Poems

Written by yours truly. Enjoy them, relate to them, or just shake your head and comment on how retarded I am. I don't really care.

My soul, poised in trepidation
Unsure of what lies before it;
My soul - amorphous, restless;
It knows not of the antagonistic world it faces.
Youthful apathy prevents this knowledge from seeping through into the depths of it.
Soon to become autonomous in life, my soul is up against ambiguous opponents.
Can it withstand the pressure of freedom?
My soul augments gradually until the time comes to be alone.

Great joy hath entered my life in disguise
Masked behind what one sees as the norm
But I have torn down the wall which it lies behind
And what lies before me is extraordinary
What I see is not a mere man or figure
But I see life, love and truth in this chaotic world.
I see you.

I am the princess
I am the whore
I am the goddess of evermore
You've felt no wrath 'til you've felt mine
Our souls will rise
As our bodies intertwine

Okay, so that's all that I care to put of my stuff on here.  Here are some by my favorite poets.

Sylvia Plath. I highly recommend Ariel, and I also have a collection of hers and it is awesome. So here is one of her poems that I like a lot. Oh yeah, she wrote The Bell Jar, which is also really good.

THE RIVAL

If the moon smiles, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,

And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.

The moon, too, abases her subjects,
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.

No one is safe from new of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.

Leonard Cohen. I don't really know too much about him, but I'm working on it. I do know that I really like his poetry though, so here is one for you to enjoy. hehe.

THE LOVER AFTER ALL

ou die exactly in that attitude of scorn, you filthy parasite of the worthless ordeal.  You die looking exactly like that, in all constipated possession of your high degree.  You scum on the sunlight, agent of rot in my great sea-faring heart.  It is you.  It is your wretched judgement of my love affair.

A white butterfly flickers like the end of a home movie, and it gives me words, and with them I can make a world for you to hustle in, a large world, complex and true, where I turn out to be the lover after all, and you turn out to be merely stupid, but forgiven in a hail of seeds.

How can I put you to sleep?  What carved stone, what inscription, would keep you down?  You hate me because I have no temple.  On your fatigue we raise the sign of victory.  We inhale deeply the fragrance of your surrender.  It is exactly noon.  I am the false voice of the armistice.  Who waits behind your idiot eyes for the final blow?