Valkyries on the wing
Thralls to hearts of stone
Resolve to which memories cling
Ecstasies bitter to the bone.
Time is fast, time brooks sloth
Time alone flies not
Valkyries nine, we shadow clouds
And take the brave who in battle rot.
The spawn of thought rises, rises
Ever nearer the sun
Twins born of wisdom ascend
Twin shrieks rise as one
Sisters draw a sister down
Wings bear down upon wings
Ascendant hope falls to earth
To the bowed keen of strings.
(more to come!)
[another work in progress. The title is German for “Night of the Valkyries”, a reference to Richard Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries (Ritt der Walküren). Let me know what you think in the comments.]
[I’d love to set it to music!]
[this might just be the beginning of an obsession with Scandinavian mythology :D]
[this is a poem I wrote. I set it to music, to a tune similar to that of “We Three Kings”. it’s a work in progress. I’m sorry about the capitalization.]
Sing, O sing, O daughters of youth
A song of welcome for a stranger unliked
A cloak, a scythe, a stare and a sigh
A hand that reaps the earth and the sky.
(more verses to come)
O behold him here, behold him alive
The roots, the embers an’ the ashes of time
Ever-vigilant, quietly triumphant
A ruler feared once, but never again.
[as I said, more verses are in the pipeline. Just wait till I get over with the exams ;) Oh, and be sure to tell me what you thought of this in the comments!]
[what would you say to a black metal version of this? with Emperor-esque spewed growls and all? :evilgrin:]
A light touch gives birth to a note
That sets as quickly as it rose.
A promise lies dead where fingers
Strike a chord and draw cruelly away.
Every now and then, the fingers
Descend in unison
As heralds of a newborn sun.
The drizzle that reverberates
Through His expansive halls
Is but the echo
Of the forgotten multitudes.
Aeons pass, and the melody awakes as if from a fabled slumber
An overarching joy
Breaks through the drone of the superfluous.
A deafening silence descends –
A silence that is but a prelude to a thundering epic
Its rhythm rising and falling in tandem
With His exquisitely choreographed chaos.
Then discord lets fall its precise fingers, slowly at first,
Adding to the music minute notes which are beautiful
Even in their dissonance
And but embellish His majestic harmony.
It is then that anarchy breaks through
Bringing an iron fist down
Obliterating every remnant of a melody that was supreme even a moment ago
Shattering all that was and all that could be.
Hallowed tears fall and serve only to moisten
The shattered ivory
Strewn over a newly-chequered floor.
[I wrote this poem last week. It envisions God as a pianist playing a never-ending melody that embodies all that is our world, and how He expresses His sorrow at the death of a great human being. The “eight” in the title is a reference to the number of octaves found on some of the better grand pianos.]
A streak of fire cleaves
The cerulean of the sky.
It suddenly cuts back
And arches up wide.
It shreds the heavens wide.
It spins round
And whistles down straight. Instantly
Two million souls are
Freed of their bonds
As night turns into day.
[another 2012 poem]
the cars honk
the lights flash
the refuse stinks
the flies hover
the mosquitoes bite
but he does not know
for he is
where the mind is afraid
and the head must not fly
where nothing is free
where the world is fractured and broken by the glory of barriers
where words have forgotten the depth of truth
where tireless defrauding stretches its arms towards perfection
where clear streams of reason are but superfluous and do not lead anywhere
where the mind is led forward – by the overarching ‘me’ – into ever-malevolent thought and action
what a heaven of freedom, my Father, into which my country awakes
[This poem is about an addict lost in a drug-induced slumber full of nightmares. It is largely a modification – gasp – of what is arguably Rabindranath Tagore’s most famous poem. Oh, and the picture is one of my favorite Edward Gorey works.]