New Beginnings

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New Beginnings

You see the moon

Sinking into the deep black sea

A mourning look upon your face

As you reflect on your life.

Life goes on,

Chances go by,

You never raise your head

For some time.

But then as you look up once again,

Looking at the sun on the horizon,

As it rises,

Your eyes become stony hard,

And your mind becomes diamond clear.

You raise your head to its tallest point,

And puff out your chest,

And a smile lingers on your face,

As a new beginning starts,

Its ultimate point.

Farewell (30/04/17)

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Farewell

Ending the journey

That took thirty days,

Sad farewells do I feel,

Yet success is integral;

Countless friends were made,

On this journey together.

 

Now, although the heart reprimands me,

And my mind says no,

And my will refuses to say so,

My instinct ponders me on,

To whisper these final last words,

In this month of beautiful April,

“Farewell.”

Eyes (29/04/17)

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Eyes

Kindling lights, luminescent colors,

Contracting pupils, irises shorten,

Flagrant eyelashes, wide, white prairies,

The windows to our mind.

 

The silent observer,

The silent menace,

The quiet leader,

The windows to our soul.

Stagnant Cove [Final] (28/04/17)

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Stagnant Cove [Final]

Solid carcass; a gleaming splash of paint,

A spine laid on wavering lands,

And a gap in between.

The moon, fair, ambles out, and the tide splashes in,

The owls hoot; the fishes sing their own song,

And the eyes look out into the darkness,

Dreams laid within; hopes kindling with fires and wood.

The bugle sounds its cadence throughout,

While the grains are caught and swallowed,

Light is absorbed by the fluid,

And the sounds are echoed by the cool, mid-winter’s air.

 

Beneath the rippling soil,

Lies a hole dark and deep,

In which the old are encompassed.

In which the new are invading, bit by bit,

Ignoring the cries of the helpless, the poor.

In that hole lies a movement, bold and utmost,

That moves the hills from their places,

And makes the paintings on the caverns,

Waver from that very word.

 

A feeling, emotion, decision is felt, taken,

It coursed through the nerves and veins,

And was shown in those stone-blooded windows.

Ah! the cries were stolen, turned into whimpers,

That etched their mark in the pages of history.

The sentiment had long been rebutted of,

The values had long been thrown away,

The logic had long been ridiculed of,

The words of wisdom had long been ignored.

 

The wise ages were now in the past,

An era of the kings was now in curtail.

Era was now born anew,

Imprudent, parlous.

Now, although minds often do believe,

The race progresses still,

It still does injustice to the cove,

To merely describe its inhabitants as stagnant.

Stagnant Cove [Section I] (27/04/17)

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Stagnant Cove [Section I]

Solid carcass; a gleaming splash of paint,

A spine laid on wavering lands,

And a gap in between.

The moon, fair, ambles out, and the tide splashes in,

The owls hoot; the fishes sing their own song,

And the eyes look out into the darkness,

Dreams laid within; hopes kindling with fires and wood.

The bugle sounds its cadence throughout,

While the grains are caught and swallowed,

Light is absorbed by the fluid,

And the sounds are echoed by the cool, mid-winter’s air.

 

Beneath the rippling soil,

Lay a hole dark and deep,

In which the old were encompassed; Fully to the core.

The new were invading, bit by bit,

Ignoring the cries of the helpless, the poor.

In that hole lay a movement, bold and utmost,

That moved the hills from their places,

And made the paintings on the caverns,

Waver from that very word.

 

A feeling, emotion, decision was felt, taken,

It coursed through the nerves and veins,

And was shown in those stone-blooded windows.

Ah! the cries were stolen, turned into whimpers,

That etched their mark in the pages of history.

The sentiment had long been rebutted of,

The values had long been thrown away,

The logic had long been ridiculed of,

And the patient tolerated.

 

Captain’s Longing [Section 1] (24/04/17)

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Captain’s Longing [Section 1]

Solid carcass; a gleaming splash of paint,

A spine laid on wavering lands,

And a gap in between.

The moon, fair, ambles out, and the tide splashes in,

The owls hoot; the fishes sing their own song,

And the eyes look out into the darkness,

Dreams laid within; hopes kindling with fires and wood.

The bugle sounds its cadence throughout,

While the grains are caught and swallowed,

Light is absorbed by the fluid,

And the sounds are echoed by the cool, mid-winter’s air.

 

The dreamer arrived at the shore,

And heard the cadence, long a time ago.

Saw the timber placed on top,

Love at first sight, it was.

Ah! the fire reached the heart,

And the waves of ambition were shining,

Clamorously.

Clambering he went, falling rapidly.

 

The thoughts were fair,

The ambitions were clean,

The target was near,

The dreams were before.

Yet the confidence had brimmed too much, unknown;

It spilled onto the timber,

And the timber ebbed and started its long journey.

The owl resonated a sad farewell.