[x]

Vikings virtueA man of virtue is beset,
by fates that detest haste.
Walls of rock surround his path,
his retreat beaten by waves of foam.

He struggles forward,
perils he must now face.
With limp or shiver,
he forever marches homebound.

A pilgrim housed in foreign lands,
covered in sheets of snow.
Fur lined boots trample,
where men dare not travel.

A search for home,
in the lands of legends.
Amid giants of frost he goes,
Viking of Thor.

DreamsWhat wonders the imagination can bring
With opened ear and untamed eye
Dreams that we shall toss and fling
And float about towards the sky

By luminous light of thought
Day and night will awaken newly
And become what you have sought
To find your most distant Thule

Never letting go of that which we cherish
The spirit of innocence and truth
Why without it, what would we but perish?
In the darkness of lost youth

SubmissionThere are words I don't recognize
written on the walls of my contentment.
I'm not sure what language they're in
or who wrote them, but I do know
that it says something about surrender.
I've given up more times
than I've given anything else.

SummerWinters young sister,
breathes life into chilled air,
birthing child's delight.

A Poets DreamSomeday I will steal a poet
and make her yearn for me.
Her eyes will be as beautiful
as the words she speaks.

In the night
I will make her sing.

When morning comes
to shine its light,
those eyes will hold no resentment
or animosity.

She will place no blame upon my skin,
neither real
nor perceived.

She will see me for who I am really am.
She will see me for me.

At that moment
I will light her way
and she
will smile for me.

The Intelligent Are So SadA cascade of words parade around,
with thoughts of atoms and connotation.
She is brilliant, they say,
but she knows she is lost.

Numbers are her companion,
she understands their mean, average.
Words can twist her brain,
she loves the wonder they bring.

She is intelligent, they say,
but sometimes,
she doesn't feel clever enough.
Sometimes she feels clever too much.

Excusez-moi, in perfect French,
but nothing is gained by perfect word tense.
She is clever, they say.
But she is not clever the way they know.

She sees things as they are,
and she prefers her thoughts to the world.
She knows she loves them more than they in return

AsylumYour heart is an asylum.

I
wandered
in
like an anthem-less refugee.

Loneliness is a circle of Hell
Dante failed
To write
About.

You heart is an asylum.
(And I am shaking in its chambers).

On the SeafloorUnseeing eyes attracted to unseeing people:
a tidal cycle that pulls me under—
buries me,
beneath salted layers of foam.

I thought mistakes bred solutions—
different methods of hopeful change,
but I lay submerged,
and I subjectively ponder
this warden Loneliness
until my eyes secret watered gallons
to outline saline graves.

I rest in my watery casket of winding seaweed,
and I breathe in the moonlight from peaks of exuberant waves;

I pull the stars over my head, fluff the shell-filled sand
and am finally free.

AurumA false charade of dancing masks,
An intricate ballet,
Performed in a most convincing fashion.

Brilliant gold flashes in the peripheral,
Momentary image of an elegance surreal.
Dashing, he follows.

Through majestic ballroom crowded,
Dancers ignore his haste,
Squirms through, a singular purpose.

Grand corridor ordained with finest silver,
He see's her face,
Suppresses a shiver.

Brilliance of gold covers face and hands,
Her hair too, even strands.
With trepid step he approaches this anomaly.

Smiling sadly she says,
"please hold me"
A caution flashes, quickly suppressed.

Reaching with trembling hands,
Her eyes are there, but

Don'tDon't get your hopes up
If you know they'll drop again
It won't be worth the shot
No matter if you can

Don't be afraid
To mend your own heart
It's no use to try and
Forever keep your guard

Don't slip away
into that world of hope
It's gonna be much more
Than you can ever cope

Don't be defeated
Before you tried your best
It's bound to be broken
That pain inside your chest

NocturnalWrapped up tight by my own wings,
I hang upside down
while the blood rushes to my head
inside my cobwebbed cocoon,

Ultraviolet rays flicker against my eyelids
in colors I have never seen,
yet maybe I have once before,
I saw them the first time your skin brushed mine,
a kaleidoscope of solar energy
making me blind enough to see the light,

Your voice now echoing in a frequency
only I can hear,
it ricochets through my thin bat bones,
lingering along my teeth
so I can taste the way you sound
along the backside of my cavity,

But now you've been bitten
because I have no control,
my incisors sinking in to your handsome heart
bec

The SongbirdIt was just before he turned
nine years old
that his mother bought the boy
a soft yellow songbird.
And that songbird
every night
would sing the sweetest arias
and would melt away
the little boy's fears.

