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Page: Profile: Poetry
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Poem Specs
VxPoem ID: 27187
Category:
personal_life
Posted: February 28th. 2007 9:24:56 AM
Views: 735 |
Theater of Past Lives
by Widdershins
Age Group: Adult
The night has risen to blight out light: company so lonely…
here I withstand the continuous fight: reduced to only
the stare but cannot touch… the scorch of its flame erodes my will,
but I feel even more rolling off… its trapping me, strangling me…
as I open my glossy eyes, I see the company so sleepy,
as I watch them, while the stars tug me to a void, I see that they look so dreamy…
and as ever my sharp blade concludes that its never enough
for me to reach out and turn the lights off…
The night had risen to greet me: solitude surrounded…
I’m constantly aware as I move away of a presence; yet walled off—
in the depth of conscious thought I wonder, have I again done something
to inadvertently take an axe and break the chain of talk…
as I watch without being able to reach out, I see speechless, tired and reading…
as I continue to stare, so lonely in here, now: company gently sleeping…
my despair seems so endless, as I find I am left alone again
to forever suffer on through my pitiless thoughts…
The night brings me musings: maybe the intention was to bring to mind
the never ceasing tyranny of all the jealousy ringing me, invading my life…
don’t scoff my gentle flame of attention, it’s not mine of course, how could I be?
you know better than that, it can’t be if I’m strong enough… then
past life ghosts shimmer into form
dancing on a grand ballroom floor,
bathed in ethereal lights reddish brown,
like looking through a bronze or copper glass
where ancient music hauntingly
presses my eardrums for attention…
…whispers, echoes, feelings tighten—
the heart beats faster, unbearably
each moment splitting into infinity
bestowing my love with such intricacy
to forever be webbed and illusioned,
too pungent is this intrusion, I feel like
it’s hating my every fiber and my being
its chasing me to cut me down
while my love caresses me gently…
The night strips me of pride and hate: I’m left in a square where dark is bleached
where I’m hounded by the sense of guilt that never belonged to me,
as the lightning is splashing the grayish green with silvery dangerous substance
the storm is still howling in me, and I admit that low is my resistance…
the fires die down to leave this tinseled town
where brigades home the silent waves
lords of sun and moon swish down
to darken their dying days… with just…
a single memory, where those same things seemed so lovely,
where the beauty of their shine brought light and freedom to their hearts…
beneath which one danced joyously as the sky sparkled marvelously,
and now… the howl of death has made it fade to such an ugly gray…
The hauntingly beautiful lost its allure,
the vibrant, scented air makes breathing hard to endure
the colorful lights playing on me are hurting my eyes
the wonderful textiles draped on me scratch at me like knives
everything looks so different from the position of the painting
watching as everyone can alter everything and anything
the world is fixed in two tiny spheres…
the only time I can see the reflection of the temple around me,
is when I shed a mirrored tear…
hands are bound, solid and unmoving, compressed
possibly undressed by the artist’s eye so unnerving,
no freedom in the chants that waft around…
everything is just a facet of the dying howl…
February 27, 2007
Author's Notes: Well, this is placed in the personal section because though it is indeed a theater of past lives, it's about someone in my life and my connection to him. He's haunted by past life stuff which makes things very difficult for both of us... and he just happened to be walling me off again without really having reason to nor having given any explanation (he never gives one) , and though I constantly fight this and try to make him stronger, he's still so blinded to it, and it makes me rather lonely. The next poem is about a note he left me, which is regarding the same topic, though this time it's the point where I lost my cool about it. Thankfully he's not here, I'd not present myself before him to have such a weakness. ("Next poem is You think I didn't notice" -- line-for-line response.)
Author's Location: Szeged, Hungary
More Poems: Widdershins has posted 234 additional poems- View them?
Author's Profile: To learn more about Widdershins - Click HERE
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