Thread: A Poem Thread

  1. #1361
    Quote Originally Posted by SciWriter View Post

    A tale I’ve written, invented, yes, hence,
    An attempt to unite the Christian pense
    With the non-belief, in a middle ground,
    Somewhere between mystery and good sense:

    With flora mystical and magical,
    Eden’s botanical garden was blest,
    So Eve, taking more than just the Apple,
    Plucked off the loveliest of the best.

    Thus it’s to Eve that we must give our thanks
    For Earth’s variety of fruits and plants,
    For when she was out of Paradise thrown,
    She stole all the flowers we’ve ever known.

    Therewith, through sensuous beauty and grace,
    Eve with Adam brought forth the human race,
    But our world would never have come to be,
    Had not GOD allowed them HIS mystery,

    For when they were banished from HIS bosom,
    Eve saw more than just the Apple Blossom,
    And took, on her way through Eden’s bowers,
    Many wondrous plants and fruitful flowers.

    Mighty GOD, upon seeing this great theft,
    At first was angered, but soon smiled and wept,
    For human nature was made in HIS name—
    So HE had no one but HIMSELF to blame!

    But still HE made ready HIS thunderbolt,
    As HIS Old Testament wrath cast its vote
    To end this experiment gone so wrong—
    And then HE felt the joy of life’s new song.

    Eve had all the plants that she could carry—
    GOD in HIS wisdom grew uncontrary.
    Out of Eden she waved the flowered wands,
    The seeds spilling upon the barren lands.

    GOD held the lightning bolt already lit,
    No longer knowing what to do with it,
    So HE threw it into the heart of Hell,
    Forming of it a place where all was well.

    Thus the world from molten fire had birth,
    As Hell faded and was turned into Earth.
    This HE gave to Adam and Eve with love,
    For them and theirs to make a Heaven of.

    From HIS bolt grew the Hawthorn and Bluebell,
    And HE be damned, for Eve stole these as well!
    So HE laughed and pretended not to see,
    Retreating into eternity.

    “So be it,” HE said, when time was young,
    “That such is the life MY design has wrung,
    For in their souls some part of ME has sprung—
    So let them enjoy all the songs I’ve sung.

    “Life was much too easy in Paradise,
    And lacked therefore of any real meaning,
    For without the lows there can be no highs—
    All that remains is a dull flat feeling!

    “There’s no Devil to blame for their great zest—
    This mix of good and ‘bad’ makes them best!
    The human nature that lets them survive,
    Also makes them feel very much alive.

    “That same beastful soul that makes them glad
    Does also make them seem a little bad.
    If only I could strip the wrong from right,
    But I cannot have the day without the night!”

    So it was that with fertile delight Eve
    Seeded the lifeless Earth for us to receive.
    Though many flowers she had to leave behind,
    These we have from the Mother of Mankind:

    Eve gathered the amiable Jasmine,
    Which soft exhales its breath of friendship, and,
    By a delicious fragrance in the night,
    Overpowers the stars with its sweet delight.

    The Jasmine impregnates the dew each night
    With its friendly perfume of good and right;
    Thus morning’s incense carries its odour,
    Keeping everyone in fresh good humor.

    Love’s first emotion comes from the Lilac,
    For it blooms when Nature is first aroused;
    Yes, it’s love’s youngest dream to us come back,
    Where it will ne’er again remain unspoused.

    When Thyme she sowed, the bees came all abuzz,
    And all around it flew their dance of love.
    So now we know that those who would savor
    The sweets of love mustn’t neglect the flower.

    Camphire, the scent of Paradise, inspires,
    Reminding us to what our soul aspires,
    As spontaneous desires overspill
    To tell us of duties we must fulfill.

    Daffodils, arranged in their elfin way,
    Wear their yellow skirts, like Fairies’ Dresses,
    And brighten, through the spirit light of morn,
    Into the fuller radiance of day.

    Butterflies come to life in Pansies’ psyches,
    Embodied by extension into flight.
    They’re flowers floating on the air, propelled,
    Leaving shadow prints behind on the petals.

    The air fills with Honeysuckles’ scented nets,
    From fairies blowing those honey trumpets.
    There they sow vermilion red Geraniums,
    That grow wild into many countless sums.

    The Golden-Throated Lilies sing at morn;
    Maiden Flower blushes, its pureness reborn;
    There, galaxies of Sunflowers sway,
    Echoing the luminosity of day.

    She picked some Dandelions ripe enough
    To have gone from gold to just so much fluff,
    Reminding us, when soft blown with a puff,
    That time will spread us, too, amid the dust.

    Chrysanthemums drink the mellow day;
    Falling petals carry the light away.
    The autumn fog enswirls, the mist upcurls;
    Into nothingness the wisp slow unfurls.

    Woodbine wets the air with its cooling musk;
    Bluebells herald the dim and dewy dusk
    And ring the dance and song of evening knells,
    Music tinkling in fairy festivals.

    The Evening Primrose only in the night
    Opens its cup to drink-in the moonlight,
    Then gazes round with silent love and smiles,
    Much as we would upon a sleeping child.

    Its phosphorescent light guides the flight
    Of the flying creatures that love the night.
    It looks the swelling moon straight in the sight
    As they make love in the haunt of midnight.

    Pearly Everlasting, frozen in time
    By Eve’s purity, survives cold and rime—
    It’s a bit of Heaven come to our clime,
    Where it still ignores the knell of Death’s chime.

    With willowy grace, Eve fished with vines—
    And the Willow yet throws out her lines
    As drooping branches that fill the streams
    With tears for flowers that we’ve never seen.

    The innocent Daisy, or the “day’s eye”,
    Is a lot like the sun—it cannot die;
    It far outlasts every other flower,
    Shining even when the sun has no power.

    Arbutus, too, whose fruits and flowers of
    Grew together in inseparable love,
    Eve took along with her as Heaven’s boon
    When she felt the kiss of the rising moon.

    Out of God’s thunderbolt grew the Hawthorn
    On that day when man and Earth were born.
    Its snowy blossoms of hope and union
    Gave this blesséd world its first communion.

    The fleecy Hawthorn sheds its summer snow
    To remind us of our birth so long ago—
    So Joseph’s Hawthorn staff along the way
    Still blooms in winter on Christmas Day.