He loved that bird
and its beautiful melodies;
it was not a pet his mother had given him,
but a musician-
a listener-
a friend.

But as time wearied and withered away
(as time has tendency to do),
the boy found it harder and harder
to hear the splendid tunes
until finally
the boy could hear the bird no more.

At fifteen the boy's brain
was being ravaged by
a most monstrous cancer.
The doctors spared him his life,
but

Mea Culpa Sometimes I want my existence to be noticed by you.
We walk around like
two opposite
magnetic rods and
discharge our feelings and the
truth elsewhere as not to
attract attention.

There are times where we could
act like we're in love but
you'd never want that at all.

What is this love? My own fault for trying to be happy.

Clearly not good enough, because
I'm not good enough.
The space
between us
is getting bigger and
I'm afraid what we had
is now lost in missed birthdays,
unspoken I love yous and all
the tears trickling down
each side of my face.

It hurts, like
it's pushing down
harder, I'm getting dragged down, and

Burghead Beach

Burghead Beach

I am playing tag with God.

Taunting the bowl in a deadly
tango, a tango of risk and the roll of a
dice.
A dice of watery
consequences.

Stepping over patient
rocks, I marvel at
mirrors to another world.
A world in which armies of
organic flame forcefully
bow to a deity that
pulls a hood of pure
navy over the skin
of its own
king.

A leaf of blue.

Each shimmering haze of
terrifying ice and
bitter gems
lead to
spiralling divers.
Divers that start from the left and
work their way until
modern art is submerged by
the drifting octopus of
autumn branches.

I see small vortexes,
where the specks have
crafted tunnels that so

EveningThese sorrowful memories,
These bittersweet delights,
Exhale, blink, and perish
In the fading of the light

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in the morrow of mid-day light.
Was birthed a darkness,
that obscured the great ones glare.

Its shadow bore despair.
So mothers wept,
and farmers cawed,
as their belief bled.

The Titan ruled,
but for an hour or so.
Only to turn and flee,
when the light approached.

Approaching Storms.Mysterious middle age man: It is not my intention,
to help he who is my fellow man.
Or graft hope onto these young boys,
for hope is no surrogate father to loss.

(He lights a cigarette, illuminating his scared face momentarily.)

For while we are his lost children,
we do adore him.
For the forsaken rarely care,
for god wills or wants.
And on a lucky deal,
with the red-man himself.
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because soon we plan,
to take flight.

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Not any eye, but his;
with which I hope one day to have it settled on me.
To make me blush and burst with joy.

To rest caringly on my form,
then leaving the world behind,
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But I will ignore my hopes.
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Diminish into the background as you parade so beautifully,
chocking me with understanding.

Thanks for the dreams my friend,
and thank you for the truth.

The Traveller.In the time before I was here I was there. There being anywhere I wanted. I crossed many lands. I met with kings; queens; emperors and self-proclaimed gods. They never lasted, nor did we ever meet again. It has always been that way. I am the man who hasn't any home to speak of other than the stars that light the night sky.
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Submitted: September 6, 2012
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My Endymion

by *Forgotten-Heir, Sep 6, 2012, 3:57:42 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Post-Teen (Mature) / Free Verse

I was never a fond of love;
I never invited it into my bed,
nor gave it my tears.
Not that it would ask.

And yet tears I do now give,
in sacrifice.
To a man who never asked nor incited such feelings.
Feelings that crowd my mind,

And weigh my chest down.
With uncontrolled emotions that spire into fires of passion.
Pretty words seeming so small to describe,
the obsolete moment of truth that banishes dreams for reality.

Oh how the light so gently touches you,
and that smile.
That gives me a smile of my own.
This is a tragedy of situation my friend.

Sorrow for joy;
my dear Endymion.

My Endymionby *Forgotten-Heir

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / Post-Teen (Mature) / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *Forgotten-Heir

It's been an emotional week and this practically flowed out the moment I opened up my note pad.

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~BelaRoseWolf Sep 6, 2012 Student Writer

This poem is tragically beautiful.

I really love the second stanza; it's really nice! Great work!

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Mood: Joy

*Forgotten-Heir Sep 6, 2012 Professional Writer

Thank you so much!

I am glad you liked it.
And thank you for the fave! :3

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~BelaRoseWolf Sep 6, 2012 Student Writer

You're very welcome!

I really did enjoy your poem!

Reply

*Forgotten-Heir Sep 6, 2012 Professional Writer

That's good to hear! It means a lot to hear that!

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