dark of night.
Light from the moon streams through a window,
Making its edges glow and,
Like a lighthouse to a lost ship,
You are drawn to it.
Outside, a field of corn expands for miles,
Rippling with the gentle knolls of earth
And undulating in the summer night’s breeze.
Your eyes are lured to a disturbance in the field:
A circle—no, two—
No, a design,
With elegant curves
And geometric intricacies.
You catch a glimmer in the heavens and follow it
As it arcs above the field like a falling star
Before dissolving into the black fabric of sky,
And you smile to yourself,
Before climbing back into bed,
For it is a message from old friends,
Telling you that all is well back home
In their domain across the universe.
--------------------------------------------
Void
I never was a country kid.
My music differed, as did most of my interests,
From those who identified themselves with a “country” life.
Yet, I found peace many times at the farm.
I would place myself on the porch steps,
Petting the dog, holding the cats,
Watching him do his hand-me-down work.
The farm is an empty place now.
People come and go, offering their help,
But it remains a place of sorrow,
Sorrow for its missing piece –
No, its missing pieces:
The farmer.
The father.
The husband.
The brother.
The uncle.
The son.
And we wonder why,
But the answer is indistinguishable.
Maybe we don’t want to know,
Because with knowing comes the birth of blame,
And blame stings worse than sorrow.
So we try to block the assumptions…
However, visiting that empty place
Makes the suppositions flood back in.
I wish it could be simple again,
But simple can become so hard to achieve
When there’s a void in the picture.
--------------------------------------------
Escapade
A journey to a forest of emerald,
Interrupted so by a palace of ghouls
Who haunt its corridors with colored flames.
Deep inside lurks their master and king,
An ethereal phantom on his steed.
An expedition to a volcano of crimson,
Disrupted so by a temple of lava
Where prisoners wait to be freed.
In its deepest bowels dwells a dragon
Made entirely of a stifling conflagration.
An excursion to a lake of cerulean,
Consisting of a labyrinthine shrine
In which water flows around an obelisk of marble.
In a hidden room waits a monstrosity,
Composed of water with a mind of its own.
A mission set in a graveyard of black,
Involving a sinister trip through the catacombs
Where spirits of unrest distort reality.
Tucked even farther beneath these halls
Waits a headless drummer, pounding away on his giant bongo.
A trek leading miles into a desert of bronze,
Concerning a colossal stone sanctuary
Which holds the secrets of strength and wisdom.
Ordained walls conceal a pair of sisters,
Witches who wield brooms of ice and fire.
An escapade to a castle of obsidian,
Containing memories of adventures past
And companions gained along the way.
The castle stands as long as the monster within does,
A beast of pure power…slayed by the sword of evil’s bane
-----------------------------------------------
Flowers in the Apocalypse
We sit as a pair above the city,
A month from now,
On a hill several miles away.
The scarlet sky hangs over the metropolis
Where skyscrapers burn like colossal matches.
Waves from an upset ocean tear at the bridges
And lap the cars from its supposed safety.
Clouds unleash their fierce lightning
As citizens run for cover that cannot be found.
They all disregarded the date
As it smoldered on their calendars
Proclaiming to stand as the apocalypse,
The end of days, the final judgement.
And now they mourn and panic and scatter
About these streets that they called home.
The horsemen have come, they’ve wreaked their havoc,
Pillaged the land of the Earth with death and fear.
And we grin at each other,
Not for the demise of human kind,
Not for the desecration of planet Earth,
But for the fact that we found each other,
That we planted our roots firmly in the soil of life,
The very soil that remains singed at our feet.
We sapped from the soil
Every source of happiness we could
Until we flourished to unimaginable heights,
Blossoming from successes,
Growing from mistakes.
We sit on this hill, holding hands
As two flowers against the fiery sky.
