Comments/questions/criticism are welcome. I usually don't like to give too much away concerning the meaning of my poems but some of them warrant explanation. The purpose of my poetry (and my music) is to explore what it means to be human. I write about everything from relationship psychology to revenge fantasies.
Some of these may be edited as time goes on. If I do any major edits, I will probably re-post a new version. Minor edits will be carried out on the existing text but probably pointed out in notes.
Last Summer
Last Summer's heat enwound my heart
With passion's welded rods,
Encircling me with happy dreams:
The cloths on which you trod.
When Springtime's bloom had loosened me
From gloomy Winter's trials,
The fruit of my enticing tree
Fell victim to your wiles.
Last Summer's bright sun thrilled my heart,
But I began to doubt
When thirst consumed my dry, cracked lips,
Now parched by Summer's drought,
And in red Autumn's harvest moon
I reaped what you had sown,
And frigid Winter's blasts of wind
My flesh froze to the bone.
With passion's welded rods,
Encircling me with happy dreams:
The cloths on which you trod.
When Springtime's bloom had loosened me
From gloomy Winter's trials,
The fruit of my enticing tree
Fell victim to your wiles.
Last Summer's bright sun thrilled my heart,
But I began to doubt
When thirst consumed my dry, cracked lips,
Now parched by Summer's drought,
And in red Autumn's harvest moon
I reaped what you had sown,
And frigid Winter's blasts of wind
My flesh froze to the bone.
God Is Dead
God is dead!
Brothers, mourn,
For at our hands He dies.
He Himself did deign to don
Our failed frame, our frail flesh.
He Himself did walk with us
And suffer with us in our midst.
The Son of God: sorrowful soul!
Man of Sorrows! God of Grief!
We sinful ones did loathe His name
For all our pain, for all our pain,
And we, the loathsome, loathed His name
For all His pain, for all His pain!
With us, for us, at our hands,
In life and death His spirit sore
Did labor sorrowful 'gainst sin
Which on Himself He took.
Now mourn ye, brothers:
With us, for us - at our hands!
On account of us He died.
God is dead!
Brothers, mourn,
For at our hands He dies.
Brothers, mourn,
For at our hands He dies.
He Himself did deign to don
Our failed frame, our frail flesh.
He Himself did walk with us
And suffer with us in our midst.
The Son of God: sorrowful soul!
Man of Sorrows! God of Grief!
We sinful ones did loathe His name
For all our pain, for all our pain,
And we, the loathsome, loathed His name
For all His pain, for all His pain!
With us, for us, at our hands,
In life and death His spirit sore
Did labor sorrowful 'gainst sin
Which on Himself He took.
Now mourn ye, brothers:
With us, for us - at our hands!
On account of us He died.
God is dead!
Brothers, mourn,
For at our hands He dies.
Situational
When foolish acts of valiance
Put me in dire straits,
When sin allures with dalliance
Me through its golden gate,
When coquetry is cookery,
And crows are clothed like doves,
I’ll do away with chivalry,
Replacing it with love.
Put me in dire straits,
When sin allures with dalliance
Me through its golden gate,
When coquetry is cookery,
And crows are clothed like doves,
I’ll do away with chivalry,
Replacing it with love.
When promises play paramour
And imperil purity,
When princesses are proven poor
At games of chivalry,
When unrelenting creditors
Pull cards from up their gloves,
I’ll do away with honor
And replace it all with love.
And imperil purity,
When princesses are proven poor
At games of chivalry,
When unrelenting creditors
Pull cards from up their gloves,
I’ll do away with honor
And replace it all with love.
When obvious exceptions
Kindle raging firestorms,
When righteous insurrections
Rise to set up the new norm,
When piety, propriety,
And morals aren't enough,
I'll do away with all these laws,
Replacing them with love.
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