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Old 23rd November 2001, 04:28   #22
izchan
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Quote:
Originally posted by N e m e s s i s


To Not Feel
by John Loreth


I never thought it was circuitous,
onstage with a pen in place of a
tongue, contorting verse to veil its
significance. Suffering, faking, singing all
that’s erroneous until my lungs hold no air,
chocking on my own momentum.
Draped around me, an emotional impediment
clings to my shoulders like an old robe,
deflecting intermittent attempts at rescue,
empathy dangling like a rope thrown to the one
writhing at a well’s foundation.
There I undulate, flailing until the cold
penetrates, merges with what’s already erratic.
And on that stage I saunter from side to side,
front to back, ranting, piercing air with every
momentous message, finger slicing like a guillotine,
head estranged and with it all intelligence.
And I recite, lost in meaning

. . . How unfair that the truth was hidden,
faded, but never quite completely.
Then I press and it’s all laid upon me,
rupturing my single hope and dream. A
scavenger leech sucking, draining,
but the hemophiliac doesn’t die, the
parasite a monument to ineffectiveness . . .

The crowd cheers and claps upon the
curtain close, fabric isolating me, but
I can still hear them mumbling. Later they’ll
bow and rest their lips upon my feet
and remind me of just how disconnected
I’ve become;
talent not a gift but a plague.
This is so sad ... and it is so nicely done. An artist life in frustration. Hmm .. I hope I will not end up thinking like that someday.

Quote:
Originally posted by N e m e s s i s


Only Us
By John Loreth


I could spend years
tracing your footsteps and never lose
sight of their uniqueness.
Time is gathered like verse,
veiled and bound as is the rest, but somehow
more alive,
heart and soul forever reminded of the
implications. This stanza will join the
rest, singing sweetly in your testament as
memories recompile until they shine again.
It’s dreams of which I speak.
Truth is but a silhouette there;
I can have you like I’ve always wanted to:
lying forehead to forehead with my finger
crossing the majestic valleys of your lips,
grass prickling our sides, poking
like youth and pleading for attention.
But I have none to spare, it has
all be stolen by eyes and hair.
Lost in brown, tranced by a single wish
when finally lips unite, gently, slowly caressing
like my hand which has wondered to your neck.
Inhaling, exhaling; breathing
you in to show you how I feel inside.
And above a fugitive leaf breaks
free and flutters
from an oak, landing just beside us,
but we’ll never notice.
The world has moved on
leaving only us behind.

Time is gathered like verse,
veiled and bound as is the rest,
but somehow more alive,
heart and soul forever reminded of the implications.


This verse just hit a chord in my hear ... I can't help but shed a tear to its truth.

Thanks Nemesis .. for sharing ...

Sometimes it is just being me that counts
By: izchan
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