The Treachery of Beautiful Things
Beauty
From small rose to growing tree
Innocent child to wisened grandparent
Moments held in loving arms
Sweet faithful hearts
Gorgeous creation and all its creatures
Alive, breathing, prosperous life
Bringing brightness in the dark folds of space
Bright saphire and emerald
Glittering in the suspension of gravity
A gem of the universe, so beautiful
All these beautiful things that shine...
The treachery of it all
From small hateful comments
To growing attacks of violence
Unjust moments held in criminal silence
Hardened lost hearts
Crumbling creation and endangered creatures
Hunted, murdered, decaying in death
Bringing darkness in the brightness of innocence
Dark charcoal and smoke
Fogging over the remains of humanity
An infection in the universe, so contagious
All the beautiful things soon die
Never lasting, no matter how hopeful
Everything dies in the end
And all that is said is: how tragic!
But the truth remains hidden to the present's eyes
Oh, the treachery of beautiful things!
Forest of Dreams
The forest of dreams shines bright after a raging storm
Glittering stars have fallen, landing as waterdrops
A blanket sewn from the universe's tears covers the land below
Sunlight and rainbows dance in the breeze
Look! A trodden dust trail intertwines with the trees
So lost and broken by nature's brutality
Yet, on it stretches to the boarders of infinity
Glimmer
Sweet heart, young love
My clay molded by the winds of hate
Sweet heart, my child
Grown in my dark womb
The image of myself mirrored,
Projected out into the world
This cold cruel reality
Sweet heart, come to me
Princess, heir of my throne
Lay here in my weak arms
As we stare out of our ruined castle
Up into the stormy sky
Raging wars above and below
Painting the landscape
In scarlet and midnight brushstrokes
Framed by dark grey clouds
Sweet heart, I am sorry
What queen am I?
A terrible mother, it is true
For I was unable to shield you
From human sin and wickedness
Our world, our home, our ancestor's gold
Their pride, sweat and tears
Milleniums of hopes and dreams
Now dare we see...
Those dreams, but crumbling remains
Ruined and fallen from bloody hands
Towers and churches, pinacles of faith
Defeated, kneel before mankind's evil
Shrouded in blinding darkness
Boundless oblivion, it coats our world in crimson
Shattered hearts like shattered glass
What hope is there now,
For our future brethren?
See sweet heart,
Your innocent eyes that would shine so pure
Are defiled by murder and bloodshed
As our kin fight below
Without thought or emotion
Broken machines programmed for destruction
Violence...chaos...anarchy
They are spellbound by hate
Poor souls addicted to inflicting pain
Neighbours they were, in humanity and country
Meant to live in peace and harmony
The world, built for utopia,
Now destroyed and dying
Oh, how broken human souls are!
My heart burns, blazing with shame and heartache
Thunder claps and shakes me with every beat
Every breath I dare to release
As if my body is tearing at the seams
Dressed in scarlet finery
Decaying, piece by piece
Sweet heart, darling
I know the sky keeps crying
I remember a time...
So long ago it seems...
A golden purity of love, bliss and harmony
Made our country sparkle like diamonds
As sunshine brought us smiles and hope
Still, here my crown glimmers so
As the civil wars stretch on and on
Here, sweet heart
My final action before I depart
I pass this throne onto you now
Heir of my fallen kingdom
To carry on the torch of legacy
Forget me in the past as you march forth
To mend the torn reality
That is our war-torn country
Sweet heart, I am sorry for the burden
Placed on your small shoulders
But I believe in you,
Become a path that leads our people
Out of this miserable fighting
In this dark world I leave with my failures
Glimmer bright, my sweet heart
The Gospel According to Jesus Christ
Imagine how differently
the Word might appear
if the gospels were written
by Him whom they hold dear.
Imagine how differently
he may have writ
of events that he lived
as he saw fit.
Imagine how He might have viewed
how his Name has been used
’cross centuries and continents
Waging war, torture, death, abuse.
