Post by xania on Apr 21, 2009 23:54:05 GMT -5
I've been taking a class in poetry and I guess it sparked something, because lately I've been writing alot. I know I'll never get around to revising this one, so I'll just post it as it is.
Questions, Comments, And Constructive Criticism are always welcome
Questions, Comments, And Constructive Criticism are always welcome
I stumble through the desert sand,
Tumbling, turning, eluding Death’s hand.
A grail holds the blood, divinest of Christ.
A pail would I fill, in pure sacrifice
Of my own sweat and blood,
If every last ounce returned in a flood
Of beautiful blues, all shades and all hues.
But oh how I muse oer’ this fantastic ruse,
For tales of wine and parting seas
Would yet bow down, sink to their knees,
Consumed by the sand, their miracles cease.
I crawl in despair oer’ the peak of a dune,
And see naught save one drop, a sparkling moon
She flies and she falls, taunting, teasing,
Soaring near my lips, the promise of easing
My pain at long last, it lowers my guard.
I lunge but I miss, and the ground I kiss
Where her moisture lays scattered and scarred.
Emotion, it fails me, I feel no regret,
No anger, no sorrow, no need to forget.
I lie in the sand, crippled with pain,
Faced with a choice: how to retain
My life in this plain of the dead.
Perhaps I’ll defy the odds and search on,
Play the part of the martyr and rise with the dawn.
But instead I’ll drop here, take the course of good thought
And dig through the night, I know that there ought
To be water aplenty once deep enough down.
Submerged in desire, I’d never drown,
I’d float on the surface, no longer Sand’s slave.
But delusions aside,
I’m digging my grave.
Tumbling, turning, eluding Death’s hand.
A grail holds the blood, divinest of Christ.
A pail would I fill, in pure sacrifice
Of my own sweat and blood,
If every last ounce returned in a flood
Of beautiful blues, all shades and all hues.
But oh how I muse oer’ this fantastic ruse,
For tales of wine and parting seas
Would yet bow down, sink to their knees,
Consumed by the sand, their miracles cease.
I crawl in despair oer’ the peak of a dune,
And see naught save one drop, a sparkling moon
She flies and she falls, taunting, teasing,
Soaring near my lips, the promise of easing
My pain at long last, it lowers my guard.
I lunge but I miss, and the ground I kiss
Where her moisture lays scattered and scarred.
Emotion, it fails me, I feel no regret,
No anger, no sorrow, no need to forget.
I lie in the sand, crippled with pain,
Faced with a choice: how to retain
My life in this plain of the dead.
Perhaps I’ll defy the odds and search on,
Play the part of the martyr and rise with the dawn.
But instead I’ll drop here, take the course of good thought
And dig through the night, I know that there ought
To be water aplenty once deep enough down.
Submerged in desire, I’d never drown,
I’d float on the surface, no longer Sand’s slave.
But delusions aside,
I’m digging my grave.