    Hawthorn once was known by the name of May,
    Its thorns by then having been bred away.
    Thus for it the children went a-maying,
    And built the maypole, all around it playing.

    But the calendar was set back twelve days,
    So Mayday was no more! But, memory stays,
    And the Queen of Blossom’s day is made
    When writers and lovers seek out her shade.

    Ever, the immortal Periwinkle,
    Which, like the winter stars that twinkle,
    Spreads through the snow its glossy flowers,
    To remind us of the spring’s sunny hours.

    Though laughing with all the smiles she wore,
    Eve now more serious her burden bore
    When she brought forth the mournful Asphodel,
    Dedicating it to the souls of Hell.

    The Asphodel sustains the Dis dwellers,
    Where they rest beyond that fatal river—
    There the wretched shades drink forgetfulness,
    And to oblivion sink without distress.

    Fireweed grows from Hell’s sulfurous embers,
    As does Purple Loosestrife—dead men’s fingers;
    But wildflower air revives the dead—and then
    Those happy souls can thrive on Earth again.

    Quick sprout the Buttercups, all bright and new,
    Goblets from which the fairies drink the dew.
    From the Eglantine springs poetry’s power—
    It’s the only way to describe this flower!

    The Heliotrope turns towards the sun,
    Closely tracking its path throughout the day,
    But when clouds appear or when day is done,
    It forgets about the sun and looks away.

    Eve brought the Magnolia’s magnificence,
    The playful Hyacinth in its sprightly dance,
    And Marigolds that follow the summer lost,
    Enduring well into the final frost.

    From the Poppy we gain full sensation,
    Elation, and oblivion’s consolation;
    When life’s miserable pain is too deep,
    It simulates death with a balmy sleep.

    Growing in the cold, near the leafless trees,
    Snowdrop bells ring out for friends in need;
    They bring hearty hopes to those with hardships—
    Icicles changed to flowers by friendships.

    Eve carried forth Forget-Me-Not bouquets
    That sprouted fast wherever heroes fell;
    They bring back all of the happiest days
    To sound in our hearts as memory’s bell.

    Holly, the harbinger of spring desires,
    Blooms all winter long, and with hope inspires
    Our cold and dreary hearts to chime and ring
    With good cheer and love for everything.

    Eve took poisonous Foxglove and Nightshade
    To balance with woe the good that she gave,
    Offset by Amaranth, which, if kept in shade,
    Would not, even after death, ever fade.

    And for the romantic art, Cupid’s Dart,
    To spur men and women to make their move.
    Connected by Nature’s arrow of love,
    They deep impart the passion of the heart.

    And Coral Bells, rung by bees and hum-birds—
    A melody of tones without the words,
    And airy sprays of frothy Baby’s Breath—
    Gurgling with all that’s much too sweet to purge.

    Here, sweet spikes of aromatic Lavender—
    Ready potpourri from Heaven’s splendor,
    As all around lay the symbolic flowers
    That soft drowse our spirits into slumber.

    Yet more we know, from myth, lore, and legend,
    Of flowers that gemmed the fields of Eden,
    And from symbols and wisdom handed down
    Through oral tradition in floral towns.

    Wherever Eve breathed, sprung floral dreams;
    Ever she walked, followed water in streams;
    ’Ere she wept, tears bedewed the Earth in bloom—
    A Cedar tree even grew from her tomb.

    So, “dead” flowers are reborn by Spring’s breath—
    An ethereal floral wonderland
    Of everlasting recollections, and,
    Some even retain their color after death,

    Like Amaranth, as mentioned earlier,
    Or Lasting Beauty, whose secret elixir
    Grants us flowers red through a year of days—
    Oh but that life and love would never fade!

    Or Cedar, “life from the dead”, the emblem
    Of eternity and preservation
    Used for mummy cases and carved figures
    That last forever: immortal rigor.

    Tracking Eve’s trail throughout the ageless years,
    We find Lady’s Slippers, Lady’s Fingers,
    And Lady’s Smock—all parts of Madonna,
    Her whole self, in fact, in Belladonna.

    She wore a chaplet of sweetening buds
    That burst in bloom when fed by air and mud,
    And a garland of sprouts to strew about,
    With a rosary of shoots to put out.

    She scattered a Fern’s seed at midnight’s peal,
    To ask that treasures of the Earth would reveal:
    The flowers of woods, waysides, and shorelines—
    All remembered by florigraphic signs.

    Eve planted the Tree of Life, from which we
    Could obtain lumber, fuel, and homes, for free,
    Plus weapons, wood, tools, food, and medicine—
    And mold the Earth into a place we could live in.

    And Clover bushes, the haunt of the bee,
    Bamboo grass, too, for home and social need,
    And Lumeria, whose transparent seed
    Looks much like the moon in all honesty.

    Continual Morning-Glories each dawn
    Guarantee that day will always come on.
    Bindweed and Honeysuckle yet entwist
    To tell us that lovers will ever persist.

    The melancholy Thistle is a cure
    For the blues when taken with wine that’s pure.
    Chicory, in blossoms maroon is clad,
    Its young and tender leaves used for salad.

    Eve gave freshness, fragrance, to the Lily,
    And seized Hemlock, the Devil’s property,
    Left us Hawkweed to clear the sight and wits,
    And brought Hellebore to purge evil spirits.

    The Hawthorn, here yet again, blooms redux,
    Like Blackthorn in Christ’s crown, as thorns do,
    Or as wood of the true cross where HE died—
    All seem to miraculously multiply!

    Eve’s saplings drank of the Earth’s gushing breast
    And produced the primeval forest.
    Somewhere this secret wood remains, unguessed,
    The place where all man’s sorrows come to rest.

    Life is a flower whose leaf is summer green,
    Whose spring was purple passion Eglantine.
    Although fall’s second spring may intervene,
    The frost at last is the winter seen.

    All Earthly pleasures dear to us Eve brought,
    Provided by the Master’s afterthought:
    Honey, juices, syrups—all hand wrought,
    Nuts, berries, and fruits—nothing went for naught.

    Eden’s sinful Apple, the cause of it,
    Made for harsh apple cider, but, when it
    Was heated with sulfurous brimstone it
    Soon turned smooth, the Hell taken out of it!

