Uncategorized

The end of our novelty.

“In spite of all darkness, you have spluttered a light that pierces through my harshness.

We have both shrank under the weight of our glory.

Destined for something, but it wasn’t greatness.”

 

Bolstered progress to bleak process.

We were consistently meticulous to a work that is now fruitless.

 

Our victories..historic? Our beliefs, stoic?

This is some form of mundane madness, but it doesn’t feel tragic.

 

We sought not pleasure in one another,

but only hope, honor and heraldry.

 

Are we the heretics now?

Clinging on to a notion of justice,

but descending into a crescendo of barbarity?

 

I had hoped that our partnership would be immortal,

Enriched with the beauty of both combat and compassion.

 

Together, our hand should have transcended time,

With all pain to be purged, leaving peace as our only fashion.

 

Our marriage of lunar skies and sunburnt trials,

illuminated all that was hidden, all that was strange.

 

Dormant demons now stroll the land,

But we grovel at their mercy,

for it is they who are grand.

 

How did we conceive of greatness, but give birth to Kratos?

Why did I imagine a future that had already been lost?

What did you permit to, that had already been forsaken?

 

We sit on a throne, fit for execution.

The curtains have been drawn, our future has already been written.

Our prophecy drifts hopelessly between truth and imagination.

But the delicacy of my oracle is just a matter of perception.

 

Deceived into believing that we could reform the world.

Our coalition of interests was nothing but a fools gold.

 

Logic is redundant in this land of sinners,

to flight and not fight is to hide among the smoke and mirrors.

 

 

When the conspiracy runs its course and the clock strikes its final hour,

who will crucify our memories?

Lest the precious moments can not be saved.

 

The ‘utopia’ that I walk through, glistens because of you.

In your destruction, in your elegance, in your hope.

It was all in your view.

 

So with our mirage of lost fortunes,

We shall strife through despondent darkness

For the rule of peace does not reside in exhaustion.

 

No nation may bow to us,

but our bond is resilient.

For the density of our union, not a single empire is equivalent.

 

So shall we relinquish our reign?

Make free the pillars of power?

Slither away from our sovereignty?

All that we see now is solitude,

and an empty eternity for us to devour.

 

Standard
Antxnia

Lead

We were always just humans,

though I thought us above such

animalistic realities.

 

We got lost and

had been – for the longest time –

I thought you were taking me

past the bright lights

and civilised city.

 

We waded into the depths

of the greatest emotions,

then you wanted me to let go

and let you drown.

 

We separated as

your grip loosened,

but I was the one with lead tied around my leg.

 

We were separated

by raging waves,

with blood so hot it made

every wor(l)d burn.

 

We panicked and

as I searched for your figure,

a fear so feral that nothing could get close,

stole you from me.

 

We surfaced, one after the other,

two worlds shaken after the collision.

 

Our orbits shifting and feeble attempts to float against the gravity, failing.

 

Our perceptions and affections altered, time so precious and too long.

 

Our days on one planet were centuries on others.

 

Our knowledge became our ruin, as rewarding as the lies that become truths.

 

Our vision blurred, but I swore you were blinder than me.

Standard
Antxnia

No bueno.

​Dragged into the shadow-covered brightness,

Memory fails to remind us that 

this:

Is not our destiny.


Consumed by fear of abandonment

And drained of adventurous spirit,

This version of us freezes (and hardens)

Pissed-off at the very core.

Denying what’s what and where’s here

Desiring to be anywhere,

anything but

There.


This path

Twisted, perilous and deluded as it may seem

Has brothers and sisters of varying levels of success

That will, if permitted,

Foster a certain type of understanding

That only a sibling can reveal.


-Fire

Standard
And so it went...

Soul Mate

As I sit and wait for my love to return,

I feel my heart softly burn,

And it stings a bitter sweet sorrow,

I hope for winter, but I’ll take tomorrow,

I know you’re on a wild path,

But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss your laugh,

Nor the way you smile,

When I describe our walk on the Royal Mile,

Soon is the time until we have our own,

And it will be mighty, as previous times have shown,

I know good things come to those who wait,

But it’s different when you miss your soul mate.

