“A Better Man”

This is a simple concept, but it is something that has been gnawing at me for the past few days. I decided to take some time to put it on paper.

Here it is.

“A Better Man”

I was nothing when I was
And much worse when I began
Breathing tragically, because
…I could not be a better man.

Should I dull my longing fangs?
Should I stay my grasping hand?
I would rather swing and hang,
Than become a better man!

They did not see when I was there;
I watched as they turned and ran
In a spiraling despair;
…I want to be a better man.

But they scream inside my head,
Clawing again and again,
And I wish that I was dead!
…Or at least a better man.

So I lock away my thirst,
Making due with what I can.
I will be myself, but first,
I will be a better man!

Leave me now, sweet war of mine,
Take with you only my hand,
For tomorrow you will find
A brighter bolder better man!

…Better than the one I am.

 

“Humour”

Nothing humorous about this – unless you count how humorously atrocious it was written.

Enjoy – I dare you!

“Humour”

Humour before all the gods –
Oh, I have been made a fool,
Bowing under haughty nods
Like a drooling dancing ghoul.

It is they who hurled me forth,
Broken from the very start,
Leaving me alone on earth,
Leaving you inside my heart.

Humour before all the gods –
I am but a starving joke,
Hungry for the bright facades,
Laughing in the choking smoke.

In my eye, the world seems cruel
To allow this morbid farce
To curse this shadow of a fool
With the famine of a thousand hearts.

 

“Gerard and The Mourning Sea”

I found some old notes I had made almost a year ago. I had plans to write something like this but I had neither the plot, nor the style to do anything. Today I was simply thinking random rhymes and verses when it struck me – they weren’t random at all. I told to myself “That’s it! I found it!”, rushed home and started writing for five hours straight. This is the result of that.

Do enjoy and let me know what you think!

“Gerard and The Mourning Sea”

The Mourning Sea does gleam tonight
Under stars aflame;
Though sated she is, she might
Let us hear the name,

Whispered in a thousand screams
Fierce across the shore,
Wild beyond the wildest dreams
That we have dreamt before;

A name which no one dares recall –
The folly of a bard –
Carved onto a sunken hull,
The fisherman Gerard.

Poor gutter, our lowly drudge
With the stench of death,
Grinning wide, bearing no grudge
Towards those of wealth.

Carried by a summer breath,
Dearest Laurelei* –
Muffled echoes of a depth,
Hiding a sweet lie.

The tale sings of a sun-up
One star-crossed July,
Of Gerard, luckless young pup
And dearest Laurelei.

A blemish on her milk-white skin
And silver in her hair
Found-she in her mirror slim
And salty was the air;

And the sea was suffering
With the sighing maid;
Wailing waves were smothering,
Unweaving woven braids.

Gerard knew of her distress,
For he loved her well
And swore-he to his mistress,
His own blood he’d sell

To hear her laugh, savour again
The cyan of her eye,
For no song was sweeter than
Dearest Laurelei.

And her smile tasted of sorrow,
Caressing his tear,
For she knew that her tomorrow
Would usher no cheer.

And her words to silence fell,
Drowning in a kiss
Made of long and dark farewells
Reflecting the abyss.

Tranquil were the fetid docks,
Lined and trimmed with chum
Thrown along the battered rocks
To the briny hum.

Serene was The Mourning Sea
That scorching July,
When Gerard set sail to the*
Despair of Laurelei.

“Do not wait for me, my love;
Gaze towards the sky
That I may see the blue of
My sweet Laurelei.

Midnight’s veil shall be my cloak
And thousands, my eyes
Recalling the day I spoke
‘Farewell, Laurelei…'”

…As the boat left the embrace
Of the grasping shore,
Laurelei endured in ways
She’d never felt before;

To this day she haunts and seeks
Any ship or raft;
And sailors who refuse to speak
Suffer with her wrath.

She still yearns for stars above,
The fisherman Gerard,
Now so far from his lost love
…And farther from his very heart.

“Sing the cyan of your eye –
Cry for me, my Laurelei!”


1 – pronounced /lɔ:rəlaɪ/;
2 – pronounced /ðiː/.

“Château de Cœur”

I have been actively thinking about this piece for a few days. I had already finished writing this in my mind long before actually putting it on paper, so not much has changed from the original concept. As for what it means – let’s just say I have foreseen things that managed to take place despite my wildest dreams and foolish hoping.

No matter the cost, as long as it keeps me writing.

Château de Cœur

Atop the damp forgotten teeth
Of the ever-hungry shore
Lies my forlorn golden seat –
The halls of Château de Cœur.

And the savage salty serpents
Coil around my sneering fangs
Every night, with every fervent
Tide of self-imposed harangue.

In my sweet Château de Cœur,
The cold stairs of marble white
Speak memories of red horreur
And lies of a flawless sight.

A marvel, my lovely home,
Where the willow does not age,
Where the gold etches the bone
With the eros of a gilded cage.

Many have toppled the walls
Of my dear Château de Cœur,
Yet the shrieking brackish squalls
Still sing their “Encore, encore!

Under no vigil of god,
The tide knocks upon my door,
Shattering the sweet façade
That is my Château de Cœur.

“If…”

Originally, this was supposed to be a pitiful lament aimed at my own ineptitude and the general joy if always feeling inadequate at the most inopportune times. I’ve manage to turn it into something else. I suppose the message is quite obvious. At least I hope it is.

Enjoy!

“If…”

Is this all but vivid dream,
Frisking fevering alive?
Truth be told, it all does seem
Hateful agonising shrive.
In a haze of salty air
She blasphemes and she defiles –
In a daze of dark despair
She speaks sorrow in her smiles.
Lavishing with scribbled signs,
Only I may tell the tale –
Vanity in tasteless rhymes
Equivocally grown stale.
Terrifying is this curse
Hindering my hungry voice
Entombed in this very verse,
Nurturing the narrow noise.
If this is but vivid dream,
May I sleep my breath away,
Forever beneath the gleam,
Under this enthralling sway,
Craving each forbidden touch,
Killing every sense of pride,
Evoking a wrath misjudged,
Dwelling deviant inside.

“Alive”

I had this melody ringing in my head for the past two or so hours, so, naturally, I had to take advantage and do something with it. This is what I could come up with.

Enjoy!

“Alive”

We are the heart that shatters the cage,
The raven that spits in the eye of the sage;

We are the blade that severs the soul;
Misguided we are, alone and unwhole;

We are the leaf beseeching the root,
Cracking and cackling in grief underfoot;

We are the tear caressing the tomb;
We are the dead escaping the womb;

We are the thorn adorning the rose
Adored by a long and violent repose;

We are the dream of a devilish jest;
We are alive and we never rest.

“From the Shadows”

I have juggled with some notions lately, trying to figure out some weight behind what I feel. This is the result of that.

Your feedback is greatly appreciated!

“From the Shadows”

Silent as the gales of time,
Speaking through my bleeding wound,
Leaving but a faded sign
Of a beating heart exhumed,

I have carved myself a way
Through the entrails of the world
And I found this strange today
In the image of a girl.

I woke in this nightmare vivid
And I smelt the rotting air
Rising from the demons livid,
Twisted in her golden hair.

Sultry was the shrieking wind
Paralysing me with fear –
Salty with a scent of sin,
Saturated in her tear –

And I could utter no more
Words out of my bleeding wound,
All that I’ve grown to care for,
Waring with a pulse presumed.

Though I witness with disgust
The soil withering my rose,
Unable to exist, I must
Relinquish from the shadows.

Twisting my forgotten arts,
I remain the silent seer;
And unlike the dying stars,
I remain forever here.