Poe's Prodigy
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- Feb 7, 2010
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Well, I didn't actually find it in Harry's cupboard, but I wish I did! No, this is just a bit of poetry that was cluttering up my computer. I'd really appreciate feedback and any and all ideas, comments, and suggestions. Even if you hate it, that's really helpful.
Thanks, and I hope you enjoy! By the way, It's a lot... if you're serious about reading it all, get comfy!
the Sun and the City
From here, everyone seems small, insignificant.
From my rooftop, the world is spread out before me.
It is still dark, but the first colors of morning
are thrown out onto the sky,
and reflect on the water of the lake that sleeps next to the city.
Hark, now appears the sun,
glorious in its power.
O majestic watcher of worlds,
what have you seen
on our humble planet?
What heroics have you witnessed?
What tragedies have you observed?
What does the world look like from your throne
in the middle of our solar system?
Do you and the moon wonder
at the nature of man?
Come, sun, and look upon my city once more,
and let your beams of life reveal my world.
Buildings stand guard around me,
monoliths that form a forest of concrete.
The city awakens slowly,
as cars and trucks start up and drive away,
as people greet each other and go to work,
as the smells of the neighbors’ breakfast,
of coffee, of exhaust
mix together to form my city’s morning.
Rise up over my horizon, O sun,
cast your light upon my lake,
and come to judge my city
once more.
Neptune’s Kingdom
A silken moon waits above the sea,
bleeding bright pearl stars.
She waits for the world to wake
and mourn her silver grace.
Below, the sea holds up the sky,
salt mixing with space,
as the stars fall onto the water,
life dances in darkness.
A coral reef of ancient beauty,
the sea’s oldest treasure,
this throne of Neptune waits for light,
and to salute the sun.
A shark bares its jagged teeth,
an angel of brutal force.
schools of fish move as one
through the liquid sky.
Sapphire waters, golden sands,
an unknown world full of living jewels.
Secrets, mystery, silent power
all dwell beneath the glittering waves.
Love Not
Dear friend, pray search within your mind,
within that wealth of knowledge find
some trace, true feelings of love for me,
and lay it ‘neath a weeping tree,
for should I die before you wake
read you this rhyme, for my sake.
As I love, and as I live,
these words of wisdom have I to give;
know not love, nor pain nor sorrow,
for you shall weep upon the morrow.
Cry for you love, who will not know
how deep within your love does go,
nor how his face, so warm and fair
shall make your dreams so hard to bear,
nor how his lips to you so beckon,
while your heart does break, your head does reckon
that you are unworthy, unnoticed, unseen,
yet you wish to know what love could mean.
Feel not, dear friend, for should you cry,
you’ll wish for love, that beautiful lie.
Disappearing Act
How should I say the words
that bring either joy or sorrow?
What can I say
to win your heart?
Why do the inky spirits
that I can trap on paper
dance so lightly out of my mind,
yet cannot find their way off my leaden tongue?
Why does my poetry die
when I wish to speak it?
Why do my words flee
when I need them most?
The words tat flex like a tiger’s muscles,
crack like a ringleader’s whip,
burn like fire, or dance through the air
like the juggled balls of a clown
suddenly lose themselves within the watching crowd.
The fluid, or steadfast, or floating words disappear,
and leave me hanging from the acrobats’ ropes.
I cannot even say those three,
the three most absent words
that weigh most heavily on my heart.
As this most honest poem, so full of lies,
gives you my soul, trapped within this ink
I carry those three words
trapped within my voice.
What is this?
This is not a poem.
It is merely a thought,
fallen from the hidden stars
and spilled onto this paper.
Perhaps it is a poem.
What is poetry?
Is it just simple math?
Subtract reason, add rhyme,
multiply by readers, divide by critics.
Or is it a cold and soulless science?
Objective: to disturb, inspire, cause emotion.
Poe, Dickenson, Frost- the greatest scientific minds.
Perhaps it is a sport, a game,
with writers competing for reviews,
words colliding in epic battles.
The day I learn what poetry is,
I will cease to write.
Truth
Is truth in the songs of stars,
or in the beating of a heart?
Is truth found in the cold serenity of the moon,
or in the hot rage of the sun?
I find truth
in the emptiness between stars, moons, and planets.
I look for truth under the most delicate leaves of roses,
and above the reach of the trees
that stretch into the sky, like bridges to heaven.
I look for truth under the earth
and on top of mountains.
I find truth
in the world around me.
What is truth?
Today, it is my tears and my smile,
the emotions that grow in my heart.
tomorrow, it will be a dream,
a new hope or a great idea.
Truth cannot be found in yesterday,
for yesterday is only a memory.
I find truth
in the flow of time.
I watch people lie.
I watch people destroy.
I watch them ruin their own lives
and blame it on everyone else.
I watch to see
if anyone else is looking for truth.
I find truth
in the lives of liars.
When I am done searching,
I will die,
and find truth again
in the mystery of death.
Truth is different for everyone.
For some, it is love.
For others, it is facts.