Standard
Collection of memories and creativity

Three Insignificant Letters

We have given three insignificant letters
Gathering in circles with broken beggars.
We have given one bemused syllable,
It seems we were always so cynical.
                                                                                   .
The Arabs, they refer to it  as ana’ak,
Throats vibrating, plunging back.
Cutting the air with such guttural thunder
One is left in such resounding wonder.
                                                                                  .
The Indians, they call it Āliṅgana
Tongues embrace the divine whimper
To hold fast; to cling to; to cherish.
These words, they’re made to nourish.
                                                                                  .
So, press your chest to mine my dear,
Our beating  hearts are your call to prayer.
Is it so wrong that I must claw and clutch
For your last, warm inexplicable touch?
Standard
Collection of memories and creativity

Lamentation

I unlock my phone and there she was, beautiful as the first day I met her, sitting on the beach with her hair loose and her body open, looking into the distance, waiting, calling. I remember that day as if it were yesterday; the sea gulls circled our bodies as they danced to the song of the crashing sea. Breaking apart into the love we never needed to proclaim. A tear forms at the corner of my eye as my heart begins to fade. The only energy I can produce manifests in a quiet whisper, resonating the waves that crash against my broken body.

Standard
And so it went...

When you know that the simplest description is the one you don’t think about

If only this ringing which surrounds me and cuts through the sky like lightning and pain and all things which we fear not just because of their reality, but also because of their speed, would slow and clear and know that if only they slowed, we would fear them so much less, because such things move quickly enough for us to know they are not within our control. But it cuts so deep. I tremble with tears balancing by my eyelids and quivering, as I quiver too, and place a test upon the capability of my muscles to tremble also, and I grit my teeth as I tremble with an anger which is more sad to look at than to fear – it’s not something we should fear at all, apart from the sobering fact that it could be felt in us one day.

I stop gritting my teeth though, and exhale, and look around so lost and sad and I don’t know what I see, how can I? And I cry though, still – how can we not? It’s so easy and it spins us into such a delirium and we forget about all things, even the things we were crying about in the first place.

I feel I know Pain, I see him so often now. He walks alongside me, sometimes ever so gently that I mistaken him for someone else, and at these times I let him know my thoughts. He uses this information like a poisoner seeking to know that element which would work to greatest effect, and oh what an effect he uses the things I tell him. I must be partly to blame then? Aren’t we all? But if ever I see the world and see that it beats so violently with happiness and passion and so much love, then I know that I can live an existence alongside Pain for however long Love asks me to, because it’s all a plan, really – not ever devised by us, but we’ll do, with respects to our parts played in its actualisation that is.

But those muscles which did so well in helping my erupting heart to shake my world, now seem tired with life too, and they let my world collapse on the floor alongside my poor mind which seems to be just by itself down on the concrete, among the dust and the smaller stones which get stuck in the cracks of the floor. But all of me – apart from that part which you hold – all that remains of me, I suppose it’s not much, is now so exhausted and tired and just lies there on the floor. And I feel so sad looking down over myself, that unfortunate being, who is ever so fragile and more so than one would think by just looking. Because inside that head there is a conscious mind fully aware of the tragedy which it is playing a part in. It’s okay, I wish to say, but it’s me already I am speaking to, and I look down upon myself anyway, and I know that it’s okay; but knowing a reality, and realising what it means for you, are two very different things.

