So I recently got my poem 'Higher Education' published in Forward Poetry's upcoming anthology, 'Off the Page - A Collection of Poetry'. To celebrate, here's the newest version of the poem. Enjoy.
Within these walls,
Within these halls,
Minds are forever
Working.
The topics,
In which they question,
Linger on,
In my own cerebrum.
And yet the answers
Ne'er do
Come to light.
Unless, through another's
Words, or thoughts.
Within these halls,
Within these walls,
I contemplate
My knowledge - Absent.
Tuesday, 3 June 2014
Saturday, 25 January 2014
A shimmering light, dull at first,
Emerging from beneath the putrid earth.
It sinks and cracks, giving way
To a stench, foul and unforgiving.
One possible to cause any man
Shivering pains of asphyxiation.
But not yet the worst. For the light,
Is no longer withstanding.
The eyes shrivel in the empty flames,
Never seen by anyone but Him.
And so rose the rags of the merciless,
The dark companion for humanity.
His dark robes ascending the light
Faintly masked by the dense fog.
A collective of the unexplainable -
Inquisitions that can never be asked.
Gradually, He creaked into place,
Slowly lifting His head. But
Nothing could be seen within the hood.
Distinctive features; only one.
Present in hand, taller than Himself,
Metal arching over this withered angel.
And mirrored on this blade: His prey.
Expired meat, no longer fit for purpose.
And so He looks upon him. He hears.
He smells the fear of imminent demise.
With ease in His voice, leaning forward
Whispers: "Time runs out, lest you forget".
Emerging from beneath the putrid earth.
It sinks and cracks, giving way
To a stench, foul and unforgiving.
One possible to cause any man
Shivering pains of asphyxiation.
But not yet the worst. For the light,
Is no longer withstanding.
The eyes shrivel in the empty flames,
Never seen by anyone but Him.
And so rose the rags of the merciless,
The dark companion for humanity.
His dark robes ascending the light
Faintly masked by the dense fog.
A collective of the unexplainable -
Inquisitions that can never be asked.
Gradually, He creaked into place,
Slowly lifting His head. But
Nothing could be seen within the hood.
Distinctive features; only one.
Present in hand, taller than Himself,
Metal arching over this withered angel.
And mirrored on this blade: His prey.
Expired meat, no longer fit for purpose.
And so He looks upon him. He hears.
He smells the fear of imminent demise.
With ease in His voice, leaning forward
Whispers: "Time runs out, lest you forget".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)