deepundergroundpoetry.com
Despair
Vice like grip of shadowy vines
curl around my weeping soul
holding me back from rites
to soothe and console
this mourning spirit
for they spirited away, my beloved
On the banks of the eternal river
Clad in white, billowing in the wind
On the wrong side of forever
Eyes feasting on what might have been
and the fogs close and cover
The third eye now gone
I wait, my beloved
to live this life
through, and wait
for the breath
of you
to again grace
my embrace
Come, beloved stranger.
curl around my weeping soul
holding me back from rites
to soothe and console
this mourning spirit
for they spirited away, my beloved
On the banks of the eternal river
Clad in white, billowing in the wind
On the wrong side of forever
Eyes feasting on what might have been
and the fogs close and cover
The third eye now gone
I wait, my beloved
to live this life
through, and wait
for the breath
of you
to again grace
my embrace
Come, beloved stranger.
Published 5th Nov 2011
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5th Nov 2011 00:24am
without the taste of true Love
without fulfillment of the greatest desires there of
without the presence of the object the eyes long to hold
without physical connection to the greatest Love ever told
without basking in the essence of the greatest Beauty they eyes can see
the wrong side of forever....thats the only place left to be....
without fulfillment of the greatest desires there of
without the presence of the object the eyes long to hold
without physical connection to the greatest Love ever told
without basking in the essence of the greatest Beauty they eyes can see
the wrong side of forever....thats the only place left to be....
5th Nov 2011 00:32am
Thank you Goodest for the comments. You have actually created a whole poem with them. You are indeed a Wordsmith, sir!
Anonymous
5th Nov 2011 11:04am
The short perfectly constructed lines are as beautiful as the relationship you describe. And as a reader, for your loss...I morn too.
5th Nov 2011 11:18am
Thank you dear Alip, for the kind comments. The pathway to forever can be interestingly lonely...and sad when you are not with the one you love...thanks for reading.
9th Nov 2011 6:26pm
Your poetry is difficult to be fully understand for a Westerner, I believe.
I remain fascinated by your ability to convey emotions. In this case I think it's a funeral, the disappearance of a loved one and the desire to be reunited with it.
If I close my eyes I can imagine the wind, the river, the white clothes and pain in the fog.
My understanding and writing English is a little shaky. That's why I fear to offend you in commenting on your verses.
But I like sharing it in twitter.
I remain fascinated by your ability to convey emotions. In this case I think it's a funeral, the disappearance of a loved one and the desire to be reunited with it.
If I close my eyes I can imagine the wind, the river, the white clothes and pain in the fog.
My understanding and writing English is a little shaky. That's why I fear to offend you in commenting on your verses.
But I like sharing it in twitter.
9th Nov 2011 9:54pm
Luca, you describe it so well. The third eye is the eye of the soul, where it sees the ethereal. But interpretations do not have to be mine, it can be yours. The beauty of poetry is that you feel and see the story unfurl within you and not necessarily what the writer feels or want to convey. Poetries are imaginings, feelings made tangible by words from a poet's mind. I am not a poet, I am an aspirant...but I think we all have that mind that creates through words, a tapestry of beauty, in itself.
It is true that sometimes interpret things differently from how the author wrote them.
I think it's hard to say that you are only one aspirant.
And, why do you say that the third eye is gone? Are you referring to the eye of the beloved, or the eye of those who love him?
I think it's hard to say that you are only one aspirant.
And, why do you say that the third eye is gone? Are you referring to the eye of the beloved, or the eye of those who love him?
10th Nov 2011 10:27pm
The eye that see the ethereal, the unseen. The eye of the living no longer sees the other side...for the living is the one telling the story. Thank you Luca for being interested in this writing.
