deepundergroundpoetry.com
Unforgiven
Walking in the shadows
Of the cemetery trees,
The wind blows briskly at my back,
Leaving me ill at ease.
As if gently pushing me from this place,
This place I hold so dear;
Towards the darkness of a midnight sun,
One I can only fear.
I feel the eyes upon me,
Of the dead, of the alive.
Alas, there is no real difference,
In truth, I can contrive.
Except in walking amongst the dead,
There's peace in all they give;
The solace of memory,
The only strength with which I live.
Passing days in the "real" world,
The world of deceit,
Lives are based on lies and greed
While trampled beneath their feet;
Emotions, tender as love's first touch,
Slowly turn to calloused scars.
Buried dreams and betrayed trust,
Besought wishes on fallen stars.
And Passion, sweet Passion, what of thy love?
Long did I burn with thee.
I hold high the candle to the wind
Which ripped thy love from me.
Blind to the cracks of dead ambition
Creeping 'cross a stone wrought face.
Forcing myself to believe I never really believed
In love, in God, or grace.
For, alas, the sorrow of my sins
I never shall atone.
For all I've wronged in life, in love,
By all eyes I stand alone.
With every piercing stare
A shred of life so shrilly riven
From a soul which dies now as it lived,
Unloved and unforgiven.
Too tired to even raise a fist
To curse a crooked sky,
I walk the shadowed pathway
To a wind sung lullaby.
Along the precipice, weak and foggy,
Laying down by the rose-willow.
Tonight I sleep in hell, alas,
The earth is just my pillow.
As the voice of Night engulfs me
And I seem to drift away,
As all things precious and dear to me
Within my head slowly decay;
Culminating in the solstice
Of a newborn child's first breath,
Where all joy and fulfillment found in life
I'll only derive from death.
Published 2nd Sep 2015
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likes 5
reading list entries 1
comments 12
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2nd Sep 2015 9:42pm
What a solidly composed tale of isolation and woe.
Except in walking amongst the dead,
There's peace in all they give;
Astute observation.
Except in walking amongst the dead,
There's peace in all they give;
Astute observation.
3rd Sep 2015 11:48pm
There are times I honestly feel closer to the spiritual realm than the earthy realm, Ahavati. The peace I speak of here is overwhelmingly enticing, especially compared to the torments this life has to offer. Still,I wait.
Michael
Michael
2nd Sep 2015 9:52pm
This reminds me so much of Poe, how he took graveyard images, catacombs and sitting rooms then develop them far beyond Gothic conventions. "As the voice of Night engulfs me." This more thrilling than morbid. Fine job Michael!
3rd Sep 2015 11:52pm
Ah Sir Crow, it was Poe who inspired my first attempt at poetry, and whom I've related to better than any other poet I've read...so I take that compliment as high high praise. I appreciate you visiting my page, and I thank you for such humbling words.
Michael
Michael
Anonymous
3rd Sep 2015 00:45am
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3rd Sep 2015 11:54pm
Ah, thank you Gabriel for stopping by. I'm so glad you enjoyed the read.
Michael
Michael
3rd Sep 2015 3:19pm
i do so agree with crowfly, this does ring of e.a.p. there's a lovely victorian-gothique feel here, as though you're not meant for this era [or i'm watching far too much penny dreadful ltm]...
"Tonight I sleep in hell, alas,
The earth is just my pillow.
As the voice of Night engulfs me
And I seem to drift away,"
^^^^
one wonders where you go while so untethered
... really beautiful work, mister sighs, i enjoyed drowning in this ink morose
xoxox
"Tonight I sleep in hell, alas,
The earth is just my pillow.
As the voice of Night engulfs me
And I seem to drift away,"
^^^^
one wonders where you go while so untethered
... really beautiful work, mister sighs, i enjoyed drowning in this ink morose
xoxox
4th Sep 2015 00:06am
I have always felt I was born a century or two late. :) lol on Penn Dreadful. You have no real clue how dead on that "untethered" remark is, sweet Katja. Poetry has always been an escape to me...but at some points in my life it became more a means of survival I think. There is no place I cannot go while in that state methinks, though I have always felt most at home in the dark. Thank you for always warming my page dear.
Michael
Michael
6th Sep 2015 00:09am
I am not even done reading and this is fucking brilliant!
This is quite stellar in my opinion. And I am no professional.
This is quite stellar in my opinion. And I am no professional.
6th Sep 2015 8:36am
Wow, thanks for the wonderful reception you've given here, Dpw, and for the RL add. That means a lot to me. Really was a pouring of the soul into this one, so glad you enjoyed. :)
Michael
Michael
Lots of intriguing philosophy here. Cemeteries make me feel alive. I wrote a poem called "This Quiet Cemetery" anout the one I grew up playing in, among other things. As long as I'm walking on the grass, I know I'm not dead yet...
JJ
7th Sep 2015 7:52pm
Thanks for the visit and the kind words, JJ. I don't know, I've always walked cemetaries in a state of quiet envy I guess...even in my youth. I don't expect many will unserstand my dissociation with life, but in crowds I manage to feel alone and isolated...in cemetaries I never do...there's always a feeling of acceptance. :) here's to one more day for you...for one more day closer for me. Cheers.
Michael
Michael
