Millennial Absinthe Roux (Congratulation for the Thousandth View)

A thousand years,
Is it common much?
To seek the wine,
That meets the expectations,
That holds beauty in every sip,
In every arch,
And sends us on a trip,
Of Perfection,
Spiritual Indulgence,
And leaves us feeling,
Not so set,
Not so up?

A thousand years ago,
I lost a tide,
I lost a war;
The bridge that gives,
That bridge that holds;
Still at the ending,
Wavering river,
Never to begin the stories anew.
And in my silence,
In my solitude,
My madness grew,
My rage too.
All the darkness;
All the shade,
In my infernal hate,
It all grew,
As I rued,
The days I forgo.

Drunk and Twisted,
Delighted by simplicity,
And all I knew,
I left myself behind,
To experience the art,
The symphonies,
The Beauty undefined,
Unrealized,
In all my absence,
The Absinthe Brew,
It took me too.

Millennia ago,
Or so it seems,
I took my first drink,
Of beauty,
Light,
And Sound,
And since,
I couldn't go back,
In all my rage,
From the Millennial Absinthe Rue.

ISA

 

Powdered Sky

Wonder,
Patience,
They have no mix,
Left to wander,
Sifting,
Looking for ways to be expressed.

Small moments,
Ignored and left to themselves,
Deliver joy,
And perfected emotion;
Bright,
And crisp,
They waver,
In the sense of peace.

As I left the temple,
Hidden in the jungle of sensory,
I looked to the sky,
Freed of danger,
And in the pit of my loss,
I smiled;
At the same old things.

ISA

Controlled Reality (based on the picture 'Metaworld:Back and Forth-the road one way' by DeviantArt User 'Rosevir')

A multisided dice,
Controlled my roll,
Setting,
Sifting,
Made my life droll,
Whispers setting,
Tell me the truth,
Who am I?
To me?
To you?

Chaotic Rainfall,
Across a checkerboard sky;
The wind,
The rain,
The Lightning illuminating all;
The Spirals of Life:
Of Love,
Of Change,
Of the things I'd rearrange,
Are Set in stone,
Upon the pedestal,
Of the pool of a broken heart.

Let my self hold in
My own truths;
Kings that Grow,
Kings that hold,
A Rose with thorns,
Bearing fruit,
Leading toward the same points,
The same understanding,
The star of control,
The star of war;
Politics Of them all,
Leading them to arrange the fold,
Of the very sky,
Of the stars,
Of all life,
Of all choice,
Till none desire;
Chaos Can no longer hold;
And in our ritual,
The wounds,
The world,
Stops.

ISA

And this is the painting.... I wish I didn't have to put a disclaimer here, (but I hate plagiarism more than I'm lazy...)....oh well...
 

Double-Sided (Based on the Painting 'White and Black' by DeviantArt user 'david-plus-1')

In the right,
I left it where it belonged,
Surrounded by the beauteous night,
All had wronged,
But it still sang it's song.

Daytime atrophy,
The blackened bush,
Burned by its insanity,
Still left a rush,
It's beauty left to all...

Solitude,
That lonely tree,
On all sides surrounded by what it aught to be,
Its Duality,
Ignored,
Chafed,
Ripped apart,
But the limbs still reach,
Reach so far,
Proud to be,
And looking for more.

In it's shadow,
Left and right,
The tree in darkness,
And in Light,
Hide the invisible,
Hide the viewer in it's reach,
The great tree I'm looking at,
It's still too far to breach,
Break the lines that can confine,
That one,
There,
Is you,
And this one here,
Is me.

ISA

For any who wonder, this is the Painting I was talking about.
 

Serrated Room (A Poem Influenced by DevianArt User Begemott's Scissors)

Mirrored Walls,
Hide nothing inside;
Desperate Ideas inspire,
Creation's Scene,
Destruction's Scheme;
Melancholy Madness,
In the sorrow of emptiness,
Bleed into the singular,
Imagination and Rage,
A collection of illogic,
The Madman's;
The Child's hidden dream.

The Questions the Sheers ask,
Confuse even the dreamers,
Wandering Wonderland.
The Opera,
The Big Top,
The Thread bearer's room,
Hold nothing to this insanity;
The wonderment,
The horror,
Peeking out from the sewn toys,
For just an instant,
Showing a realm of gore.

