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Literature Text

When the mist hid itself around trees,
and all was quiet,
I went there,
and brought it with me.
For what better place, I thought,
to be a liar
than in a time
when none are free?
Are there not still listeners, whistlers,
them that speak of which they lack?
Is this not ideal, this free meal,
words travellers could not bring back?
But I was wrong, it seemed,
in all of this:
no vividness met me there,
not in that dark place.
Only a fading call, a cry,
of help and to persist,
for the sought ears were mine,
given with some small grace.
Where care returns, it might yet learn
of itself and stranger passed.
But will it see where I have been,
and spoke unto the last?
Of course, upon leaving I did not think,
(Why should I?)
that any would look after
my dead steps.
Cold alone could follow since,
pressing its brow til blind.
Behind, if the passing was mourned,
then whispered keen found no breath.
The wind in its wispy reign did not deign
to allow such a desperate plea.
Its infinite wisdom would only bring them
the song unsung by me.
Yet, as silence spoke of inconsequential art,
tongue of no matter,
one did kindly stalk.
A watcher of sorts.
They stepped from the wood,
long after my depart,
tendrils trailing, gripping,
grasping at my last thoughts.
In my gain I stumbled, humbled,
though not understanding why.
I looked around, no sound,
unbound by sense of sight.
It is mine.
I made it.
As yet unfaded.
I believe it still to sing.
I drew the lines.
I laid it.
Time delayed it.
I made this thing.
I came to an empty place then,
barren, and darker than before.
The unwittingly led was lost:
here I paused unheard.
But now a third stood secluded,
and of her I knew little more
than the murky chase
of waves which proved her worth.
Is it not fair that I dare,
that I proclaim a little self?
Its flat melody a remedy
I composed out of health.
Pulled from spray by tide alone,
she saw no counsel in giving hers,
but watched, patient, beyond,
through eyes unseen.
Before I set my pace I cursed,
wind dispersing my tones
as it always did,
ridding mine of me it seemed.
What cannot be expressed, oppress,
I struggled not to hear,
and that dead earth I left, bereft,
but marked to persevere.
My feet now returned to me
in rattling echoes,
hollow tapping pervades,
made for an empty rival
which pushed all else away,
shouting, "Let go!
Release what is not taken."
And that was near my fall.
Through shaking tears, belittled fear,
I caught my own reply.
It spoke to soothe, improve,
perhaps just one this time.
By now I did not doubt my company,
although it remained obscure.
Still I kept mine guarded,
and waited.
Eager hope had faded long ago,
sullen reserve, demure.
If it should release,
then let it as if fated.
Words breathe heavily, no brevity,
urging sensual thought.
Tingles danced under skin, bare grin,
impossibilities to be taught.
Fabled hunt.
Common desire.
Shout of fire!
Misery, misery.
Cloudy front.
Hint of ire.
Love a trier?
Bitter delivery.
Through gritted teeth I shook it out.
Filled with solemn rage and doubt.
Reluctant now to spill my prize,
I loved each one, my perfect lies.
Oh insanity! You left me too soon.
If only you forgot your tune.
I would never need to rehearse
the lyric of my favourite verse.
Finished, I found it quiet again,
and myself back in mist.
But I did not care,
for I knew I was heard.
Slow to rise and dread to raise,
beginning to surrender in wist,
I paused a moment to listen,
and marvelled at my own words.
Another voice, by their choice,
had chosen to repeat
in time of growth, of oath,
the line without deceit.
In that second of clarity
I understood my need,
for patience and the other,
and for caution.
True, it was not so dark at dusk
as the light dawn had to bleed,
but as ocean swings to and fro,
so must I mind harsh motion.
A gentle breeze with rolling tease,
a victory well deserved.
Through lessons fought and battles taught,
my war can be preserved.
Well, it's poetry... 144 lines of it.
Yes it means something, no I'm not going to explain it here in the description, though I'll happily talk about it if you want to discuss it :)
© 2011 - 2024 davrockist
Comments5
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Xaphriel's avatar
I like it! Pretty risky the way you change the rhymes around like that, but it works great, keeps the reader off kilter and really suits the subject :D