Maybe with time? (Exhale)

Standard
Collection of memories and creativity

Dulce Bellum Inexpertis

Lift heavy hands to my head
Caress away my worries
fingers gentle, maternal
absorb trauma that ferries
oscillating brain to bone.
Echoing “set me free lover”
proves impervious but carnal.
Free the fallen flower inside
Residing in ash beneath eyes
Hold me tight, under the cover.
                  *
Bodies tangle, unwillingly
in the depths of deaths sleep,
Embryonic universe, spills
from reverie to realities keep
splitting guilt by her seams.
“Hold on to me lover, hold tight”
swallow the contraceptive pill
Regurgitate the love I gave in
orchestral thundering, “why”
Bodies drift into the night.
                  *
Eyes that flutter often forget
in the shades of darkness, listen
dulce bellum inexpertis
etched, on arms of politicians.
Chain my body to a boulder
inhale, devour raw liver.
Forbidden to reminisce
Histories lack of her story,
Look, look to your lost lover
As she flows into a sombre river.
Standard
And so it went...

Sometimes…

“I’m sorry.” She said, with a soft and apologetic tone; almost a cry, but with less energy, I would say.

He said nothing in response, not out of a reserved anger, but because of a contemplation. He sat across from her. Leaning his weight forward, he rested his forearms upon his thighs. His fingers met in the middle and were interlocked. They were in sad wanting for a place to feel secure.

The mountains changed form, the wind blew, and the trees slowly swayed to one side, and back; he said nothing – Silence stood by, and was witness to this.

A change, slight, but still change. A thought emerged into his mind in a graceful and considered appearance, and this thought remained, reiterating its intention with a calm whisper.

He inhaled, holding the air purposefully in his chest; it was held there and recycled into something new. Once its evolution was fulfilled, he let it free; consciously, he ushered it on.

He lifted his head and looked to his surroundings, over to the corner, down to the floor, across to the window, and finally, to the central figure of his life, who stood just as those beautiful roses do; in an air of strength, but in reality, a soft figure; flowers have petals, but some also have thorns.

“I’m sorry,” she said once more, thinking he was angry. “I don’t know what I was thinking, please.”

The desperation of a genuine plea echoes externally, moving from place to place, asking for acceptance like a beggar in need of that smallest portion of food. Then the plea is received, found, and returns to the vocation of an echo, an internal and desperate echo; over and over, the Waves explain how they are being forced by the Moon to beat upon the Beaches, who stand in vulnerable and changing presence, and the Waves ask for forgiveness.

He now heard his whisper talking with her plea, and they conversed, they reasoned, and at last the plea understood. He rose. He walked towards her with smooth passion for the one whom he loved; it caused the walls and all the life around them to blur into a wave of trickling colours.

She stood. She looked at him, ignoring the uniqueness of the World, which now danced for them in apology for its imperfection.

He was close; mere inches away. Their hearts beat through their bodies, and found themselves feeding the floor with a strong sense of timing.

Looking, deeply, but with a tender sense of appreciation, he saw every part of her life.

“It’s okay.”

His voice was hard and rough as it fought to politely ask Silence to leave. Once his words touched upon her melancholy consciousness, he followed them, and as grace falls to the divine in worldly aptness, their lips met.

It wasn’t a most beautiful of moments. The world didn’t stop and their hearts beat on regularly. But it was comfortable, familiarity is comfortable.

It went on for a short while, as most comfortable things tend to do, and when they parted, Silence came to protect the moment; his whisper, however, was outside of Silences command.

“I’m sorry.” She uttered one final time.

Once a river finds a new route, does it return to its old one?

“It’s okay, you’re going to be fine.”

When the rains return, that dry and unused river bed can flow ferociously with life again; the river has changed though, its body is altered, and it is something else.

Standard
And so it went...

Comfort which comes on a breeze and then goes just as quickly

But it never really felt like something I could have done anything about. It was like trying to keep butter cool by holding it in your hands; the more effort you make, the worse everything gets.

Ironically, it’s really rather bitter being your own poison, and your strength making matters all the more deadly. What do you do?

‘Shh, don’t you see? You do nothing, for there is nothing more to be done. It’s okay, you are love.’

Standard
Scarlet Rouge

Success Story

I

She was older than old, ages of years – without any wrinkle. Her voice was her envy and it was loud: day in and day out and through every night without an exception.

