Lost since the day I was born
To neglect the winding shore
And rage war to every scorn,
Of destiny, once found
Of life, once lost!
Leap, Neglect the Madness Foretold!
Bold and young,
Teary eyed and thirsty,
Lingering across the depths
Of the summers cold.
A fearless voyager,
Never to be found again clinging,
In the same waters upbringing
Or in the same shipWith kneeling sails.
The tantrum of a melancholic love,
And the feverish dove,
The scent of haste and wisdom unfrostedB
ares it all in an emotions eternal fall.
A Life untarnished,
Untainted by the deceit of fate;
To desire, live and bid
Amidst of everything;
A purity beneath the flame
Or to claim a rendezvous of death.
Everything indeed... Just to find you.
I know that it is quite annoying to know that for some reason, I can never be so sure that somebody would read this. Some may call it a mess. But fate might anyhow pronounce me as the next Pablo Neruda. Who knows? Yes, my ultimate dream is to be a famous writer. And I can never be one unless somebody would dare to read my work. Can this be my step to have a nobel prize? All I can say is "who knows?"
trapped under the spell of love... how can I ever go away?
___
About Me
- The Heir Of The Overman
- I am a dreamer who does not exactly know what to dream of. Bounded by this confusing realm, I discovered that a little experience of today brings forth a vision of the next or of who I would want to be. It might sound a little awkward but even if I am on the twenty-first year of my existence, I still do not know how to make a straightforward answer to the silly childish question of what would I like to be when I grow up. I know that deep inside, I am a lonely man who only knows one thing and that presupposes a deep raging of war between happiness and sadness in my stupid and lonely heart. I know that I am very much a part of the entire history of things, that I am part of today but I do not want to be a corrosive part when today would already be referred to as yesterday, easily to be taken as something that would pass. I want to break free and spread my wings by making a difference. I am not a saint. I am just me, a weak and helpless being but still, there is much of me that should be given away, still much should be shared and I want to share it as long as I live. And only then I could tell myself what I really wanted, by making a difference.
And they look at me
... just like an ordinary traveller by the sidewalk of death
1 comment:
Well, writing a good poem like this is a promising start in your ambitions. I discovered your blog in March 2008. Who is to say others will not follow? Paul.
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