2 poems i wrote a couple of years ago

lucaso

Today as a weak

 

And in the midst of a deep sleep

You realise what keeps you awake;

A lack of harmony can only creep

Through the manor it was poached in by the week;

 

Below the peeled shadows of a bronze sky

Two immovable responses dance above your head,

Baptising you in sunlight through the crackling blinds —

They take the form of two peasant-gods

Begging for an instance they forged;

 

When there is one laughing

There is always one crying;

What does it mean to escape from Hell

And never return?

 

 

The familiar route of melancholy

Rambles to me in reverse;

Guts me to the idiom of how to be is to rehearse

And that to be alone is to be free,

Where true nothing can be seen —

 

 

I am too distracted by what would've been,

The past is an ever-flowing sanctuary

Rigging the horizon to a concave of bear traps,

Enthralling you in the delirium

 

Of being for one’s own sake,

Where death is the last form of love you keep;

And in the midst of a deep sleep

You realise what keeps you awake.

 

The name I lost

 

In this night which forever remains late

Where all is known but not foretold in age

I stay burning within an orphaned state

Weaving memories tragic upon the stage —

Sacrificial blood can only be wasted

Again and again as a slave receding,

The incompatible rage never pure

Marches behind birth in hope to find the cure.

 

A universe as shapeless as sound,

The curdled revelation

Forever beckoning,

The ignored revolution

Forever evolving,

Slides into the well-pool’s echo,

Ties a man to ends inseparable,

Enslaves a voice in a cell foretelling it’s parable.

 

I grapple onto what I think I know

Like a child always wanting

But never ready to grow,

I feel being for what it is -nothing-

Everything is too quick to catch, too slow

To be understood as something

Other than the brutality of wills flow,

The name I am always losing.

 

The virgin brutality of Chaos

Always anticipating

The joy of loss

Begs asking

Why I’m hesitating; —

I grapple onto what I think I know

Like a child always wanting

But never ready to grow.

 

  • Author: lucaso (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 20th, 2018 12:21
  • Comment from author about the poem: a couple of basics I wrote when I was 15/16, found them while cleaning my room, thought I may as well put them here before binning them forever ahaha, I understand if they seem quite shit
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 13
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