Tag: Rhythm

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Ensouls the Wraith

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Out to pasture,
these weary eyes.
No more a master,
of bidden disguise.

When of fate we think,
or the fruit of Knowledge seek,
to satiate or drink,
we recognize the meek.

Inherit wisdom,
a fist to raise when,
enthralled by freedom,
controlled by a wasteful then.

Violence abhorred,
a beast unbidden,
peace had soared,
but never been ridden.

Masks of faith,
unruly with hate,
ensouls the wraith,
whom did the dove, decapitate.

Mongering fear,
missing their prophet,
a silent tear,
they’ve all but forgot it.

Should history again come to pass,
know you are not the last,
to shed grief from Man’s outcast.
You’ve only the Earth as your lass.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Encompassed in Rain

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

It’s begun to rain,
the first drops of change,
and here I sit,
ever in chains.

Then, something new
calls out to claim
closer now I am,
to the source of pain.

Without regret
I dodge shame.
Though I never forget,
myself, I do remain.

While the thunder rolls,
out across the plain.
The drops are larger,
of fresh refrain.

Here I can become,
that beyond name.
So here I sit,
encompassed in rain.

All things succumb,
In gentle May repose
All with rule of thumb,
the meek shall ever row.

For them I say this:
never falter on the path,
nor lose sight of the math,
return in time to that past;
the deepening rain,
and literature of last.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: The Elder Three

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

One of three,
the elder race,
are you happy,
in this place?

Was it how,
you were born,
into this world,
broken and torn
as the men blew,
the war’s horn?

Or did you come
to love’s embrace,
to hide from us,
your eternal face?

Was it your choice,
to be scorned,
ripped from time,
by the hallow formed?

Did it call to you,
god-like, unarmed?
Tell me now,
my love be warmed.

Is it you alone,
that lit the fires,
of earth and men,
and hatred’s pyres?

Was it the other two,
of your station,
that then flew,
from Earth’s libations?

I listen, hear,
but with fear,
for a dying breath,
of my only dear.
Always to learn,
never to steer,
though I wish
with all my tears.

Gentle three,
the elder race,
what have you done,
to this place?

We’ve no more food,
left to brood,
with bloody death,
our only mood.

What compulsion,
of yours awaits?
Fulfillment from torture?
Our only fates?

One of three,
the elder race,
you’ve known nothing,
but your place.
So here is man,
in his own space,
leave us be,
return to grace.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Come in, Come in

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Come in here for a moment,

let me show you what goes on:

 

Flashes of pain,

Death and dying.

Rebirth in flame.

Ascent or crashing–

choose the name.

 

Deeper now.

In you come.

 

Memories,

of anger and greed,

abandoned hope,

in time with need.

Restless peace,

For the deadened weed.

 

Now that you’re in,

here’s a spin:

it’s all misrepresented,

in situation.

 

Open mind.

Formal lies,

of a casual kind.

Your worthless tries,

never remind.

 

Do you sense,

a misguided presence?

Are you certain,

of the vessel’s proud curtain?

 

When you leave,

please wipe your feet.

For the outside is clean,

but in here you’re beat.

 

It is my place of honor,

neither death nor defeat,

I’ve brought it upon her,

But you’ll forever repeat.

Lines of cries and pleas, and hate,

To topple me is no small feat.