My truth is my own, my secret.
I wait to find truth
within myself.
I search and search
until I am bleeding lies.
I still cannot find truth
inside of me.
Thanks, and I hope you enjoy! By the way, It's a lot... if you're serious about reading it all, get comfy!
the Sun and the City
From here, everyone seems small, insignificant.
From my rooftop, the world is spread out before me.
It is still dark, but the first colors of morning
are thrown out onto the sky,
and reflect on the water of the lake that sleeps next to the city.
Hark, now appears the sun,
glorious in its power.
O majestic watcher of worlds,
what have you seen
on our humble planet?
What heroics have you witnessed?
What tragedies have you observed?
What does the world look like from your throne
in the middle of our solar system?
Do you and the moon wonder
at the nature of man?
Come, sun, and look upon my city once more,
and let your beams of life reveal my world.
Buildings stand guard around me,
monoliths that form a forest of concrete.
The city awakens slowly,
as cars and trucks start up and drive away,
as people greet each other and go to work,
as the smells of the neighbors’ breakfast,
of coffee, of exhaust
mix together to form my city’s morning.
Rise up over my horizon, O sun,
cast your light upon my lake,
and come to judge my city
once more.
Neptune’s Kingdom
A silken moon waits above the sea,
bleeding bright pearl stars.
She waits for the world to wake
and mourn her silver grace.
Below, the sea holds up the sky,
salt mixing with space,
as the stars fall onto the water,
life dances in darkness.
A coral reef of ancient beauty,
the sea’s oldest treasure,
this throne of Neptune waits for light,
and to salute the sun.
A shark bares its jagged teeth,
an angel of brutal force.
schools of fish move as one
through the liquid sky.
Sapphire waters, golden sands,
an unknown world full of living jewels.
Secrets, mystery, silent power
all dwell beneath the glittering waves.
Love Not
Dear friend, pray search within your mind,
within that wealth of knowledge find
some trace, true feelings of love for me,
and lay it ‘neath a weeping tree,
for should I die before you wake
read you this rhyme, for my sake.
As I love, and as I live,
these words of wisdom have I to give;
know not love, nor pain nor sorrow,
for you shall weep upon the morrow.
Cry for you love, who will not know
how deep within your love does go,
nor how his face, so warm and fair
shall make your dreams so hard to bear,
nor how his lips to you so beckon,
while your heart does break, your head does reckon
that you are unworthy, unnoticed, unseen,
yet you wish to know what love could mean.
Feel not, dear friend, for should you cry,
you’ll wish for love, that beautiful lie.
Disappearing Act
How should I say the words
that bring either joy or sorrow?
What can I say
to win your heart?
Why do the inky spirits
that I can trap on paper
dance so lightly out of my mind,
yet cannot find their way off my leaden tongue?
Why does my poetry die
when I wish to speak it?
Why do my words flee
when I need them most?
The words tat flex like a tiger’s muscles,
crack like a ringleader’s whip,
burn like fire, or dance through the air
like the juggled balls of a clown
suddenly lose themselves within the watching crowd.
The fluid, or steadfast, or floating words disappear,
and leave me hanging from the acrobats’ ropes.
I cannot even say those three,
the three most absent words
that weigh most heavily on my heart.
As this most honest poem, so full of lies,
gives you my soul, trapped within this ink
I carry those three words
trapped within my voice.
What is this?
This is not a poem.
It is merely a thought,
fallen from the hidden stars
and spilled onto this paper.
Perhaps it is a poem.
What is poetry?
Is it just simple math?
Subtract reason, add rhyme,
multiply by readers, divide by critics.
Or is it a cold and soulless science?
Objective: to disturb, inspire, cause emotion.
Poe, Dickenson, Frost- the greatest scientific minds.
Perhaps it is a sport, a game,
with writers competing for reviews,
words colliding in epic battles.
The day I learn what poetry is,
I will cease to write.
Truth
Is truth in the songs of stars,
or in the beating of a heart?
Is truth found in the cold serenity of the moon,
or in the hot rage of the sun?
I find truth
in the emptiness between stars, moons, and planets.
I look for truth under the most delicate leaves of roses,
and above the reach of the trees
that stretch into the sky, like bridges to heaven.
I look for truth under the earth
and on top of mountains.
I find truth
in the world around me.
What is truth?
Today, it is my tears and my smile,
the emotions that grow in my heart.
tomorrow, it will be a dream,
a new hope or a great idea.
Truth cannot be found in yesterday,
for yesterday is only a memory.
I find truth
in the flow of time.
I watch people lie.
I watch people destroy.
I watch them ruin their own lives
and blame it on everyone else.
I watch to see
if anyone else is looking for truth.
I find truth
in the lives of liars.
When I am done searching,
I will die,
and find truth again
in the mystery of death.
Truth is different for everyone.
For some, it is love.
For others, it is facts.
My truth is my own, my secret.
I wait to find truth
within myself.
I search and search
until I am bleeding lies.
I still cannot find truth
inside of me.
