More Poetry

For everyone out there to read. This is about fragility.

Fragile Hopes

I have mastered the art of despair,
For its skill came to me one night
With voices behind drawn curtains.
And though it spoke to me so fair,
Almost to impress with its might,
It tore clean through my head again.

I am the house of cards it builds,
A hope so fragile, stooled on pain,
I stand by the grace of pure mercy.
I am the flowers that it shall wilt,
In a vase so precious, oh so vain,
Almost shattered to pieces by pity.

And though I fear not to lose mastery,
For the voice speaks on behalf of guilt,
And crosses no line that was once drawn;
I fear to lose control within boundaries,
As if blood was into glass vessels spilt,
A soul drained from the dusk and dawn.

Until the next time,

Jorn

the thermodynamics of poetry

A short blog post this time because I’m gonna study so here is a short poem

Herald of Demise

I whispered nothings into the air
my voice is stifled by the cold gale
my throat clogged with a mucous pale
the ground under my feet is bare
stricken with snow and sleet and hail
I am trapped in the winter’s snare

and everything I would do to survive
is drained by the seconds of fear
everything I would once hold dear
became a token for me to deny
to anyone who would keep me here
the truth of how to feel alive

I kept within the turbulent storm
amidst the torrential winter rain
a hope that seemed so very vain
but with the weather’s stable form
hope gradually gave way to pain
suffering became a bitter norm

as I cling to the statues of ice
that form around my frozen fingers
the scent of turgid death lingers
clasping my life in a tight vice
its echoing calls are hollow ringers
its last touch a herald of my demise

Until the next time,

Jorn

Excitement

I feel happy and invigorated, thanks to the music of Nightwish (been a while since I have been this obsessed with their stuff. Figure it was coming again…) so in  honour of this obsession, today’s blog post will concern the poem with which I won a contest at the Nightwish forums. It’s the last poem in the book. Well, not pagewise, just the last out of the sequence of my poems that were in the book.

…And Then They Died

a vision of a world covered deeply in countless layers of snow
a thick blanket of white draped over a huge sheet of ice
the weakened sun floats low on the clear blue horizon
the darkness settles for months over these barren lands
a thick veil of death hangs above the desert without the sand

men trudge in the sweeping gale that blows over these plains
an arctic nightmare lost in a frozen wilderness continent
snow dogs carry forth the sled of provisions that they bear
and they walk on makeshift skis fashioned from deadwood
the rays of the sun bounce back to burn their pale complexion

for the bitter antarctic storm blows without an end in sight
weakened faces freeze in the middle of an endless winter night
and only the stars shine invisibly on the endless black dome
there is no shelter under these suns and there is no vegetation
there are no hands to light a fire and no humans to heed the sign

dying breaths of collapsing bodies fade away into the icy mist
as another one bites the snow the sound resonates of a wet thud
the cold is the only master in this wretched outcast region
any living thing is a slave to the power of its wicked nature
and then they died of the frostbite of its cold merciless hands

Until the next time,

Jorn