    The Clematis, with its clinging habit,
    Makes shade of Travelers Joy at inn porches
    For wayfarers wearied, warm, or unfit;
    Its leaves are the clouds, its fruit: star torches.

    From Quinine, medicine that could relieve;
    Of Citron, cure for snakebite—death’s reprieve;
    The Ginseng refreshes memory’s streams,
    Calms the passions, and begets pleasant dreams.

    Basil Leaf is a ticket to rapture,
    Passion Flower, to atonement—a day-star,
    And Yew, the oldest living thing on Earth,
    Yet remains alive—six thousand years worth.

    The Trefoil, for love, heroism, and wit,
    Grants power over banshees of moor and pit,
    Who would steal the soul, and against all snakes
    Poisonous—they scuttle into the lakes!

    Edelweiss, a white flower most gallant,
    Is the heart left by an angel visitant.
    Mistletoe lends a green indoor refuge
    For the wintering spirits of the wood.

    The dusk deepens, night’s pot of tea steepens;
    Silence descends, as when a gift opens;
    Eventide rises. On high, Orion camps.
    Our eyes catch stars like fireflies in lamps.

    Our shadows are touching, in the same shade—
    We embody, in third dimension made;
    We kiss, drift, cross into each other’s role;
    Spirits open—rainbows meld in the soul.

    If Nightshade you eat, you’ll become as so
    And can see the ghosts, shades, and dark shadows
    Of those who came before our humankind,
    Those whose spirit-worlds overlap the mind.

    The Tuberose, too, a dangerous pleasure,
    Even when taken in but small measure:
    Its exquisite scent has such great power
    That it can wither you within the hour.

    What’s that? Phantoms that are but a glimmer
    Of the life and light of some halfway scene;
    Of beings twixt man and angel—they shimmer,
    As one might remember them from a dream.

    They, cupid like, are the souls of flowers,
    And wear petal cloaks, and have wings that blur;
    They sleep in Cowslips, where, with childhood’s ear,
    You, listening, all their music can hear.

    They’re sylphs, tree spirits, wood folk, and fays
    Gathered in posies of living bouquets;
    Knowing well the language of the flowers,
    They bestow their favors on the growers.

    There’s a tunnel back to Eden’s Garden,
    A funnel, really—our small end open,
    And through this fairyland we’ll return, free,
    To hang Adam’s Apple back on the tree.

    Sprites shadowed Adam’s Eve throughout the land,
    The seeds sprouting everywhere by their hand,
    The growth blessed by a pixie’s twinkling wand
    That showered the plants with a fine dewy sand.

    The naiads, too, spread germinating seeds,
    Among them these many blossoming deeds:
    Perpetual-Flowering Carnations,
    And, sparkling Buttercup potions, as in

    The silken saucers for Hollyhock tea,
    In which a child would capture the wild bee
    To hear the aggravated buzz, in play,
    Then, unstung, free the bee to fly away.

    The Elves grew Basil, Wolf’s-Bane, Cucumber,
    Cinquefoil, Meadow-Saffron, and Germander,
    Even Gillyflower and Primroses,
    To which the fays gave their dewy kisses.

    Cotton grew, woven by the wee people
    Into clothes, with a whirling spinning wheel,
    Whose spindle was the stinger of a bee,
    Weavings that surpassed the spider’s best web.

    Fireflies followed, and lit the way for the
    Little weavers who were chased by jealous
    Spiders—the folk hid in a Cotton ball,
    The spider finding nothing there at all.

    The weed flowers came, marking autumn’s track,
    The blossoms that almost brought the spring back,
    But—winter’s white death wrap was drawn over,
    Smothering the earth’s last warm sweet odour.

    Such then, comes the end of summer’s dreams,
    The blanching of the grassy banks of streams,
    But all fragrances the elves remember
    Through their sleep during the winter embers.

    Youth and Beauty made agèd Winter mourn
    For Summer’s grain—the waving wheat and corn;
    For Old Autumn, withered, wan, had passed on,
    Leaving the earth a widow, weather worn.

    The blossoms fall, showers of fragrant beauty,
    As leaves fade while the bulbs store up energy;
    Faeries’ floral dreams grant this destiny,
    For these leavings enrich earth’s potpourri.

    Flowers lay their heads to sleep in soft beds,
    Blanketed by webs of gossamer threads;
    The fairy creatures cast their spectral glow,
    As winter stars—floral twins—start to grow.

    Later, when surely all the world is dead,
    A fairy stands atop Old Winter’s grave
    And says “’tis not dead”, and, by magic bred,
    Makes Snowdrops flower in the tomb’s heat wave.

    Winter Aconite, an early flower,
    Grows even under the season’s dim power—
    Soon its bright corollas far out-splendor
    The winter sun’s pale and paltry color.

    Nymphs slide from their cocoons, their pinions
    Yet wrapped and wet, then breathe the earthy air
    That calls them forth into life’s dominion
    To fly and flutter in flux, here and there.

    Flowers spring from the footfalls of a lass—
    Foliage withers where evil spirits pass;
    But where unknown colors shine, fairies mass,
    And drink the twilight dew off of the grass.

    The elves blow their pipes to awaken
    Nature’s Flora, that her step may quicken—
    And from these odours memories recur
    As we’re given back our youth of summer.

    The blooms are a crimson mist, in green blade,
    Through yellow air, beyond a deep blue shade;
    A white mist drifts through azure skies, bade
    Toward purple mountains—fragrance of the glade.

    In the spirit world, the grass is greener,
    The hearts redder, and the passions pinker—
    Orange, Cherry, and Violet are planted colors,
    And twixt blue and green falls a new tincture.

    Petunias grow wherever rainbows touch,
    Their colors vibrant, a bouquet, as such,
    Of rays that make the flowers glow so much:
    Heaven’s prismatic radiance, life’s clutch.

    Love is reason enough for its giving,
    As beauty is its own excuse for being;
    The doing of good becomes its own reward,
    And the truth does best define its meaning.

    In the luminous backwood haunts, night plants
    Are seen growing fast from the touch of nymphs:
    Fairy’s Frocks, made of elfin sowing—of
    Heart-halves of Lady’s Lockets joined in love.

