Watch It Burn

Its breath like smoke in the winter air
Rough winds blowing its silver-white hair.
Like glass, its eyes are glazed and damp
The horizons fire lights them up like a lamp..
Circles burn in its blind sight-
The circles; golden with blazing light.
And silence cackles crackling flame-
Blackening bidding chasing out the game.
Doubled over as the cold winds blow
Still here it stands rooted in the snow
Sensing a wasteland being birthed by the blaze,
Sensing death running rampid in the maze
Of fire and smoke
A radiant soak
It’s hooded and cloaked
At its safe distance alone-
A creature-being; all skin and bone..
And ugly thing with what right to live?
Perhaps worthlessness is its incentive
Not to move or take its leave
It’s got its right to s**t and breathe
So at what cost does a wretchid thing die?
Doing as it will to naturally survive
In a broken world all crumbled and charred..
It may see beauty behind burns and scars
So what might Earth gift this soul?
Besides a box and a deep dirt hole?

It stands alone, still and cold
Godless.. Might it save its own soul?
It’s got a mind and a heart that bleeds
It’s hunched and crooked but all it needs
Is to win its battle victoriously.
Behold the fractured forest gloriously.
May it pray for the fire to falter or rule..
Or may it stand there til the smoke trails cool.
May it walk the mile into the heat
For suicide is never too far to meet
When it’s hungry or when it’s weak
Finding solitude and death not so bleak.

Strength it once did know.
Perhaps now it does not show
But see it grounded in the snow?
See the shivers not take their toll?
It finds strength in the truth of the undivine
Wash its world away through fire and time
And may it stay
And watch it fall away
Like a guiding light
Like a righteous fight
A sinless life?
A peaceful strife..
A nameless shame.
A shameless pain.
It gains.
It gains.
Can you not see that it gains?
That there’s freedom in reanimation-
Fixed and rived from incarceration

I see it step back-
It’s already begun.

Make your move you ugly thing and run!

Victory over misery
A life long lived never had its bliss or glee
Slowly…

Footprints packed towards infinity
With freedom afoot it is divinity!
Oh, the grace
Upon its face
All these years it has grown so old
So its story has never been cared of or told.
Never whispered or faintly unfurled..
Except now
Of a smile
That lit up the world.

Reviews

[Ufi Auttorri ~ UfoAutho..]

They didn't get it. Hell, I don't get it... but I want too. There's something there too. Something important... something that should be comprehended, understood, assimilated, cherished. But what is it? It's driving me crazy... it seems there, just out of reach and each time I read it there is a slight trip-up-down, a stumble and a fall, from grace perhaps or other - hard to tell; it's illusive. And that is the joy and wonder of it all, isn't it? It begs us to ignore the scaffolding of rhyme that ornaments this ancient message woven into the fabric of unconscious knowing. Ignore the asymmetry of forms and embrace the irregular contours of thought that overlay and plumb true the mind's horizon lines. What have you done? What have you wrought that sparkles in the invisible spectrum of almost-there? All I ask is just this... keep writing. Maybe, someday, I'll get it. I certainly hope to.

[Non Serviam]

I had to read this one a little faster than your Free Write poem. I think the rhymes played off each other better as I sped it up and slowed it down depending on the section; almost a pulse of its own. But I really enjoyed that about this piece. It looked long at first, but the pace worked really well with the length.

As to your question; the answer is both yes and no. I remembered a journal entry from a while back that answers this question.

"Much of the problems present are a great deal the same as they have always been: girls, God, anger, loneliness. These are the issues that encompass my soul and restrain my wings that so desperately long to soar into the blazing sun. I suppose I imagine myself as sort of an Icarus rising, only I dare not even attempt the effort, for the success of laziness is enough within itself.”

If I am addicted to anything, it is that I often enjoy the pain of failing my own ideals. Living in the dark is better than stepping out into the hope of life. May not have been exactly what you had in mind, but that’s what I thought of.

[Laura Maidah]

It was long. Pacing was slow. Tone was reserved and inconsistent. Meter varied. Rhythm was alright. Maybe I'll like some of your other stuff better. Isn't every poem like this ended by a smile that lights up the whole wide world? Cyberspace is filled with this poem. Maybe not this EXACT poem. I don't flatter like everyone else here. I'm sorry. I hope you like honest opinions. Just my humble opinion.

[EYES OF MY SOUL]

You stay true to your self,the writing was and art of work don't change a thing.....

[Rusty]

You are gifted.

[Patient Poet (Yos)]

You made me hold my breath, felt your words inside me