I have always been spiritual. I was
taught at a young age to see, to listen and develop the soul that
was my inherited birthright. I was taught to have respect for the
dead, to appreciated life in its various forms, to listen to my
dreams and ask what they are trying to tell me. It would never be
enough for me to simply exist. Spirituality is beyond religion,
as it is the religion of your soul. I question, I seek answers and
I accept the privacy of the unexplainable.
I believe that we are surrounded by other realities, guides, those
who are unaware they are dead, disembodied beings, the metaphorical,
the metaphysical. If you develop your intuition it can serve you
to be open-minded in every aspect of your existence. These poems
are sacred musings and conversations with other worlds and unseen
entities. This is by far my favourite genre to work in.
Note: Please do not take and use any of my poetry without prior
permission.
Angel
Of Suicide She turned on the taps, and buckled the door,
Her head was still swimming, and her spirit was sore.
She lit up the candles, and stripped herself bare
And into her bathtub, she let loose her hair.
She let her mind wander, and heated the blade,
And on her soft wrist, an incision was made.
Grew calm with the flowing, ribbons of red,
Took peace in the knowledge, that soon she'd be dead.
Gone is the heartache, gone is the lust
Gone is the man she could no longer trust.
Gone are the tears, far into the night,
Then he came before her, an angel of light
He said in a voice of velvety black,
"Well done, now you've won, but you'll never come back...
Your life was all yours, now no chance for revival,
And gone is the body that fought your survival,
The cells in your body begin to shut down
And the tongue which once sung can now utter no sound,
And the hands which once wrote, are now deadly and still
And the feet which once danced, can no longer at will.
Think of the art, you'll no longer paint,
Think of the lives you'll no longer taint.
Think of the poetry, you'll no longer write
Gone are the stars on a crystal clear night.
Think of your wedding, you'll never attend
And all of the people who called you a friend
Think of your husband, you'll now never meet
Think of the lilies they'll throw at your feet
And gone are the children, you'll never create
Think of the loss you chose in this fate.
She screamed, "Please no! I want now my life!
I want now the husband who'll make me his wife!
I want my unborn ones, I want to still dance!
I pray to the heavens for one second chance!!"
She cried till she bled for the life that she'd missed
Then the angel said to her "look down at your wrist"
She turned her arm over, and cried in delight,
For no mark was upon it, her arm was alright
"Thank you!" she cried, but "hush now," he said,
"For this is a dream, and you're safe in your bed.
And thank our dear Father that you will survive,
And when you awaken tomorrow, you feel so alive."
The Gathering Place Down where the Occultists gather
The air is heavy with unspoken confessions
Untold truths and dormant knowledge
And with heaving hearts and blackened robes
They go to the places where nobody knows
Down where the Occultists gather.
Down where the Seers gather
The silence is deafening and the chanting is soul-sound
And creatures watch from woodland branches
Wide-eyed and curious they gently cry
Under the moons and ebony sky
Down where the Seers gather.
Down where the Watchmen gather
The soil and grass is moist underfoot
They stay close together, united as one
A river of torches silently sway
As the towers they've abandoned get further away
Down where the Watchmen gather
Down where the Occultists gather,
And the Seers and Watchmen and travelling kin
Turn to acknowledge the fledglings that come
Summoned by the one of higher graces
They welcome our presence but cover their faces
And we too shall join them in the most sacred of places
Down where the gifted will gather.
Melting Faces Beautiful cruelty and names in the sand
A once loving person at alcohol's hand
We're all someone's baby,
Everyone's loved
Even the hermits are watched from above.
In the Valley of Life and varying places
We're all just bones
Behind melting faces.
The Projector Room Hey shadowed one!
Come out of that lonely room.
Don't let the sadness consume you
I know that you died.
But a cement projector room is no place
For a spirit as bright as you
Are you not aware,
That Marble Halls await you?
Can you not hear their voices?
Hold not onto the sadness of your death
Go now, and do not be afraid.
I will watch you.
Marble Halls A wonderful celebration is being held
In Marble Halls beyond the sun
Where her dusk light seeps through the high windows
Illuminating the dancers in a glistening river
Of concealed faces.
The masked ones, they dance
In synchronised beauty
Of Venetian tears and silent sound
They twirl and bow, changing partners and touching palms.
Is it of the light they celebrate?
The last precious moments of the setting sun?
For such gold that is revealed in a moment before darkness
Is truly a colour no earthly mind could comprehend.
Is it in honour the candles that dance with them?
God of the shadows that dance
In a parallel universe
On the marble walls behind them?
For the loss of their creator's flame Is loss of their own existence?
No, it is not for the light they dance
Not for the candle or his shadowed people.
