Aphrael (akteri) wrote in gatheringpoets,
Aphrael
akteri
gatheringpoets

New Poetry!!!

The muse is being a little vengeful today - she has been growling and snarling at me today, forcing thoughts into my head which - in the case of some - are probably left untouched, unsaid.

Having said that, though, here are four new poems for your reading (dis)pleasure.


PASSION


Like lightning,
A beauty which links Earth to
Heaven…
Alas also blinding us.

It takes no account of time;
Marks no hours or minutes.
It makes its own calendar…
Has ways and beliefs peculiar to itself.

Its very nature is
Raw, uncontrolled emotion,
Enticing us to prey upon
Forces of reflective power –
Thus strengthening us in
Our pursuits.

Man is only truly great when
He acts from
The passions;
Never irresistible but when
He appeals to
The imagination.




NOT WORTHY


You are not worthy –
Not worthy of the love
Which I have devoted to you.

I never thought before that
There was one who could affect me
So much by saying
So little.
You do not know what
My state of mind
Towards you is.

You do not know how
You haunt me and bewilder me.

You do not know how
The cursed carelessness that is
Over-officious in helping me at
Every other turning of my life,
Will not help me here.

You have struck it dead –
I think –
I sometimes almost wish
You had struck me dead along with it

You are the ruin of me.

I have no resources in myself;
I have no confidence in myself;
I have no government of myself when
You are near me or
In my thoughts.

And you are always in my thoughts now.
I have never been quit of you
since I first saw you.
Oh, that was a wretched day for me!
That was a wretched, miserable day

So, no, you are not worthy of
The love which
I have devoted to you.

I knew all along that the prize
I had set my life on was not
Worth the winning;

I further knew that I was a fool,
With fond fancies,
Bartering away my wall of
Truth and ardor
Against your little feeble
Remnant of love.

I will bargain no more.
I withdraw.




THE MASK OF SISTERHOOD


The hag was more than human –
She was a wild, austere,
Mighty manifestation of nature.

Tall and gaunt,
Face possessed of hard,
Craggy features with
Intolerant dark eyes,
Even her hair of snowy white and
Gently stooping back could not
Remove the sense of
Fear
Which she inspired in those around her.

Her face was pure evil,
Smoothed by the years of hypocrisy;
Her manners excellent.

She stood for some moments,
Gazing at her own flesh and blood –
Her own sisters –
Affection beaming in one eye;
Calculation in the other.




MURDERED?


The woods are never solitary
They are full of whispering,
Beckoning,
Unfriendly life.

At the scent of a flower or
One glimpse of a path of moonlight
Lying fair upon a darkened trail,
The barriers crumble and fall.

Through the long corridors
The ghosts of the past walk -
Unfettered –
Hindered only by
Broken promises,
Dead hopes, and
Dream dust.

You said I killed you –
Haunt me, then!
The murdered do
Haunt their murderers,
I believe.

I know that ghosts have
Wandered on earth.
Be with me always –
Take any form –
Drive me mad!

Only do not leave me
In this abyss,
Where I cannot find you.

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic
  • 0 comments