| The GREATEST thing you'll ever LEARN, is just to LOVE- and be LOVED in RETURN. |
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The Outer Charms |
| NAME: Iphyengia Yidrych AGE: Yes and No LOCATION: Ashlings, Distopia |
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The Inner Workings
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| If you cannot be GOOD... Be CAREFUL. |
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An Empty Box? |
Tuesday, August 13, 2002
Muted Faith--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm not a traveler here.
I wished my life away
for painted stories,
pixel skies,
and violet dismay.
I'm not a prisoner here..
Although I'm bound by time,
ethereal warden.
Here I try,
and find my hands are tied.
I'm not a sinner here..
I've held my share of guilt.
That sweet remorse
can't hold me
to a lie another built. I'm not a watcher here.
My fingers taste the sand,
strange fascination
sifted through
a pauper's blistered hand.
I'm not uncertain here..
Although my thoughts collide.
Voices only
echo what
I can't control inside.
I'm just a dreamer here..
Imagining this rhyme.
I'll leap through air, and
if I die,
it's only in my mind.
-- "Angel"
A Razor in Hand.
He scrapes it over his chin
For the first time ever!
That's about JJ's first ever shave. hahaha... Ja Ja Ja... heehee...
The air is thick.
Brown air that is as unnatural
as the way bodies separate it as they walk.
Waving an arm,
spirals curl out from your passing hand.
What is invisible should not become visible.
The air is heavy.
Weighted air that holds you down,
and suffocates you, keeping out your breath.
The air is a gift.
A present from past relations.
From people who lived with worldly abandon.
They never knew,
hairspray is a deadly tool.
People watch others slow down and die in the street.
The air is thick.
Here's RJ's Happy little poem about the Brown Cloud in Asia. Joy to the world. The World is Dead.
Love Unexpressed
The sweetest notes among the human heart-strings are dull with rust;
The sweetest chords, adjusted by the angels, are clogged with dust;
We pipe and pipe again our dreary music upon the self-same strains,
While sounds of crime, and fear, and desolation, come back in sad refrains.
On through the world we go, an army marching with listening ears,
Each longing, sighing, for the heavenly music he never hears;
Each longing, sighing, for a word of comfort, a word of tender praise,
A word of love, to cheer the endless journey of Earth's hard, busy days.
They love us, and we know it; this suffices for reason's share.
Why should they pause to give that love expression with gentle care?
Why should they pause? But still our hearts are aching with all the gnawing pain
Of hungry love that longs to hear the music, and longs and longs in vain.
We love them, and they know it; if we falter, with fingers numb,
Among the unused strings of love's expression, the notes are dumb.
We shrink within ourselves in voiceless sorrow, leaving the words unsaid,
And, side by side with those we love the dearest, in silence on we tread.
Thus on we tread, and thus each heart in silence its fate fulfils,
Waiting and hoping for the heavenly music beyond the distant hills.
The only difference of the love in heaven from love on earth below Is:
Here we love and know not how to tell it, and there we all shall know.
-Constance Fenimore Woolson
Sunfall
The sun is still rising,
but my bed lies empty,
my lover sleeps quietly,
beneath earth and stone.
My heart is not with him,
it didn't like travelling,
it stays in my pocket,
so he sleeps alone.
I knew him in Winter
with icy embraces,
he left me in Springtime
when new life begins.
He was not my beginning,
he won't be my ending,
just a step on my journey,
a page in my sins.
Romeo is dead, long live Romeo.
--Writer not remembered
This will be Love poems, Love related stuff, &tc. Not sappy mind you. And I probably won't be pouring my heart out to anyone specific, but that's just the way it goes. too bad for you.