Dark Forest Poem

Residing Where There is no Light | Poem

***I promise to post more often from now on***

 

Terrored by the spines that do not waver,

And the life lived by those with little spine.

In the brush of the deep, decadent woodland;

Feet on sucking moss, and rotting leaves,

Lumbers the Beast – eyes towards destined heavens;

Where gods linger, fingers on buttons,

As hesitant as ever with their raging, cleansing thunder.

 

For the time, the wind is silent.

No longer does it sway the branches with fevered anger.

It is still – overpowered by the Beast’s rumbling heart,

Its pumping arteries, and the dark blood that races throughout.

 

Many times, he’s been up for slaughter,

He’s run, run… from the cries of, ‘You monster! You killed my sweet, innocent daughter!’

Though, the Beast of the Wood, he knows no different.

It’s basic instinct; but the masses with pitchforks,

They never listen.

Not with their closed minds, and their simple god-appeasment.

 

Blinking in darkness, the Beast dwells on what has passed.

On all the things that have come and gone.

The light that faded with the growth of towering trees,

And the bright that dwindled in the hope of recompense.

 

It’s at night when the Beast thunders through the undergrowth,

Head up high, eyes to the stars – as they always are.

Deep in thought, in a mind that is accepted to bear none.

Rendered lifeless by the terminally, sickly mindless.

 

If only there were something he could do,

Something to lessen the pain of being unknown.

Alone in the tangle of green –

The stench of aged decomposition.

The stars draw the Beast,

For it is there where he sees salvation;

Be it in the true gods, or the beauty of light only he can see.

Beast… he wishes he weren’t known under such a name…

 

 

 

Hillside, on the South Banks

**I’m not dead!**

 

Dreaming of light that once flowed so smooth,

And with such determined vigour;

Of trees, and the tree-spirits that reside within.

All across the Lands of the New World,

Where we, feeble and weak, drink from streams;

Rust coloured, tainted by their shifting conversations.

 

Whilst foxes roam the valley, and the birds the hills,

We wonder, because wondering is our hope.

In grievance of what falls so swiftly to the ground-

Resenting, often living inside hate,

Of course, what else?

Blue skies, and blue water, and blue minds…

Insistence on belonging, just in the right time.

 

Brushed by the sun – caressed by warm winds,

Carried to faraway lands on the clouds that soundlessely swim-

Some days – beds of white.

Some days – suffocating black straight-jackets,

Unsure, not knowing the where, and the when.

And yet, in the moment, grass is still.

 

Our huts, warmed to the stones beneath.

Some days we manage laughs,

Some days we hold, and we drink, and we sing.

And in those times,

When Winter’s Philharmonic rings-

Living here in the hills, where the sun sees –

No matter our wild, wild dreams –

Isn’t so bad as one might first think.

In Some Place. In Some Time.

Blasting through the desolate cosmos,

Destination, unseen – unheard.

Life on the edge – vanguard to the posturing elite.

 

Shrimps drifting through the black mass,

Unable to witness the gleam of stars,

Unable to sing, and to laugh – exiles;

Living amongst the ice,

And encased in the shields that

Fail to falter and blink.

Languid in eternal, light-less sleep.

 

Craving all we cannot have,

Free movement, and happiness, and love.

Under the hammer,

Pressure beating like that at the core of a star;

We cannot move.

We cannot hold;

Those nearest – simple acts overlooked.

Separated by countless light years,

Galaxies spanning the indeterminable void.

 

One day, maybe we will arrive,

Pioneers, starting over – another try.

A time when we can hold, touch,

And linger in the soothing heat of close bodies,

The promise of warmth and intimate pleasure;

Sleep, with dreams, and fleeting images of the past,

Ushering us along

Towards a mirage that shimmers

All along the boundary, eclipsed by only vision.

 

Some day we will exit this relentless purgatory.

Some day we will kiss, and make love,

And bathe in the beauty of re-kindled humanity;

As we sail, and as we drift,

Living – but just for the moment,

On the cusp.

From the New World

Leaving behind home – some home, at least.

