From chaos, into order wake
That from sleep some meaning may we derive
The tales of dreaming which go untold
For into life we thus emerge
And from conviction of the soul…
Thus can we our entry make
For, what lies within the heart
Cannot the mind ever contrive
except in far-off, lonely places
between waking and the night
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Author:
Severus Alexander (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 23rd, 2016 14:37
- Comment from author about the poem: Who are we to, living, sleep~ ~when life is itself a fever dream? World of ours, so real would seem~ ~So real the love for you and I! 'Tis nothing but a waking dream~ ~For something is a-sleeping... Drawing ever closer nigh~ How true it is, to you, to me... The living love that we can see~ How truthful, then, could living be~ ~Love, the lie, spoken to me.. On scale of an eternity~ The lovely things which weeping, sigh.. ~For tragedy of wondrous love, so lost.. Love, the work of god? No more could I disagree... For, the hand of god would surely tremble~ To pen such poetry? A poet such as I will tell you... Speaking is to lying~ As dreaming is to loving... And loving is to, living, die! And beauty thus the soul of loss... And love, that self-same and fleeting sigh~ ~Beyond regret, none are exempt... And love, the sole redeeming grace~ Of death. And thus I say unto you~ ~Who would hold love in contempt.. You to whom life was given freely~ Would freely your oblivion embrace? Love is the only purpose of life, you pathetic fools.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
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