Imagine what he might have thought
of religions that arose
to pay homage to him
and the ideas that he posed,
that led to pomp and ceremony
and strict laws and beliefs
but few actually living
as he himself had preached;
when all that he encouraged
was to live as he had done
to love each other as oneself
and to love God, the One.
I think he might cry
to see how his words and life
have been entombed in a Book
leaving the world full of strife.
Rose in Winter’s Reign
Rose
The bright scarlet petals
Gliding like silk
Repeating its pattern
Over and over
Without thinking
A coat of water droplets
Jewels in the sunset
As the sun falls to slumber
At the center
The very monarch of the flower
Is shrouded in darkness
Covered in layers and blankets
Hidden by the universe
And it’s prying eyes
The sweetness of honey
The purpose
Guarded
As thorns stand mighty
A self defense
Against the evils of life
Armed with swords and blades
To protect the palace
Bloodshed
Dripping over green barricades
As emerald leaves shield the heart
But in time
The thorn soldiers surrender
The jade fortress collapses
Wilting in defeat
The crimson petals
Shrivel and fade
Passion slipping from the throne
Slowly twirling in the breeze
As the sad wind
Laments the fallen kingdom
The petals lie scattered
Dead in ivory snow
Suffocated and imprisoned
By the cruel grip of the enemy
Shattering and crumbling
As the monarch is exposed
With no defense
No safeguard
No military
Winter takes claim
Of the sovereign crown
Rose freezes
Surrendering
Bowing to the Winter King
Until the death sentence is passed
And the gallows fall
For fate has a frozen heart
Cruel and dead
Watching the downfall
Of Rose Kingdom
With a maniacal grin
Commanding time
To its destination
Out there in the distance plains
Far from the battlefield
And soon
Rose Kingdom is forgotten
As if it never meant anything
In the war of life
55: A clash of wills
Mathew stood outside his home a moment before he entered. He smiled contentedly, remembering fondly so many moments shared within its walls, first with Beverly and Marcus; then just with Beverly. Such love she had bestowed on the orphan child she found, despite so many phenomena beyond her ability to comprehend. She accepted and loved him unconditionally.
He entered his home and slowly climbed the stairs. As he walked to his room, he saw a green glow below the closed door. He slammed open the door and shuddered at the sight of Beverly embracing what appeared to be a child engulfed in green flames looking over her shoulder at him with eyes as black as night and a malevolent smile.
In his mind he heard, “You are too late this time. In the 19th hour and 37th minute of the 2019th iteration of this game, this battle, this war, the microscopic hole we placed in the mind of “Beverly” recognized the flame within this version of Mathew. Your presence will only hasten darkness’ reign.”
“Never!” Mathew screamed. He leaped across the room. Beverly turned towards his voice, and stared, open-mouthed, shocked and confused, trying to understand what she was seeing. He pulled her out of the fire of young Mathew’s embrace and pushed her behind him while grabbing the younger version of himself. When the force of his energy collided with that of the darkness, when the warped edges of the divergent moments in time converged, there was a burst of multi-colored light and a cacophony of sound that no longer whispered but rather sang loudly the song of existence – and annihilation.
He is not a man of woman born
neither god nor man is He
His power, wondrous and infinite
beyond what eye can see --
https://theprose.com/post/259869/your-turn-collaborative-challenge.
To the Rosemary
In Gallipoli, brooding o’er love lost,
Not one, but many, ’cross life’s narrow straits,
Onto each a memory, each a cost,
Each a veiled peril discovered too late.
Summer love squandered by false opportune,
Beholden to my ego’s foul advice,
To advance myself before my commune,
’Til my youthful appetites be sufficed.
Remembrance hath I for lost puerile pride,
Which winter’s gale reminds me my starkness,
Onto Her alone my shame I confide,
Only She forgives my former darkness.
By passion’s e’er changing winds nigh harried,
By her carried, my petaled rosemary.
-Q-
@WindsPoetic
https://poeticwinds.wordpress.com