    At night, Tulip lamps light the lover’s gate,
    As Hollyhock torches illuminate;
    The secret hollows glow from Crocuses,
    For they’re cups of sunlight stored for muses.

    At woodland’s edge, wee folk leave sentinels,
    The Bugle flowers, to announce to dells
    The entrance of lovers into the wood,
    So all can enjoy the amorous mood.

    Wherever the elves themselves have romance,
    Wild Pansies, known as Jump-Up-and-Kiss-Me,
    Spring from the power of their loving dance—
    Emanations from the sprites’ imagery.

    The eyes love to rest on the sky of blue
    While Eve upon the greensward smiles at you—
    A new life colors the world in between
    Devils and Angels: Earth’s human pristine.

    Eve set tufts of Anemones, fully blown,
    Ever after given as the wind’s own,
    And vines, wreathing and twining, overgrown,
    And odoriferous blooms in bunches sown.

    Across the lea and on the moor she shows.
    Along the lane and through woodland meadows,
    Eve—Mother Nature—yet lives in boughs
    And thickets, still imparting all she knows.

    Some flowers close, protecting their pollen
    By “sleeping”, some at morn, some at even,
    Some at other flower-clock hours—somewhen;
    And some, like Jewelweed, never open.

    The glowworms, fairy stars come down to ground,
    Gleam the shadowy woods through summer’s round;
    Then fall’s leaves flutter through the quiet air,
    The autumn being the sunset of the year.

    Brown is Death’s coloring of all that grows,
    So—faeries don’t allow it in their rainbows;
    But beyond the spectrum, where we can’t see,
    New hues paint their phantom activity.

    Elves find Venus shining in broad daylight,
    Knowing where to look as if it were night,
    Then follow her as the evening star,
    Till with her fiery lover she takes flight.

    Just before dawn, amid the dew and moss,
    Elves ride on a moonbeam made of Bugloss,
    And see the North Star and the Southern Cross
    In the same sky, ’most all the way across.

    Now the Earth is very old, but each spring it
    Turns young again when nature reinvents it,
    Constructing the Temple of Flora outside,
    In desert, field, wetland, woodland, and wayside.

    Spring had kissed the earth, leaving flowers there,
    Like those whose perfume first scented virgin air,
    As again, the fragrant glen, in Heaven’s prayer,
    Hailed Earth’s anniversary with flowers fair.

    Slake love’s thirst in life’s earthly endeavor
    Near a stream where wildflowers grow forever.
    Flowers influence our feelings—deep they roam:
    Flora’s fairest flowers compose Heaven’s poem.

    The pure white flowers of Paradisea grow
    Only within the sub-alpine meadow,
    Not to mention Sundrop, Saffron, Twinflower,
    Pomander, and a thousand other flowers.

    For supper, Eve savored salad made from
    Thyme, Mallow, Bibleleaf, and Sugarplum,
    All edible and flavorful flowers,
    Mixed with Chervil, Lovage, and Sunflower.

    The Lavender, Rosemary, and Sage all
    Release fragrance when crushed by a footfall,
    So herbs are strewn on floors to clean and scent—
    Odoured ornaments preventing aliments.

    Early Sage, before it became dilute,
    Kept man immortal—an ever-green root.
    Though now diminished in its once great power,
    It still keeps us healthful in summer’s bower.
    The Crown Imperial refused to hang
    Its head at the foot of the cross, so vain
    And proud in its majestic reign—so now,
    Its petals must droop and weep nectar rain.

    Heaven’s patron of arts, grace, and license,
    Left us sweet-smelling plants, with flowered scents
    And aromas redolent—florescence
    In flush and prime of days reminiscent.

    Blooms have eternal life in Heaven’s glade,
    An ethereal floral wonderland
    Of everlasting recollections—
    Oh, but that mortal life would never fade!

    When Eden fell, all elfin creatures, too,
    Were loosed with Eve into the world anew.
    They’re tenders of the precious flowers few,
    Of the flora that in the Garden grew.

    There! What uncanny things flock, in between,
    Unknown in the shadows, there but unseen?
    They’re dream-visions—completing the triad of
    Earth’s Heavenly things, with flowers and love.

    Breathe flowered air and you’ll never know death,
    Your incarnate life an eternal wreath.
    Breathe ambrosial incense, balm, and spice
    Of flowers as fragrant as a Fairy’s breath.

    Eve’s elves gave us the taste of Strawberry,
    The messages of the Honeysuckle,
    The signals of Wisteria, and the once
    Neglected memories of Rosemary—

    And the sweet breath of purple Violets
    As the enamored voice of rivulets,
    And Scarlet Pimpernels, that, aft nice days pass,
    Enfold—they are the poor man’s weather-glass!

    And brilliant clumps of Blue Delphiniums,
    Soft Irises and sharp Nasturtiums,
    Dewy-eyed Pensings, velvet smooth and dear,
    And Lilies of the Valley—they’re Eve’s tears.

    Eve carried Myrtle, too, meaning perfume,
    To rouse Beauty from her watery tomb:
    Myrtilla rose from the sea in old Greece,
    Adding Myrtle sprigs to their laurel wreath;

    The arts were first born from the Acanthus,
    In the wreaths of it made at tournaments—
    They’re engraved in the columns of Corinth
    As Greek architectural ornaments.

    Vervain, too, with the power that enchants—
    That brings on visions of a sweet romance,
    Gathered as Druids did, by inner sight,
    When Sirius rose against a moonless night.

    Orange Blossoms are generosity’s shower,
    Being at once fruit, foliage, and flower.
    They bear the legendary apples golden—
    Often guarded by a ne’er-sleeping dragon.

    For remembrance, Eve brought us Rosemary,
    The Lily, too, white for its purity,
    And the Tulip, which does declare its love
    By the truth which it is the beauty of.

    But all the flowers mentioned herein above
    Would not have made this life worthy of,
    So Eve took the Rose—the bloom of love,
    Right under the eyes of Heaven above.

    The Rose was pure white when it first was born,
    Until she kissed it with her ruby lips—
    Or ’came it red when Venus fell on a thorn,
    Rushing to the aid of struck Adonis?

    Or did the Rose sprout forth, all fully blown,
    From the heart of a Goddess, do you think?
    Or was it out of Cupid’s nectar grown,
    When he poured to Earth that Heavenly drink?