The cruelty,
Hidden behind Curiosity,
Is a dangerous thing;
Even more so since we cannot hear,
The melody torn,
From the throats,
From the ashes,
Of the unliving,
In our unloving.

At the end of our wanderlust,
We don't think,
We don't stop,
We don't listen;
We leave the room,
Left as it is,
Our creation;
Unloved;
Continues to scream...

ISA

This is Scissors by Begemott if anyone is wondering. The art itself, not the poem...
 

Hiding in a Cage

Blood ties,
All the lines,
A cosmic wheel,
Goes round and round;
A road that never ends,
Doing the same thing all over again;
The agony is building.

Eat,
Sleep,
Crap,
And Work,
Is this all that gives life meaning?
The stories I read,
The music I listen,
Imaginations,
Of machinations,
Risen,
From the deepest part of mind;
Do they mean nothing?

For if I cannot feel,
And the stark world,
Rejects my sight,
My might,
And anger Conquer thee,
And me,
Blood goes reaching down the walls.

And still I sit here,
Waiting,
Watching,
Wondering why time passes by,
Caught up in my hate.
But for all my anger,
All my rage,
I am still just this rat,
Hiding in this Cage.

ISA

Nighttime Masquerade

A different peace,
Relaxing,
Calm,
Fills the void,
Of the youthful night.
Dancing Lights,
An orchestra of sensation,
No wonder that the insensate,
Found it evil.

But for me,
Who has seen the clarity,
In the day,
Or upon the quay,
Looking out to sea,
Nighttime,
Is a peace,
A piece,
Of me I shan't forget.

The hidden blocks,
Unclear roads,
With no need to show,
The evil in the world.
For in this safe place,
Waiting for time to forget,
Waiting for mine to forget,
Masquerading in the dark,
The Beautiful Night,
Helps me forget my sorrows,
Helps we to forget the sorrow,
With this Nighttime Masquerade.

ISA
 

Celebratory Moments

.....
Bang,
...
BOOM!

Noonday meals,
So loud with sound,
Family and friends,
All gathered round,
To have fun and holler.
Dreams forgotten,
Nightmares Left,
Our only goal,
On this fine day,
In this fine cleft,
To have fun,
To be merry,
Celebrate,
With air of the ferry,
Traveling to the greatest fairs.

Fireworks,
Great and Small,
Lights pop up,
And we know all,
No fear,
No need for manner,
No need to hold up the banners,
The banners that bind us,
Hide us,
Wish we could defy us,
All disappear in white and black,
Pixilation,
No reason to fear.

But truly,
How the day went,
Happy as we were,
None were really there,
So,
In passing,
We celebrate alone.

ISA

Daytime Daydreams

...I look up,
At peaceful,
Boring Moments,
And wonder,
In small thoughts.

"Such a pleasant day,"
"Such a quiet day,"
I wonder if there is any day,
With quite the feel of this.

The Mind made revolutions,
Evolution,
In the feel of its world.
It teems with sound,
The world,
And yet,
In this moment,
It feels so dark.

I lay back against,
An Oaken tree,
Quiet,
Staring up,
At all it seems,
No birds,
No bees,
No grass,
No sounds,
Just me and my daytime,
Daydreams sound,
So very peaceful,
With naught a worry in the world.

ISA

Cant Stop

Moving,
Constant,
Never rest,
Never rant.

Cant,
Recant,
Whispers,
Pervading.

Lines,
Words,
Development,
From the Lion's Den.

Love,
Lost,
Forever alone,
Carry on.

Voices,
When,
Losing,
Overthrow.

Lights,
Dreams,
Family,
Safe.

Rage,
Constant,
Call me,
Home.

Help,
Stop me
Can't stop.
Moving on.


This isn't my typical style, but I thought I'd mix it up a little bit considering that tomorrow I'm going to be celebrating all night long, for a special event. I might even make a poem centric on the event later, but right now I'm just enjoying myself. Feel free to listen to 'Lights' by Ellie Goulding, for the background to when I was creating this.

ISA
 

Lost Emperor

A child,
Bathed in silks,
Helpless,
But not forgotten,
Sits restless,
At the window,
Watching a world go by.

It takes time,
Having none to give,
And he sits,
In a world of gray,
Watching the light go by.

