I've written stories of fiction integrating the metaphysical, sagacious wisdom I've acquired in my 30+ years of study. I lean towards the unusual and enjoy fantasy, allegory and abstract prose rather than the more monotonous literary tale of predictable outcomes following straight story lines. As a result of my overzealous scrawls, I've managed to pen several poems. I am an eclectic poet not using the same formats for my numerous verses. I write as inspiration dictates, not really knowing how it will all turn out. I've climbed the scripted mountain and sometimes slid back down. More often than not, I've managed to struggle to the peak of the great bluff. When achieved, I relish the beautiful view and draw in a deep breath of braggadocio. I'm humbled by the scene and thus am inspired to climb once again the precipice of composition. Here is an excerpt of one of my aforementioned poems:
The iron gate
Who knew that a soul could choose
That a cemetery had color
Within its dreary gates
Inviting the mortal to visit the soul
The morning requests your presence
There is no backing out
To inhale the air so dense
Acknowledges your attendance
The rusty fence overlooks the nameless
The demons entrenched within
Suffering in mute silence
Seeking the company of souls
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3 comments:
I would love to read the rest of this poem!
Maybe, eventually I will post it. I wouldn't want someone to steal such great prose now would I? ;)
I promise I won't.
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