    Or when the nightingale, with hope forlorn,
    Overpowered by the Rose’s perfume,
    Impaled himself in love upon her thorn,
    Then revived in the beauty of the bloom?

    With the Rose the Earth is rich forever—
    It’s born from spring’s dying kiss to summer;
    It wears all the gems that the dew has wreathed,
    Blooming wherever summer’s breath has breathed.

    The winds make love to the flowers of May—
    The woods burst with the joy of Eve’s bouquet!
    Like Flora, we, too, from Eden have come—
    From all that’s gone before, we are the sum.

    Now Heaven’s favors are spread all around,
    For the flowers, fully blossomed and grown,
    Wave and smile as miracles from the ground—
    Reminding us all of what love has sown.

    I enjoy your writing,

    Lol I thought it was never going to end, I kept scrolling down thinking hmm its just not going to end is it.


  2. #1362
    Valued Senior Member SciWriter's Avatar
    Glad you liked it, Chi. Adam, Eve, God, and the Garden of Eden were but literary devices.

    Elfin Legends and The Lore and Legends of the Colors will eventually complete the trilogy.

  3. #1363

    Apprentice to Master

    You thought you were in-fact teaching the student,
    Un-Aware of the Grass-hopper Concealing it's Movement.

    He infiltrated your Brother-Hood already knowing the score.
    He Never swore The Oath, Using his Art-of-War.

    He swore Covenants with The Most-High Before Jumping on-board,
    It was written In Malachi have you not yet read them all.

    From Lodge to Lodge, Land to Land, Masonic halls I sometimes Stand.
    My Degree is above Thirty Three, the Elder tried to shake my Hand.

    His Grip was weak, I Pinned Thumb to palms cheek and said do you not Over-Stand?,
    Look into my eyes and see the World for He is above Man.

  4. #1364
    Line up your Formations, Muster The Cavalry,
    Lay down Intel on Opperations, Assemble The Infantry,

    Psy-Ops and Espionage will Inform the scout Party Telepathicaly,
    Tragedy and Savagery, We must Breach Defences of the Enemy.

    What Troops Do I have to Salute?,
    I use Lightning Bolts From Zues to Spit-Shine My Tabi Boots.

    Aloof Upon Roof-tops, the Lone Shinobi Glides Between Gun-Shots


    The sound of a Pin Drops, The Twist Of the Plot Stops.

    Vanquishing evil Wandering Ronin jinn , Slaying Dragons from Omens of Odin.

  5. #1365

    The Will of the Living

    O` Blade of grass why do you grow?,
    O` Shade of Darkness why do you glow?.

    Lovers Unite into Blossoms of Children,
    Spirits Ignite into Twin Flames of Kindred.

    O` Fair Maiden why do you Dream `Carnival's of Romance?.
    O` Young Princess why are you drawn to that `Which Enchants?.

    Winds and the Waters, they Sweep away Daughters,
    Swim's and dance's upon the Jasmine petals Laughters.

    O` Man of Righteous hands, why do you fight evil where-ever you stand?.
    O` Young Prince of the lands, why do you save her from Thieving Bands?.

    The Will Of His Majesty Is Written In Lifes Tapestry.

  6. #1366
    Valued Senior Member SciWriter's Avatar
    Good one, Chi, with the "Blossoms of children" and all—very flowery.

  7. #1367
    Quote Originally Posted by SciWriter View Post
    Good one, Chi, with the "Blossoms of children" and all—very flowery.
    Lol, I try to write so all types of people can enjoy. I like Young boys and Girls to be able to understand the Jist of it, not just for Learned adults to understand.

    Knowledge is for all.


  8. #1368
    Using Prayers I purify myself,
    Perfume oils from my potion shelf,

    Align the Chakras before I delve,
    Using seals of the Most high to dispel.

    Jinn-spirits Walk, the Earth do they sail,
    They don’t roam around beneath the depths of Hell.

    Wizards challenge me in the astral dojo,
    Sorcerers Ambush me when traveling solo.

    A Tempest once Sent a Temptress to intoxicate my senses,
    My defences were offensive,
    Surely my adversaries saw my style was perfected.
    I spared their lives so they retreated and hastily projected.

    The Mage transformed into a Rage of Purple Haze,
    it fragmented into Rain that got away for her to conjure another day.

  9. #1369
    Be kind to yourself always. cosmictraveler's Avatar
    "Lose Yourself"

    Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
    To seize everything you ever wanted-One moment
    Would you capture it or just let it slip?

    His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
    There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
    He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs,
    but he keeps on forgettin what he wrote down,
    the whole crowd goes so loud
    He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out
    He's choking now, everybody's joking now
    The clock's run out, time's up over, bloah!
    Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity
    Oh, there goes Rabbit, he choked
    He's so mad, but he won't give up that
    Easy, no
    He won't have it , he knows his whole back's to these ropes
    It don't matter, he's dope
    He knows that, but he's broke
    He's so stagnant that he knows
    When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's
    Back to the lab again yo
    This this whole rhapsody
    He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him

    You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
    You own it, you better never let it go
    You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
    This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo

    The soul's escaping, through this hole that it's gaping
    This world is mine for the taking
    Make me king, as we move toward a, new world order
    A normal life is boring, but superstardom's close to post mortem
    It only grows harder, only grows hotter
    He blows us all over these hoes is all on him
    Coast to coast shows, he's know as the globetrotter
    Lonely roads, God only knows
    He's grown farther from home, he's no father
    He goes home and barely knows his own daughter
    But hold your nose 'cause here goes the cold water
    His hoes don't want him no more, he's cold product
    They moved on to the next schmoe who flows
    He nose dove and sold nada
    So the soap opera is told and unfolds
    I suppose it's old partner but the beat goes on
    Da da dum da dum da da


  10. #1370
    Valued Senior Member SciWriter's Avatar

    In the nether world, I learned the lore and
    Legends of the colors, of their uses
    In nature and emotions, the whatfor
    Of their light’s glowing activity:

    All color variants, quite numberless,
    Are made from the three primaries, no less;
    Namely: red, yellow, and blue—often backed
    By colorless white tinges or shades of black.

    From just these three essential hues derives
    All of heaven’s prismatic radiance,
    Myriad colors of floral brilliance,
    And technicolors that come so alive.