Sitting,
Whilst relaxing,
In the window-sill,
The birds and bills,
Pass wavering,
Nothing of importance.

He gets up,
Finally he gets up,
Regal,
Patient He,
Done with dealing,
Buying or Selling,
Debates,
Gone away,
And Lost as he is,
The Emperor,
Wanders again.

ISA

Glass Windows

Clearly I can see,
(Beyond the whispers,
Calling to my hidden sins),
A sunset rose,
And gilded walls,
Protecting a lonely,
Beautiful,
Gilded doll.

Outside,
Outside my room,
I see land,
Sky and sea,
Beauty effervescent,
Being...

I am trapped,
Trapped,
Trapped in a room of no walls,
The Glass Windows,
Some leading to my walls,
Abandoned long ago,
To protect the saddened doll inside,
And the others on the outside.

I meant to return,
To be with him,
Or her,
(I never figured out),
When my wanderings were at an end.
But Trapped I was,
In the past I was,
Glass windows,
To my exploits lead,
And futures abandoned,
Forced to watch the world go on,
With,
Or without me.

Nothing saddened,
Nothing Lied,
Nothing Dreamed,
I was trapped inside,
Nothing Whispered,
Nothing Waned,
Trapped inside the Window panes.

The Cracks that riddled,
Through the air,
Wandering Vacant,
Lots it seems,
Nothing left to do.
All my friends,
All my life,
Died While I was behind the lie,
Of a singular,
Singular,
Window Pane.

Now I'm angry,
Now I'm mad,
Now I'm worse than that old hag.
I'm mean, I'm cruel,
And Despair will reach that last great witch,
For in my anger,
The Glass Window won't last forever.
All I need,
Is a single twitch.

ISA 

 

My Walls (Heavily influenced by the poem, 'I Build Walls' by an anonymous writer)

My walls,
Cheap,
Rusty,
Chafing,
Invisible.
They sit upon closed battlements,
Bringing a tune of days gone by,
Protecting a lonesome doll.

They do nothing as I move about,
From place to place,
To place to place.
Just sit,
Wavering,
Whispering,
And keep it all out.

And When comes the Passersby,
Lullabies,
And Deep strong Whispers,
Guide him to a lonely rope,
Dangling above the walls,
To fall,
To die.

My walls sit there.
Day after day,
Year after year,
Bringing all the people who come by,
To their doom..
Just to protect,
Just to serve,
Just to hide,
The doll inside,
Gilded iron walls,
That the doll himself wears.

And the walls,
Invisible to all,
With their bangles,
Banners,
Whimsical Spikes,
Simply sit there,
Waiting for their next victim,
Guarding,
A Lilied,
Nightshade,
Poison,
Killer Doll.

ISA
 

Debates

In my life,
I’m filled with hate and strife,
The skies raining maliciousness,
The world seemed to have a fine line of dank deadness.
 
Watching fights,
And arguments,
Neither might,
Nor brilliance,
Seemed to make his point.
 
As I watched this congress,
Endlessly in progress,
I knew that neither,
Said with vigor,
That which needed to be currently regressed.
 
On this endless blank chat,
I laughed as I absently beat away a harmless gnat.
 
I knew then,
They were wordless demons.
As they spat,
To each other at,
 
With a surprisingly ignorant tenacity,
I silently watched as they in their incompitentity,
Bullied away at useless banter.
 
*** A Counter-Argument ***

When time lies,
And the winds of change,
Rely upon their catalysts,
Is the time of which,
Aggressions rise,
And attacks grow more significant.
 
To be in motion,
A real commotion,
Is not quite tolerated.
All these laws,
These circumstance are made quite for a reason,
To protect us all, from ourselves,
On the roads of indecision.

ISA
 

Clouds

Unrestricted,
Unrestrained,
Free-floating through unknown choices,
To not impede danger,
Or to join them,
But enjoy them,
And forever stay away.
 
Yes these creatures,
Seem to be,
Humanesque,
Of all things.
A bigous gas,
An elemental state,
An opinion of opinions,
All to be unwritten.
 
Do we trust,
These faceless things,
As we let them rule?
Or will we choose,
What's good for us,
And be as free as them….


ISA

Ant Lines

My world, my world,
My separate world,
Not your world at all.
 