Backpack, scarf, and winter coat,

Alone and youthful

In the desolate Wilderness.

Bare feet on the bitter frost,

Not a moment passing, without glancing back,

Watchful of what might come running

From the ravenous purgatory of the far North,

In search of forgone humanity.

Crossed raging rivers, and traversed flats,

Into the distance, wanting – needing

To touch frail skin, and linger in the essence,

The sweetness, and the rare euphoria

Yet, my feet, they sink too deep.

So, maybe I don’t truly want to witness

What awaits beyond the decadent Wilderness.

Beyond the air of Death Roses,

And the scent of age-old ash in the choking breeze.

You wonder… why now,

And why here… why just me?

Staring into the bleak divide – the line,

Wondering if it is a sin to see;

If life might just get a chance to freely speak.

Across the mountains,

Along the coasts of seas’,

Where whale song once bellowed,

And where men were brought to their battered knees.

I tread the lines,

Paths not taken for untold millenia.

All for touch, and all for sense?

Driven to the ends of the land, through basic intent,

With the need to lay hand upon skin-

Hear a voice whisper beside me-

Share a bed that has always been for one.

Until then, the Clouded Sun can wait.

All These Treasured Things

Listening, no sudden judgement – a receiver,

My mind open, I believe;

Words of utmost transparency.

Don’t be fretful of that which you cannot speak,

 

Life’s tough, arduous – we know that.

Shared. No seclusion, nor segregation.

A voice to paragraph, to feel in kind;

Life, and love, and all that’s between.

 

Sometimes I dream, and sometimes I’m bitterly real.

What can be done, achieved, felt – it’s a sad mystery.

But I ponder… what’s best?

 

Maybe it nullifies disappointment.

Maybe… simply, it’s beyond knowledge;

Knowing, that’s the hardest part – isn’t it always…?

Knowing what to say, and what to leave be;

Misinterpretation – demon dweller of frail words

Creeping ’round the corner, settling in cavernous cracks,

Yell the voices of pain-riddled pasts’.

 

Bathe within the beat of your chest,

The motion of your up and down breath,

Ground it all in reality – tight knot, heavy anchor.

Forge it into stone too heavy to drag behind,

And leave the grey mist,

The ambiguity of mind’s irrationality.

Be free… Live free…

So, let it all begin again.

Under the Dark, Dreary Night

Night-light rains down in the field of wolves,

Their names called, summoned at once.

Crying and screaming, the masses run,

From the beasts – the savages.

 

Bottle in hand, legs afloat,

Climbing trees – falling into heavy arms –

Strangers arms, unwelcome by the recipient.

Heart breaking, secluded to the dark beside stone walls.

 

Ground-worms, the eerie winds of euphoric glass.

In the trailer, painfully few beside;

Outside, the golden world goes on,

Laughter, chaos, the hugs of youthful sentiment.

 

The Forgotten, the Shadows in no light,

Weaving like willow around stronger trunks;

In the chinks and the chimes-

Kissing, looked on upon with bleakness of vacuum.

 

So, the bottles are empty;

A world turned hazy with grim solitude.

Nothing before. Nothing after.

What had I been expecting, a change in base temperature?

 

Morning light, and lingered pride,

Loving all around, but honestly, nothing inside.

Taken home, forgotten thoughts-

Trying to forget.

 

Images of possibility,

Voices that could have been, and might have been,

If only it weren’t for battered sanity.

Some things are never.

Night-Time Fantasy

Sometimes, I ask you to walk.

Sometimes, I watch as you cry;

Tears, flowing, as the world trudges by.

 

Talons, catching my feet,

Wasting the days, and the weeks.

I cannot take one final step, onto the moon,

Onto the surface where yellow light beams.

And I sit, and I drive to the land,

Where the residents kneel,

Where they have no feet,

Where the demons permeate sickeningly deep.

 

Take me away,

Hold me close, my shoulders tight.

You mean more to me,

Than those shadows that wander the street.

You mean more to me,

Than I know of myself,

Than I know of the world.

So please,

Don’t ever leave;

As the leaves fall and sprout from the trees.

Love… stand beside me.