It is for you,
And with darkened eyes they welcome you
With outstretched palms they beckon you.
You have returned.
Atlantis I feel shivers walking past them each day
They are easy to identify in every way
The people who came from far away
In the City of Atlantis.
As we all looked the same, with spiritual ties
Pale and tall with feline eyes,
Different life but same faces,
reminding me of distant places
People of Atlantis.
They look at me and all the while
With equal recognition, you start to smile
But as the knowledge of this life returns to you
And you curse yourself for being a fool
Remind yourself, that these aren't true
That you're not of Atlantis.
And the erratic beating of my heart slows down,
As I watch you passing all around
As I curse myself for thinking you'd remember our sound,
And to return to the Land of the Present .
Technology is a blessing, I've realised,
Yet so advanced, this blessing, that we have become de-sensitized
But we have no choice but to live in this world as it is now
But remember back to Atlantis?
I used to whisper to you in the night's unconsciousness
And you would smile and turn over in sleepy boyishness
Pulling silken sheets over your eyes
And together we'd listen to haunting ocean cries
In our chamber, in Atlantis.
And I wait in vain longing of the day he'll remember
The time these strangers will stop me, and we'll laugh along together
And we'll return to the place we chose to remember
Our Kingdom of Atlantis.
What The Walls Long
To Say Leave a whisper for me in the darkness
The walls will tell me it later.
Leave a lullaby under the floorboards
Your secrets they will cater.
Leave a story behind every line
Of broken plaster snaking along the wall
Don't stop the ageing of its stature
Watch the flakes, like tears gently fall.
Leave your reflection in the window
Leave your footprints in the snow
Tell the Ivy to grow thicker
Tell it what I need to know.
A house, so full of pending memories
Let it tell me of your woe.
Mortal Breath And because, we are told,
Each moment could be our last
Can we handle such a burden
With justified action?
Do you hear the chirping of the beetle beneath the floorboards?
And if so, do you ignore it and wait
In hopeless acceptance
And embrace the nothingness of the mist surrounding you?
Or do you tear at the wood beneath torn feet
In desperate defiance
Of the Unready? The Un-advanced?
Either way, acknowledge the hands of time.
Prevent, repent, accept.
Dream Fragments Recognition on a spiritual plain
They smile,
I'm seen.
They wave,
I exist.
More than a mere entity.
Surely they are not only in my dream...
Did my mind, though an artist's
Possibly create them all?
Every line cracked at the edge of their eyes as they smile
The words they say, every dialogue?
Perhaps I did.
But the belonging,
The knowing,
The recognition,
In this time of solitude,
Is so strangely familiar upon dreaming.
Recognition To take an interest in the curved,
The circular, and that of cyclone status,
To feel words as water waves,
Or stab wounds of shining daggers sharpened while you were sleeping.
To mourn the death of an animal for seven years.
To forget oneself with such intensity that one could become lost
in the
Valley of Self and forgotten memories.
To become lost in melancholy and written verse.
To stand before an element of decay and tilt ones head to see the
colours
dancing from hidden angles.
To feel beauty in the many colours of rust and decay.
To love that which is lost, and that which is gone.
That which is abandoned and alive with strangled songs of pending
loss.
To agree to walk forth blindly and fearlessly through thickened
undergrowth.
It is then that you'll know me.
Muse
Of The White Fire She stands alone in the whitest of fire
A long forgotten dream of mine
She puts to voice a thousand thoughts
That are instantly lost in time.
And like snowflakes they fall at her feet.
Beauty and sadness define her features
Spiders line her eyes
She cradles a skull from a childhood ago
Yet in happiness she cries
And flowers grow in her footsteps.
She speaks of a beautiful burden
The fragile snowflakes glisten
They would not melt against the White Fire
If only you would listen
Yet water they become.
Whitest burning, delicate flame,
Where body illuminates land
Never will she stop creating
Until the forests grow in the sand.
You'll find her there.
The Pied Piper Lurketh by the hillock side
Where the shadows play and hide
Along the dancing of the tide
To music only elements and children can hear.
Speaketh truths of tales forgot
Sleeping baby from the cot
Beyond the grounds where battles fought
To a land of abandoned tear.
Sleepy children gladly went
following promises of youth unspent
Unaware of their parents screaming repents
To a land of forgotten fear.
By the light of the moon he took them away
Babbling brook of little heads sway
Hauntingly happy they followed the Fae
To a land of music only elements and children hear.
And grieving village soon subside
As each ageth slowly died
And forgot is the stranger known as the Pied.
Who caused a thousand tears.
But to this day they're said to dance
In a beautiful world of enticing trance
They would never want to leave, given the chance
The land of music only elements and children can hear.
