The writings of Oddpoet

If you were to give words to me
What would they be?
Can they sweep us away?
From the venom’s sting
Angry
dark­est
of inks
Anguish felling
Bro­ken pens
Whis­per to me now
And with your words
Bring us to where
The beau­ti­ful poetry
yet
still
sings…

I dip my fin­gers
Into the cool stream of con­scious­ness
Your thoughts flow over mine
In a gen­tle rush.
When I raise my fin­gers
To my lips
Curi­ous words roll
And drip
To soothe fevered flesh.
A sub­tle mys­tery is born
On ancient banks
Only the sink­ing sun
Can attest
To the renewal of beauty
As our thoughts mesh
Once again.
The eter­nal stream
Surges
With omnipo­tence…
The black dis­ease of anger
Has dis­solved
Within the majes­tic tow.

And can these words whis­pered
Across the skin of pens
Lift one out of the dark­ness?
Where is this mag­i­cal stream?
In what wilder­ness
That these words drip­ping
And rolling from divine lips
Lead unto
And defend…
Upon which path
Beneath what set­ting sun,
Shall we now step?
For the heart of the ancient for­est
Is dark­ened and dis­eased
By the black anger
Vengeance cries
And echoes of words
As sword blows
Sent
O’ ancient allur­ing dryad
Silent splen­did lyri­cal entic­ing muse
Unto which tree
That roots into the elder streams
Do these words lure into?
Dare I offer my hand?
Unto celes­tial reverie
For you to lead me
Into these dreams?

Hold my gaze
The stream lies here
Hov­er­ing over the vast dis­tance
Curl­ing ques­tions
Into answers
That need no def­i­n­i­tion
Only assur­ance
In their valid­ity.
On mere thought
Sun­light invades
The dark­est wells
To bleach resent­ment.
On sheer will
The chasm opens
Upon the bril­liance of hope.
The wilder­ness
Lies here in my heart
Scarred
And trem­bling
From the night­mares
Of bat­tles
Lost
But with strength
To frolic
And splash
Once more
In the stream
If only you will be here with me…
Take my hand
Let us dream
Again
To drown all doubt.

And how may I gaze into eyes,
So far away?

The sun holds my vision
Gaze upon its splendor…

The wilder­ness is vast
The chasm is deep
The sun knows me not
For it has burned ere eons
Never near…

And how may I feel a heart
With­out one of my own
Bloody and fallen into
Its sin­gu­lar black-hole

Embrace mine
For it has always resided
In your hands
In your pos­ses­sion
In your fate
It whis­pers to you all of the ques­tions
Which my words can­not sate

And how may I touch a hand
Leagues out of reach
I have no gold
To pay the toll…

This hand rests
Idle
To suf­fer the touch
Every day
Your hand caresses
With sen­ti­ment…
Invaluable.

Gold
Has only brought cor­rup­tion
Greed
To the ancient forest’s
Stream…
Pay not
To find me

I have wan­dered o’er end­less eons
Across the fields
Through the forests
Among the stars
Over and within these dreams
Lis­ten­ing, lis­ten­ing
And yet still not know­ing
And ever find­ing the dark­est of cor­ners
Night­mare verses
Slay­ing arrows and vor­pal tongues
While wish­ing to find her thigh
Instead of a mill­stone
To lay my head upon
Yet upon these quests
I have yet to find home…
The wilder­ness is vast
The chasm is deep
This wilder­ness is vast
The chasm deep
The sun knows me not
For it has burned ere eons
Never near….
Even if the sun remem­bers
Eons before the for­est
Yet still younger than I
Bloody and fallen into
Its sin­gu­lar black-hole
Before the heart fell into
Its black-hole
And every gate­keeper
Demands its toll
And the dark-heart of the for­est
Knows not how to pay anymore

Oh wan­derer
Weary and bleak
You’ve paid
With your pre­cious soul
Until it seems
That noth­ing remains…

But I will not believe!
I will not believe
That the embers
Of your essence
Have been drenched
To extinction!

Is my heart
Not pure enough
Bright enough
Strong enough
To cap­ture your gaze?

Will the song
Of my soul
Never be beau­ti­ful enough
To play the melody
Of your existence?

Dear sweet dryad
Yours is a truly beau­ti­ful song
But there is another psalm
Which I hear ring­ing
Ever deep within
Her voice, her soul for­ever car­ried upon the kiss
Of the autumn winds
And for­ever this wanderer’s heart
Belongs to one…

As days grow long
And nights grow cold
Let this voice
Whis­per as hope
Upon the journey’s path
To enlightenment.

Embrace
This final note…
We are all one
In
The End.

©Para & Kirk Mor­gan 2010 7–14

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 14th, 2010 at 10:09 pm and is filed under Para Poetry, ~Collab~. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.