Lines unseen,
No, nonexistent,
Between the many beings.
 
That is which you might understand,
The rules, the laws, the physics,
That which goes and that which hindered,
Between ever confusing lines.
 
I don’t see the reasons thus,
That makes sense to build these lines.
These fragile, fragile lines.
Broken as the way goes by,
Lines that sunder and splinter.
 
Will this fragment of my thought,
Be enough to explain my distraught,
All these lessons that,
 Undermanned,
That to which I would be reprimand.
 
Maybe future times will tell,
With life, and love, and merry,
But until that joyous day,
I’ll just have to stop and say,
Let this hive go on.

 

ISA

Whipers in the Wind

A song sings sweetly,
The wind passes by,
A fact in the park of new,
Whisper my darling,
Tell me the truth,
What do you want to do?
 
This melody sounds sweetly,
Echo-ing us by,
Till the drama comes to play,
Twilight's sweet lullaby.
 

My darling, my lover,

My sweet French mother,
The blues do play,
A symphony today…
Till the end of our dance,
This song,
Drumbeats and brass,
The tune changes and colours to bronze,
And we sing away.
 
Entertainment follows our medley,
Lullaby and the tap,
A song and a dance,
A conversation and a trap,
Together in the park this May.
 
In the end the whispers die,
The wind does quiet again,
The lovers part,
Their heart's faint art,
Dies like their Whispers in the Wind.

ISA

Confusion

Rage,
Sorrow,
It is real.
Naivety is found,
In the weak,
In the happy…
And in the childish.
 
Their damnation is just beginning,
I don’t know what I feel that makes it so,
But it is all the same.
In every situation.
There are the sad,
The happy,
The enraged,
And the wise…
All to challenge our morals.
 
We no longer care,
Used to disrespect and dishonor.
We are tired:
Of life and death,
Of hate and joy,
Of sorrow and love.
It is just all too confusing,
They only get mixed up in the mess.
 
This disgust I feel,
I love it,
But I don’t know why…
Neither do I know if I will remain sane.
 
They see but don’t;
Walking unrealistic paths,
Falling and hitting walls that they could go around.
They never seem to realize,
To look another way and they will not be blinded;
All they do is look straight never stopping to truly see.
It was once considered evil to think two ways,
But now they are slowly reeling that in…
Someday they will advance…


ISA

Existence

I wonder in this life if I exist,
All the time by myself,
Working, waiting, watching,
Never ceasing to stop and relax.
I do not know,
If I ever truly loved,
For tragedy destroyed my memory.
 
Something snapped,
Was that my heart?
 
I laugh,
Miserable,
At the passing millions,
The useless naïve numbers...
Unaware at what lies just around the corner.
They pass by with insults and jeers,
Roaming in bulk,
Unknowing that they are the sheep,
And that they just angered the wolf in their clothing.
 
I wonder if the murderer lives the same way,
Or is he just off the bend,
Trying to satisfy his lustful greed.
Is the scientist any different from the philosopher,
Always wanting the stone.
Aren’t they all wolves waiting for a blunder?
 
Politics and lies,
Friends and lovers,
Each the same as the other,
Worse than the murderer.
 
I laugh at even a possibility of righteousness,
For they have no right to judge.
The thought that balance is already upset,
They do not know.

Getting rid of it all,
The easiest message to send,
Abolish the concepts,
Get rid of it all.
To live as givers and receivers,
Forget it all to never 'own' again.

ISA

Time of Ending

The devil’s time in a table of twelve halves,
Reversing nothing will find no sin,
Only the whole of the future,
And the hole of time.
 
This time that sings of glory,
Of acts gone long and ole,
Will come back with the stream,
Lest the beasts hold your mind
 
We who no longer need,
Forever guard the pathways,
Of the truest of true kin,
Whose soul follows the paths of balance.
 
As the worlds fall around us,
And the shadow tear the flesh from our back,
Bind together as God,
And destroy those who do not belong,
In the new light,
WE WILL NOT!   


This originally started as my thoughts on the what was, the recent up-stride of radicalism in Christianity....Its been a while, but it's still going on. I thought that maybe this would be something interesting...but I probably should have posted this a year ago, last December, when all that craziness was going on.

