A Poem by M. Lumiére

Lost and cold, you linger there, safe, safe away.


The orcans carried thou here
to such forbidden places
that Belial threads with fear
its sharp and swelling laces
rolling across antediluvian fields
where blunt needles of torment
danced mad before first God awoke
and lies to liars sows bespoke.

Be at peace, my sweet soul unborn
for no God sees thee wail thy mourn
on these shores thou art asafe
locked away, as helpless waif
yet not without home.

In cold image of dead fig tree
no oak may grow from constraints free
leaves that wither with Sun and Moon
trunk bleeding of faint maroon
thine scenery, all well deserved.

Warmth comes forth from reaching hand
pulling thee from where thou stand
cleaning stain from thine ashen face
from dark tear, to reject embrace
no friend, only wicked foe.

Ha, pity thou can't serve thyself
pushing all laughter, vigour full
onto a dust-devoured shelf
nails and planks as avant-dull
as any object of your perception
measly-more utters thine mouth arot
of thouself, my soul unborn
the eagle mirrors thine passion not.

© 2019 M. Lumiére

My Review

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I like the middle verses, I feel like you were trying to hard in the first two verses, they're okay they just seem kind of forced to me. The idea or subject of the poem is deep, it feels like more and idea than reality.

Posted 5 Years Ago

M. Lumiére

5 Years Ago

'Tis a symbolist-decadent poem, extravagant language is just an innate part of that. "Forced" took m.. read more
Ghost writer

5 Years Ago

yeah, hope I didn't offend you, the poem was still good.

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1 Review
Added on January 22, 2019
Last Updated on April 30, 2019
Tags: poetry, poem, soul


M. Lumiére
M. Lumiére

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