I've been racking my head for the past couple of weeks trying to think of a cool way to portray a few verses. Now the usual blogger with the least bit of poetry in him would just write an entire poem, as lame as it may be, and make it revolve around the specific fragment that he considers the centerpiece. A more inspired one may simply pull out a non-lame piece of poetry, but then again, a more inspired poet would never find himself in such a predicament in the first place. If you haven't figured out by now, I don't fit into either of those categories. Truth is, I seldom find a category that can bear me and poetry really isn't my cup of tea. For some reason though I seem to feel like hitting the veil of existence with some simple verses and should your eyes just happen to be in the way, I should warn you, I will not be held responsible for loss of sight and/or pregnancy.
Ballad for a crimson heart
A mandrake's cry
Will always dye
A moonlit sky
in crimson
Yet few bards dare to sing
And thus their wisdom bring
To honor such self-sacrifice
Lest they should the wrath entice
of crimson
So forth they call
Such words to marvel all
Their tale to weave
Such swords to cleave
the crimson
And so they speak
Their litany strike deep
In ash, hellfire
Called out by Sire
by crimson
"In torment and in pain
With all your wealth and gain
You kings of old and new
Now kiss the cool earth's dew
with crimson
Both restless and amiss
You crawl through your abyss
Yet you will know no fear
When you hear Death's knell near
through crimson
For the glass may be broken
But the shards shall awoken
The sacred mandrake's tear
And your souls shall once more be clear
and crimson"
in crimson
Yet few bards dare to sing
And thus their wisdom bring
To honor such self-sacrifice
Lest they should the wrath entice
of crimson
So forth they call
Such words to marvel all
Their tale to weave
Such swords to cleave
the crimson
And so they speak
Their litany strike deep
In ash, hellfire
Called out by Sire
by crimson
"In torment and in pain
With all your wealth and gain
You kings of old and new
Now kiss the cool earth's dew
with crimson
Both restless and amiss
You crawl through your abyss
Yet you will know no fear
When you hear Death's knell near
through crimson
For the glass may be broken
But the shards shall awoken
The sacred mandrake's tear
And your souls shall once more be clear
and crimson"
Meaning? Who knows, who cares? You read poetry looking for meaning? What do you hope to find? Some absolute truth? Some hidden easter-egg? The name of your one true love? It holds none of those. It holds nothing. It holds void.
You see, poetry is like and empty vase, the poet only builds the shape. It's you who puts the flowers in. So I'm sorry to disappoint but there's nothing in a poem except for what you place there the first time you read it...
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