ISA

Wonder

Black rose,
Why do you haunt me,
Your thorns in my dreams,
In my world.
My oncoming shadow,
My hate,
I wonder… is it real?
 
Requiem,
Are you what I want?
Melody,
Are you what I seek?
What song is mine?
My memory is tearing me apart.
 
Can I see as far as the stars?
Please tell me sir,
Will I go mad?
I tear the world I hide within myself,
A fright I hold within my pores,
An over becoming,
But what when and why?
Heat consumes me till I wondered if I would tear myself apart.
 
I wondered as I was riding the wind,
If I could follow my path,
If I would fit my expectations,
If I would find the truth within ourselves,
For I feel in all that we are an existence within another.

ISA  

Understanding Emotion

I have seen the three “faces” of life.
They exist in shards of life.
Within the shadows of humanity.
And the joys of insanity…
My short life,
Experience is gathered in vast quantities,
Rings that are entire books.
To see death as normality…
Something is wrong.
 
Understanding concepts unknown,
Hating while loving,
Lusting for destruction,
Selling the soul to destroy kin,
We have the will and rage for it all,
And to do the same thing ten times over.
We rival with those thousands of years past,
Waiting for the 'End of Days',
Getting closer and closer,
Death is coming upon the world now.
If the harpy comes down upon the crows,
Will we notice even if the hour strikes thirteen,
And with our infinite potentials,
So turn back time to do the same thing over again?
 
As it is in our efforts to save ourselves,
More of us are falling down the pit,
While thousands continue to scrabble back up,
Like rats in a barrel,
Or an army of ants with too few soldiers left to sacrifice.
We all fall and die eventually.
Are we destined to all go to our ancestors,
Never to live again as human,
A tumultuous end fit only for dishonor,
Do we want to end it all,
Waiting for disaster to make its final strike?

ISA

Stars

Distant…
And unrestrained;
Inhabiting,
What seems too close to be,
And yet,
Painting a picture.
What these night-flames lights,
Indescribable at sight,
And invisible by day,
Mean us to be…
None can say.
 
What comes with these…'things',
Philosophers,
Astronomers,
All try to describe,
But failing in description to,
Summarize.
What we learn from 'these',
We make our own,
For none can teach 'the masters',
Of the mind.
These things we strive to learn,
Fall on such 'deaf' ears,
Making difficult all we know.
 
But just these things,
These beautiful things,
Remain and entertain us,
For on its road its sure to inspire,
All who can come after us.
"It's our thoughts that count."
Our mothers say,
And it's she who did inspire us,
To inspire us.
 
But back to thus,
This beautiful would,
In infinitesimal thoughts it's in,
Its glowing heavens,
Its lights resplendent,
To those who live upon it.
But nature has,
What nature wills,
And our dreams mean nothing to it.
  
I continue this:
I stress upon it,
To not question,
What's not there,
Do not build a false conception,
A creature,
Built of lies,
Just sit back,
And relax,
Just be a thing to be,
And admire the scenery.

ISA

Open Meadows

Empty,
Quiet,
Open thoughts and fields,
Hidden creatures and their lives,
Wonders outspoken and unspoken,
All before our minds.
 
Grass flying everywhere,
A symphony in silence,
The world of beauty comes to sight,
A thought been born to light.
 
Now it's night,
And all that hides,
Comes out alive,
To play.
For when all is silence,
Nowhere to hide,
Piranhas easy prey.
 
To return to day,
And blood spattered ground;
All goes back to hide.

ISA

Jail

Closed off,
Cornered,
Walled in and walled out,
Nowhere to escape or enter.
 
Shifting and stalling,
Stagnant is the air and land,
Nothing changes.
 
Odd, strange,
Serenity to malignance,
Ever-changing sense of all.
 
Waiting, watching, listening, and speaking,
Nothing always to do,
Thinking to pass the time,
Dreaming to move.
 
A fortress,
A palace,
Death stinks everywhere,
But the one thing,
To describe this place;
A stationary contraire.

 

ISA

Secrets

Hidden words,
In the masks of lies,
Things never what they seem,
Asked of one to others,
Fears being what they keep.

Why,

Is it so, so hard,
Not to tell the truth?
But to ask of another,
One not a brother,
Not to reveal your lies.