Her main concern – however – was to come first.

II

She smelled, I remember, disgusting. She smelled like old ink that never was spilled but always preserved. She stank like a tiny and black and mummified heart that is wrapped in a dress made of dust.

She smelled as if she’d never ever could possibly rot.

III

Her name, though, was love. I killed her last night. Some warned me I would not survive her. But action is how one proves people wrong. No more does anyone knock on my rips from inside. And, which is more: no one will ever again. No longer have I to feel like a dungeon that’s supposed to look after those it surrounds. I broke myself, thus I broke free. Whom I broke free are those within me.

Whatever may beg to be back in the future – I’ll stay happy of loss.

IV

Now: go in and go out as you please. Just if you like leave a comment to me. But not on the walls out of flesh! We have mouths and can speak. Since dark is my blood now. No one will ever correct like a teacher misspellings I’ve done.

For writing is not to be shared.

V

My blood is my own and does not belong to a race; or a group; or a friend; or a hope. It serves only me and touches nothing but paper. Never again I will write red on red: I can write now, and read what I wrote. Sometimes for life a murder must happen within us.

Sometimes for life love has to die.

Standard
And so it went...

Youthful writings no. 12321

You know that expression ‘heart in your mouth’? Or something like that. I know what it means now. Why? Because I’d allowed the feelings of my heart to travel up to my mouth.

“I love you.” Is what my uncoordinated little mind came up with for today’s topic of conversation.

Ultimately it was probably a good thing to say, as I meant it; I do love her! But, should I have said it then? Was it truly necessary too? The answers to these questions, I realised quickly, would come rather shortly.

The statement had clearly shocked her. As in, she looked shocked. Perhaps it was a reaction or something. To scare me? Test me? Make me figure if it’s real or not? I don’t know.

How long have I been thinking now? How long has she not said anything for!? Oh God! Please say something! Anything! What does this mean!?

At least no response means I haven’t failed, officially, yet. Perhaps no response is best then? I think it is. At least I haven’t failed.

This is good. Silence is good.

I do wish she would say something though!

You know who doesn’t reply to things in good time? Daniel. For the love of humanity he needs to get better at responding to people. I think I’ll tell him that when I finally get round to replying to his last message. Poor guy has just had his second child! I’m still writing cheap stories for basic entertainment, and he has created a second human!

I feel fairly insignificant just now.

I should really get my life on track…..

Tomorrow! Tomorrow, we start running! That’s it! We’ll be a runner! They seem to have it figured, those runners.

I hear salads are good too. I’ll make a nice little Caesar salad- I hear they’re quite the rave- and eat it while I’m planning on what running shoes to buy.

“I love you too.”

Oh wow. I don’t think I’m ready for two kids, the life of a runner and having to make my own salads. Let alone love!

“I want you to move in with me.”

That should scare her off a bit.

“I think you’re right! I’ve been meaning to find a new place; this allows us to do it together!”

Ahh, I didn’t really think this one through.

“Yeah!? I can’t wait.”

I’m going to put that runner salad stuff on hold now I think about it.

Standard
Meursault

Orchard

The apples were barely ripening as we kissed in the orchard for the first time. But children we were as our lips met clumsily below the boughs. As we conducted our infantile jests the apples above our heads were still unadulterated enough to hold their integrity. The weeks past and the last wisps of summer began to fade, no longer did we innocently frequent the orchard, our love no longer so juvenile. We still touched lips but consciously so, for we knew our lips desired more than just the touch and taste of other lips. For awhile we baited each other, allowing our lips to briefly reach towards the fruit before embarrassingly pulling them back, blushing scarlet as the apples flesh. Before long our lusting lips uncontrollably charged forwards, trampling through the orchard, greedily pulling at the forbidden fruit. Nibbling at first before lusting for more, a bite, a bigger bite, a whole apple, a whole box of apples. Soon enough the orchard was bare, apple cores rotted on the floor, and although separated both parties still sought more.

Standard