    The offspring of married red and yellow
    Is the secondary, orange, a bright fellow;
    Its sibling, of blue and yellow, is green,
    With, of course, some gradation in between.

    Saintly brother purple, twixt reds and blues,
    Completes the second generation hues.
    Next to arrive, lime-green, is a grandchild,
    As are all the tertiary colors wild—

    They’re crimson, magenta, maroon, scarlet,
    Amber, auburn, salmon, ocher, russet,
    Mauve, taupe, fuchsia, cherry, cerise, umber,
    Teal, emerald, and vermilion others.

    Strangely enough, all the color-pairs
    That symbolize seasons and festive fairs
    As they’re found naturally in nature’s ways,
    Do contrast on the color wheel, crossways:

    Direct opposites on the color wheel,
    Sky-blue and leafy-orange, represent fall,
    For they are autumn’s contrasting colors
    That quite up for its lack of flowers.

    As with crocus, spring’s floral colors yet
    Remain yellow primrose, purple violet—
    The sensual sun, as it were, warming
    The virginal earth, with love, into spring.

    The Christmas Holiday Season is “seen”
    In its opposing hues of red and green—
    As in Holly, berry-red, ever-green,
    Or in Poinsettias’ red flush, leaf of green.

    We’re out of diametric color sets,
    So, which for summer? It must then contain
    The entire spectrum, as these the sunset
    And the rainbow express, in shine and rain.

    Since winter’s snow hides all things out of sight,
    Its colors are hidden inside white—and night,
    The cold season’s symbols, for they conceal
    All of spring and summer’s bright floral feel.

    For that as different as day and night,
    We have the twin-opposites: black and white,
    For the day-clock first became dark and light
    When twin-gods split day & night, wrong & right.

    Heaven’s splendor, white, for purity, bless,
    Holds all the colors of prismatic light,
    But the symbol of the Prince of Darkness,
    Black, removes all the colors from our sight.
    So then, it is proved that, in both nature
    And in the color wheel, opposites attract
    And complement in their contrast—to procure
    Both real and symbolic color contracts.

    Next, we’ll turn to the colors lone, to see
    The whatfor of their light’s activity,
    But first, let’s ask, Are there any missing hues,
    Unknown, hidden in rainbows, or not used?

    Hidden colors? No, for I see how red goes
    To orange, graduating through the rainbow
    Into yellow and on through green, to let
    Blue into indigo to become violet.

    Perhaps, between green and blue, lies some new
    Tincture, unique enough to be it’s own hue,
    But, alas, those turquoise waves everyday,
    In tropic seas, wash that theory away.

    Yet, there may be some new colors that lie
    Before or beyond the spectrum and the eye,
    Like infrared or ultraviolet,
    Or gold, which only the fairies can see.

    But what of clear, white, silver, gray, or black?
    Well, they’re not true colors, for, either they lack
    All color (black, clear) or hide all hues (white)
    Or are mixtures (gray, silver): black-white.

    But wait, there is a well-known color,
    One quite common in both dress and nature,
    That cannot be found in the rainbow—
    Give up? It’s brown—and has nowhere to go!

    Brown is the color of death, like the leaves
    That crumble dry and lifeless when earth grieves,
    Which is why the faeries won’t let it show
    In their magically spectral rainbow.

    But, alas, brown’s new hue is not to last,
    For brown’s no more than red, yellow, and black.
    So, onward we move: What do colors mean?
    What’s nature’s physiological scheme?

    When we see red, we see danger: Stop! Blood!
    Metabolism rises, adrenaline floods—
    And, so, restaurants use red tablecloths
    To increase both the appetite and the cost.

    Yellow, the quickest color we can see,
    Means caution, as with black on a bee,
    But yellow’s bright and cheerful, too, and lends
    Light to small and sunless rooms like kitchens.

    Healthful orange is the common man’s color;
    So, to make the expensive look cheaper,
    Such as with a hotel, they paint it orange,
    And put some shiny polish on the door hinge.

    Blue invigorates, and, therefore, provides
    Extra strength and power, so blue’s on our side
    When the home team’s locker room is painted
    In its hue (visitor’s was pink—they fainted).

    Blue, as was said, is good, except on food,
    For few foods are blue; so, in diet mood,
    Put a blue light in your kitchen—and lose
    Weight avoiding repulsive looking food.

    Pink (red tinted with white) debilitates,
    Sapping strength and temper, so, that is why
    It’s used in prison cells and locker rooms,
    For it calms the most violent inmates.

    What of purple? Well, it’s mournful, but, too,
    It’s stately, regal, and virginal, new.
    Of green, though it’s seldom worn, none complain;
    And use it in their carpets to stay sane.

    The stars are not just white, they scintillate:
    Sirius is blue, its companion green;
    Betelgeuse, red; many, like Sol, yellow;
    Arcturus, orange—all jewels constellate.

    Well, as colors go, so, then, do we, see:
    Hues are just differing wavelengths of light
    That the brain interprets, in its own right,
    For some natural colored necessity.

    May I chance upon a land of strange rainbows
    Of elfin-hued flowers: red delphiniums,
    Black tulips, orange fuchsias, white marigolds,
    Bronze grass, and the legendary blue rose.

  11. #1371
    Quote Originally Posted by cosmictraveler View Post
    "Lose Yourself"

    Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
    To seize everything you ever wanted-One moment
    Would you capture it or just let it slip?

    His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
    There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
    He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs,
    but he keeps on forgettin what he wrote down,
    the whole crowd goes so loud
    He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out
    He's choking now, everybody's joking now
    The clock's run out, time's up over, bloah!
    Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity
    Oh, there goes Rabbit, he choked
    He's so mad, but he won't give up that
    Easy, no
    He won't have it , he knows his whole back's to these ropes
    It don't matter, he's dope
    He knows that, but he's broke
    He's so stagnant that he knows
    When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's
    Back to the lab again yo
    This this whole rhapsody
    He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him

    You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
    You own it, you better never let it go
    You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
    This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo

    The soul's escaping, through this hole that it's gaping
    This world is mine for the taking
    Make me king, as we move toward a, new world order
    A normal life is boring, but superstardom's close to post mortem
    It only grows harder, only grows hotter
    He blows us all over these hoes is all on him
    Coast to coast shows, he's know as the globetrotter
    Lonely roads, God only knows
    He's grown farther from home, he's no father
    He goes home and barely knows his own daughter
    But hold your nose 'cause here goes the cold water
    His hoes don't want him no more, he's cold product
    They moved on to the next schmoe who flows
    He nose dove and sold nada
    So the soap opera is told and unfolds
    I suppose it's old partner but the beat goes on
    Da da dum da dum da da

    Here, I will modify one of my above poems and adapt it 100% for a Hip Hop Instrumental.

