A Sprinting Feeling

As sprint to sprint,

So feel to feel,

A lifetime perched upon a reel,                           

And breath to dying breath gives way,

As ashen air from shattered clay,

Ungentle light a bidden blade,

As broken seal by solemn spade,

Exhausted skies by thunder heave,

As tarnished steel the rager reave,

Immortal from the mortal flee,

As faulted stars strike dark decree,

As feel from feel,
So sprint from sprint,
A lifetime birthed of foul flint.





Because who can tire of such poetry as this? Just a spurt of energy in the endless chasm of life, in the infinite vacuum of that which is not, in the unfathomable void of––

Inner Melodies

The tempest raging over tropic sands,
While unrelenting storms blanket the lands,
Horizons past and heaven's eyes withdrawn,
Unparted curtains sing their cloudy song,
The notes from summits ring with untold tunes,
Each chord a crashing tide on war-torn dunes,
And undefeated echoes ride on air,
Un-equine steeds yet currents just as fair,
Poseidon's manes too gallop at the call,
Dark liquid schisms fast to rise and fall,
Electric dancers fleeting in their flow,
No gift of moment's lapse for them to slow,
Thus hides the utter chaos within peace,
Unseeming spells of tumult without cease.





Yes, I suppose it is something of a skill that humans put to use: the concealment of these "spells of tumult," no matter how intense they might be. How many of these have you had? And how many of them could you suppress into a shadow of a blink? And how many tormented your soul for days at a time?

Well I guess the other side of this is appreciating the halcyon rainbows after such a storm. In any case, take what you will from the poem. It's yours, after all. It's all of ours.

Note: this was a timed poem (a sonnet made of couplets) written in a tumultuous 30 minutes