eluvinari

SEA I My love, my only, gone again. Again to play my heart. Every cycle; no change, just jest, Taunting me, always apart. You see, its always been the same. I’ve always loved her face! The silver soul, she lights my world, Full of wonder, full of grace. Every night I wait to see her, Yet every night she'll change. Every night her face looks different, Making every night seem strange. So strange, each night, yet much delight, I get to see my love. She always cools my skin with light, So far and up above. From the birth of time, always mine. And though she'd always flee, She'd ever return, come the night, To prove that she loved ME.

You mock me, O cowardly Face! Through the night, from dusk to dawn, You pull me close, but ne’er embrace, And come the day leave me forlorn. From the birth of time I thought you mine, But despite your beauty, silver Face, Your gilded heart, though surely divine- Is darkly cruel and void of grace. Your nights’ watch is dark, it’s hard to see. Shall I tell you of my life, bright one? Of how I am trapped and yet so free, Of how I’ve conquered and yet am won? See, a hundred thousand souls are mine, Some dead, some lost, some yet to die. First they fear, in the end are supine, For of my strength none can deny. In my sh

Betwixt the fire and the ice, Lays the pleasure to entice The thousand easy 'swaded souls To leave the other well-walked holes. Living just on borrowed time, Each grain of sand, seconds devine. Smothering a burdened heart, Each smile and laugh a deceptive art. Of wavered vision and hearts a-race, First of sloth then panther pace. Palptations, ulcerations, Loss of veins and found elations. Friends, family, lovers depart, For your wicked distanced heart. So close to nature and the light, Has left them in an endless night. Betwixt the fire and the ice, Dwells a thousand frightened mice. Slaves and whores, emotionally poor, Abyssal ocean, no

The stench is hard to misperceive, And so he masks it with his sleeve. Unearthing his hidden treasure, Drags it home at his own leisure. By day he buries for those in black. We watch from our trees, holding back. He marks the box-holes with a cross, Leaving our worms and upturned moss. By nightfall he comes, with his spade, Takes the still ones, his common raid, Returns the box where it began, O, Strange and indecisive man! Ah! What a life it is to live. Though morbid as it seems; These bountiful wooden boxes Are born of rich man’s dreams. I bury them for the mourners, Read from their book of lies. But little do these mourners know,

The Stench is unbelievable, He masks it with his sleeves. He unearths his hidden treasure, Stashes, and swiftly leaves. By day he buries for those in black, ( I watch him from my tree) He marks the box-holes with a cross, And leaves the worms for me. By night-fall he returns to dig, The indecisive man! He takes the still-one from it’s box, And drags it to his clan. Ah! What a life it is to live. Though morbid as it seems; These bountiful wooden boxes Are born of rich man’s’ dreams. I bury them for the mourners, Read from their book of lies. But little do these mourners know, I feast on their demise. Judged only by the g

Look at him, smiling proud, Holding aloft a soiled shroud. He claims it to be of his father- The grim dodger, lonely carver. And she- the last, by yonder triangle, With brothers and deceit entangle. Upholder of the slave friend Isis, Though helped by asp to untimely crisis. Then the forgotten puny folk, Who lead dark lives until they croak, Ruled by paper; an unlikely foe, For a century of joy and woe. Surely they cannot know of death, And the pathetic fatality of their breath? How can their love and hope survive, When every dream’s a constructed lie? An empty plea to an abyssal plain, With everything to lose but naught to gain. Ins

As two brothers in all but blood, Little need for talk, but understood. Conquering the old foe Turk, Upon the day Frige and Venus lurk. Not inseparable, but with a bond, You and he would oft abscond. To a different time and place, Where new experiences you'd embrace. Such as the time, like flowing wine, Sounds became emotions, and colours became rhyme. You sank into a tranquil state, Encouraged by he and not by fate. But as time passed, you saw him less, Through naught but circumstance to confess. He began to fade away, Though kept to the world as clear as day. The  inner musings of the mind, Kept inside for non, even you to find, Caused

"Pray tell me", quoth the night bird, Where and why in life do we dwell? In anger, sadness, grief protective, From an endless plague of wrong collective? Do shadows part in yonder sunrise, And end this eternal ebon-time? Or are we both just slaves of hope, Slipping down life's deadly slope? "Aye- ye moan, winged creature o'the dark, But hath ye listen, silence- hark! There's a prayer, to an absent lord, Put against music, a lonely chord. A strike against a nameless bore, A rock-borne message, dictated lore. But still! A hope, a wish for hope, A companion to an endless mope." Stop there O nameless one, of an ignored plea there is no meaning