    Just for you ^_^


  12. #1372
    Original Poem below¬

    "Line up your Formations, Muster The Cavalry,
    Lay down Intel on Opperations, Assemble The Infantry,

    Psy-Ops and Espionage will Inform the scout Party Telepathicaly,
    Tragedy and Savagery, We must Breach Defences of the Enemy.

    What Troops Do I have to Salute?,
    I use Lightning Bolts From Zues to Spit-Shine My Tabi Boots.

    Aloof Upon Roof-tops, the Lone Shinobi Glides Between Gun-Shots


    The sound of a Pin Drops, The Twist Of the Plot Stops.

    Vanquishing evil Wandering Ronin jinn , Slaying Dragons from Omens of Odin."

    Modified Into Bars Below¬

    "Line up your formations, muster the Cavalry,
    Intel on operations, assemble the Infantry,

    Inform scout party’s telepathically,
    Tragedy and savagery,
    Breach defences of the enemy,
    What troops do I have to salute?
    Lightning bolts from Zeus
    spit-shine my Tabi boots.

    Aloof upon roof-tops,
    The lone-shinobi glides between gun-shots
    Silence.... (Pause for quater bar)
    The sound of a pin drops, (Pin drop effect)
    The twist of the plot stops
    Vanquishing wandering Ronin-jinn,
    Slaying Dragons, Omens of Odin
    Fear what I’m holding
    Tenchu approaching.
    Piccolo, See me evolving
    Special beam cannon loading"

    Had to add a lil more lol peace.
    Last edited by EmptyForceOfChi; 02-16-11 at 03:05 AM.

  13. #1373

    And this is the Song my Verse should be used in (Except the last couple of bars they were just whatever to puff it out past 16 req etc.

    Hmm I should give Bis or Priest a call and get permission to add a verse for a remix.


  14. #1374
    Three weeks through the sandy desert dunes
    We finally meet at the temple gates by noon
    Meditation was resumed until the rise of the Moon
    We were lead down the tunnels by hooded monks with no shoes
    Through the doors Of Al-Aqsa, leading to the many chamber rooms
    One of my companions triggered a contraption that swung into action
    The hooded monks vanished without visual caption from my faction
    Distraction, an ambush, we’ve been set up
    Formation B, defence maximum, diamond line up
    They formed a barrier around my own inner parameter
    As the scroll carrier I did what I had to do
    Not Juju I don’t perform sorcerers voodoo
    I scorched a Glyph into memories of an astral rift
    Summoned Three Lion cubs from out the mist
    One for each week of my journey to the Cliffs

    To be continued

  15. #1375
    Stalkers of the shadows, followers of the dark-ness,
    Wandered from the meadows, to grow a heart of hard-ness.
    Talons of the Lictors dulled, The Righteous sword is Sharpest,
    Staffs of the necromancers, broken by truths harvest.
    The seventh seed from the first, they removed his verse,
    The words of his birth, will never be reversed.
    They search for ways to do them harm,
    Trading Souls with Jinn’s who read their palm.
    O` Shay tan do you see this creation is superior,
    yes he is flesh but surely not Inferior.
    Your Minions are afraid of them, the ones who wear white robes,
    Your Generals fear their praying, you won't go near their homes.
    You get Humans to do the fighting,
    because the children of light are like lightning.
    They kill each other, fight wars to gain your land,
    Our Sisters and our Brothers, fate is in the righteous hands.
    Beelzebub, Shay tan, Asmodeus I have dominion over thee,
    You stand no chance of victory,
    The most highs armour Is shielding me.
    Talisman seal of scrolls, Jinn Ward level three
    Encoded cryptic messages woven into Poetry.

  16. #1376
    Valued Senior Member SciWriter's Avatar
    Pretty good, Chi, the last line is great. Is this part of your new Bible?

  17. #1377
    Valued Senior Member SciWriter's Avatar
    If the universe is expanding, this dispersion even accelerating, then farewell to all…



    Entropy is always the winner in the end,
    When there’s no more money left to lend;
    Meanwhile we stabilize, in nature’s way,
    Rearranging resources temporarily.


    Going beyond our very old obsession, so vast,
    Of how it all began, back in the distant past,
    But, retaining our search for meaning, from that,
    We now turn to how will it all end, this and that,
    Whether becoming collapsed, expended, or flat.

    Is there is some deep meaning in all that?

    Yes, for it is there in that future distance,
    We’ll find, or not, the end of our persistence—
    Whether or not we are at all forever resistant;

    Whether all that was, and what was did and done
    Will be of any long-lasting benefit to anyone,
    Of what destiny awaits, if there ever was one.

    Endings are important to us, for what we’re about,
    Because we believe that how things turn out
    Implies what the beginnings ultimately meant,
    Of what, or not, is our place in the firmament.

    As an ambitious species of nurture and nature,
    We are now and always pointed toward the future,
    For, of the three forms of the chimpanzee:
    The common chimp, the bonobo, and us, we
    Are the only chimp who went beyond the trees…

    And, more importantly, even out of Africa, freed,
    By that exodus, which laid down, indeed,
    From that experience, the urge and the need
    To move on, exploring, ever planting another seed.

    The horizons on Earth sufficed us, as in “time”,
    For many millennia, but now the horizons’ climes
    Are broadened, through cosmology and physics,
    And so they can well inform us of our prospects.

    The future matters to us, for very basic reasons:
    We wish to offset our mortality, our pleasin’s,
    To know if humanity’s works, for every season,
    Will be remembered, or lost; for nothing, even.

