So you've been suffering from minor writer's block just as I have? If so, I feel your pain...that's why the poetry is a good, smooth transition. Just writing stories alone can be taxing at times!
out of the rain walks a tired, lonely man threadbare and weary his countenance carved warm teardrops of summer flow through skin and breath and leave his heart longing wildly for something greater something larger than life itself
take this gray temple and strike it to bits but leave behind mortar and remnants of bread for my meals have been few and far between these days and as of late I've had no place to lay my head
heavier the rain falls down on my brow, leaving me shivering leaving me old in my years drowned in her tears from so long ago
my blessed camille with her long, amber hair her shadow but a reckoning where my hollows despair i long for her gaze, her sweet tender stare
and in the mirror i ask myself questions of lore, memories of her is this the shadow i have grown to be or am I looking through an invisible me? these are the hauntings
I fall asleep in the broken river That runs through fields of open rain She leaps o'er fire and soon she'll whither And ponders constantly the remnants of her pain
I look foward to tomorrow I hope she senses my presence there Free from darkness, free from sorrow She stands around me for she's everywhere I go
The time has come to give a little And take a risk upon my second chances The love has fallen, worn and brittle And grows no more than the first day I took the miser down
I look forward to tomorrow I hope she senses my heartache there Free from shadow, free from sorrow She stands around me for she's everywhere I know
The water rushes over me Her golden eyes are all I see Bleeding fingers in the mass of recognition Look through the mirror, I heard her say And I don't think that way
I feel I'm scorned forever now Chastened, threatened, madder than hell I feel I'm terrible at everything Broken, limited, and madder than hell
I look forward to tomorrow I hope she senses my heartache there Free from shadow, free from sorrow She stands around me for she's everywhere I know
I find it strange that I haven't posted on HR for a while...even though I did have dial-up, I still had some work access.
What baffles me even more is why I didn't at least post some poetry I've been writing as of late. I'll be posting it here, of course, over the next few days. Composing a lot of music can really do that!
Whoever did, it sounds great! The funny thing is, most of the time that I write poetry is when I'm listening to music, have just listened to music, or have another artist's song or one of my own in my head.
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QUOTE (Haldur @ 19-Jul-2005, 09:25 AM)
Did you write that or was it I?
Whoever did, it sounds great! The funny thing is, most of the time that I write poetry is when I'm listening to music, have just listened to music, or have another artist's song or one of my own in my head.
Ancient rhythms Heartbeat sounds My soul no longer Touches ground
Heels and toes Batter clatter the floor The sound enough I need no more
The music curls Through wooded glen Lures me back Way back to when
O 'tis more than I ask All else does pale The bodhran my heartbeat This song is my tale...
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Ni'i aon tintea'n mar do thintea'n fe'in There is no fireplace like your own fireplace
O come back to Ireland! Come back with me! Come back to the green rollin' hills and the sea Come back to the music! Come back to the dance! O come back to Ireland! Come back with me!