Dues Payed

One-two, one two, and through and through,
  As life doth take its native hue,
Once-more, once-more, and rage and roar,
  But whisper too what thank thou for,
Come all, come all, to watch us fall,
  Thrice gaspéd wind a moment crawl,
Now see, now see, 'tis only we,
  Hence heed the call to set us free.





A random tidbit of everything and nothing, written in the barely-alive non-darkness of post-autumn. Pseudo-Shakespeare + Caroll anyone?

A Fallen Star

A wish upon a fallen star,

The fading light a light too far,

Where broken day by dusk exhales,

Horizon-bound on windblown sails,

Afloat on seas of untold times,

A darkened hull of loss and crimes,

A present past to present gives,

And thus to future present lives,

An arrow on the unkempt tides,

Where moment to each moment guides,

Where fleeting futures drown in night,

Approaching naught but snuffed out light,

Like candles from an infant's blow,

Eyes watching unwished wishes go,

Through guilty tears on guilty seas,

Entombed within a guilty breeze.

Then splinters fly from stricken helm,

As fallen star strikes fallen realm.

This one is actually more open to interpretation than I originally intended. Certain lines present themselves in certain ways, yet offer, it seems, different possibilities. For: what is this "present" that the past gives, and toward which future is the present "living"? What is the premise: the wish? And what is the aftermath of the strike? Where one star falls while another seems to disappear, who can tell?

The Diamonding

True to the theme of this poem, a 10-minute timer was put to use. Thus, it seems a bit crude and sharp, but then again so it is. Divine the metaphors! (oh, also I put it into iambic tetrameter in the last 30 seconds because that is what it seemed to implore)

Compressed against the earthly fists,
The terra-force a terror true,
Two twin tide wreakers: rhythm shared,
The strength of air from blue to blue.

The chanting eyes, the staring words,
A can-like mirror, "cannot" fears,
A doubting shard within bests swords,
And too uncertain certains seers.

From higher hues to younger reds,
The hands from straight to right to none,
And empty lines to empty sheets,
The sea alight, the boulder spun.