Under so many things,

He could reveal,
The truth hidden in the lies?
If not for a penny,
He would do a shimmy,
Why trust him with the truth?

But which secret are you trying to keep?

The political scandal at bay?
Or is it something more simple,
Like stealing a bale of - Hey(s)?!

ISA

Hope Eternal

Send me to a different dream,
Filled with lies,
And distant beliefs.
Bring me a sword,
To fill the lines,
And make absent our griefs.

I did not dispute,
The loss,
Or gain,
Of the eternal.
If my truth,
In my truth,
Disheartened,
Or obscured,
Your opinions,
Know that my lines,
Do not lie,
Nor breach the truth,
Of the fact that is,
Was or were.

Where I coincide,
Where I abide,
Whether I live and die,
Is my right to decide,
And shall not be disputed,
Save by me,
My thoughts,
And mine.

Hope is,
And always will be,
A once and future,
Eternity.
The dreams of those,
Who hope,
Who lie,
Who die,
May not be all the same.
But they are,
What they are.
Beautiful.

In my boredom,
Listening to my symphonies,
Dreaming of my anarchy,
My Apocalypse,
And Bellum,
Pestis,
Tabes,
And Mors,
I find that though,
While I may seem sickly,
Designed to be the picture of Insanity,
Viridi Irae,
I am who I am.
I am,
I am,
And always will be,
Always,
Be consumed by my darkness,
Consuming the darkness,
With my Fury.

ISA

The Giant and The Cliff

 

Lifted,

High on Ice,

Slippery Ground I'm on,

One false move,

And then I'll lose,

The safety of this cliff.

 

For at the bottom of this icy ledge,

Is an even worse-so fate,

For lo and behold,

I saw the spikes,

To impale me if I fall.

 

I stopped struggling,

To move ahead,

To best this cliff behind me.

For now I saw,

The giant's maw,

Above my path,

And in front of me.

"A tasty morsel I doth see."

The giant spoke above me.

"I think I see yon hungry sea,

Over there behind ye."

And as the giant pushed and pulled,

I decided,

I'd just stand still.


Well....This is one of my older works. It's one I've been meaning to translate unto a digital format, but I just haven't found a reason or the time to do so. Now that it is finally here, I hope you enjoy it.

ISA

Symposium of Boredom

....Now, while this isn't poetry, it is written in a format for entertainment. I do hope you take a look, at one of my brief short stories.


*****

                There isn't really a rule about boredom. No line so fine or debonair. It just appears. Brightly, gaily, greyly, as if the world itself has lost its color.

                The people it inflicts, with this sense, burn and age infinitely, but only in this spare moment. The oddity of these moments, while subtle, shows the true personalities of the people coping with this brief affliction. The rash, and unwise, urging to move, to explore, rise up and are agitated, while the truly old, in the moments of boredom, reflect upon their lives, find inspiration in the unique feeling, and are held in the silence by the urge to sleep.

                 Boredom finds the oddest things in people. From destruction, mayhem, and unruliness, to bone-wrenching  tiredness and depression. Boredom truly is the strangest illness I've ever faced. It is chronic, and untreatable, rends in waves, and in the rarest of moments, the stillness of boredom even kills.

                 Aye, even boredom kills, killing in the most supremely subtle of manners. The pervading sense of it, even briefly, turns full, grown men, and women, into the deadest of zombies. To others, boredom itself causes no harm. Instead, it brings the person's pains with it. Sorrow, depression, tiredness, and morality. The sheer crushing power of which can end a life. But still, with the pains, and horrors boredom brings, it also brings with it, light.

                Hope springs eternal, even boredom doesn't crush this fact. Instead, even with boredom, the writer's creativity flashes, with the feeling itself in their brain. The flavors, the colors, the madness, all boredom brings, transformed into art. Of the word, and the brush, of the pencil, and the pen, boredom brings it all. Even in the crushing apathy, boredom brings those translators of beauty something special.

                But…through it all…the boredom prevails. Nothing can stop it. Nothing can prevent it. Not even the melancholy, and the rage, and the sorrow. No happiness springs eternal. No luck is overfilling. Nothing is permanent, not even the scores of death. And I wish this wouldn’t be, but nothing is, and ever will be, as permanent, (in our minds that is), as our sense of boredom is, in that brief moment of time, of boredom.

ISA