    The Final, Silent Dark Marches On…

    Time hurls a million waves of is displacement
    At us, yet we are still there—the replacements:

    Time, ever gray with age, hurls its changes, then,
    ‘Gainst existence’s rock, time and time again,
    The entropic seas denuding the sands,
    Yet, energy is preserved via science’s wands.

    Reminiscence weathered, but could ne’er wither,
    For, in those mists of time; yesteryear yet appeared.

    Would the prospect of a “Big Crunch” bring on phobia,
    Such as an ever more confining claustrophobia?

    Seems a better thought, somehow, though no picnic,
    But more pleasing, if the universe(s) were also cyclic,
    Although then all would still be really crushed
    And forever lost, gone headlong into the rush.

    We expect cycles, for all the days and seasons
    Embedded this in our ancestors, into our reasons,
    Since, at least, the periodic supplies some rhythm,
    A pattern—the rolling hills of lives onward driven.

    As for the cyclic, endless repetitions, they, too,
    Would seem to revolt more of us than just a few;
    As, too, perhaps, would some infinite abyss of time,
    Which, too, grants us neither reason nor rhyme.

    Does the drama go on forever, or does it end?
    What do the visions of the future portend?

    Doesn’t it all have some purpose meant—
    A goodly end of all of it to us might it present?

    Is our higher mammal time, certainly,
    But of such short parentheses within eternity?

    It’s only a finite time, then, which, too, tends
    To horrify many, and more, as the universe ends,
    Such as told by Robert Frost, a name of chill:
    In heat or in cold, known as fire or ice, still.

    Should we not believe in God since nothing lasts?
    Well, if nothing lasts, then of what our purpose past?
    Is a purpose really required, so constructive,
    Or would that be really quite restrictive?

    No realm could really be special or sent,
    Its becoming being of some specific intent,
    For, all arrived here of causeless accident.

    Is there anything wrong with the freedom to be,
    Anywhere, any how, or any time during eternity?


    Should we rail against the law of entropy,
    The “heat death” of thermodynamic energy,
    The second of its final laws, we see,
    Because it would destroy all of history?

    Well, there are so many ways for disorder to be
    Than any one ordered state specifically.

    Would even a heaven on earth become a misery
    If it, as it might, contain no more novelty?

    Must there be an end to our revelry?
    Can’t we, at least, hibernate eternally?
    Won’t all matter, too, last eternally?

    Will Shakespeare’s works live on, paternally?
    Is this not a Wagnerian struggle for eternity?

    Science can settle whether a Last Day
    Is ever going to come this way.

    Only a decade or so ago, with some consternation,
    We discovered the universe’s large acceleration,
    This expansion even increasing, onto some thin disaster,
    The galaxies getting further away, ever and ever faster…
    Then, one last snapshot taken, for all to remember.

    The accelerating expansion of the universe’s rafters
    Means that the universe will cool even ever faster,

    So, any conceivable forms of the future’s life prolongers
    Will have to keep themselves ever more cooler,
    Think more slowly, and hibernate ever-longer.

    One day the protons will fade away,
    Leaving but dark matter, electrons, and positrons.

    As Time, now hoary with age,
    Hurled forth its ashen change,
    The charge ever san, pale and colorless,
    That force born to summon decay, so endless,
    ‘Gainst Nature’s Universe each and every day;
    Time and time again, Time fed all upon,
    In its bloodless, white and waxen way;

    But, this everlasting rose would not fade,
    Its luster even brightening by the day,
    Ever unsuccumbing to the sickly, peakèd
    State draining drawn the life away.
    Entropic seas yet denude the mountains,
    Yet, this enduring flower, never-endingly
    Has cast Deathly Time aside, for now,
    Ceaselessly somehow thriving on,
    To that which was the near imperishable,
    The flame of beauty still inextinguishable,
    Forever celebrated as immutable,
    Gaining its seemingly perpetual permanence
    From the undying love of the glorious truth.

    Yet, everything was moving apart, cooling off,
    The big slowdown not really so very far off;
    Ultimately, even the black holes of late
    And the lightless planets would dissipate.

    The primordial soup, once so rich and hearty
    Was now a thin gruel that couldn’t serve the party.

    One day, every particle would be moving away
    From every other particle, so much out the way
    That they won’t even be able to see one another;
    Thus, for all intents, motion will have ceased forever.

    Our spurt of life, followed by an infinite stretch
    Of dark equilibrium, was but the briefest sketch—
    A warm and fuzzy stage, so interestingly active,
    Whose time, relatively, was but infinitesimive.

    Yet, we were there, in all our glory,
    For whenever else could we be?

    In the future, uncounted societies of
    Overlapping minds accumulate, with love,

    In island redoubts, their preserved data burning
    With a vital remembrance, in which, returning,
    Past is the present and future, they all reliving
    The data, even animating it and ever altering.

    Without any new enrichments, the present and future
    Reprise the past, in this retreat from external nature.

    Their candles would have been nearly invisible to us,
    They enduring, by diminishing, so as not to exhaust.

    They made few new memories, a kind of blind sight,
    For whatever realities had ever existed out of sight
    Of their own mental structures were now fractured,
    And thus not much different from those manufactured.

    The Penultimate Part of the Final Dark


    The majority of the energy
    Of the universe is dark today,
    Although everything else passes
    Through it in every way.

    It’s everywhere,
    Having a component
    That repels its own state,
    Which cause the expansion of
    The universe to much accelerate.


    We’re on a one way trip from the quantum fluke,
    That maximal energy within old Planck’s nook—
    Heading toward the oblivion of sparse expansion,
    All that we ever loved and knew going to extinction.

    We sent message of early warnings to some,
    In those castles of illusion, yes, many a one,
    That they would face the decay, not so far away,
    Of the heavy particles, the “proton pause”, one day.

    No self-assembled granularity can endure
    Forever, but must return to the substructure,
    And, so, the lives must all transition, it seems,
    From heavier to much lighter regimes…

    Although this, too, would not be permanent,
    All destined to be swallowed by the firmament.

    We have often asked why some space exists,
    Why it permits the countless to briefly persist
    On Mother Earth nourished under Father Sky—
    All of those finite sparks that light and die.

    There were those who endlessly debated,
    Whether to live in their virtuals unabated,
    Or press forwards and outwards, of delirium,
    To seek new localities in the mysterium;

    But, the pauses of the heavy particles continued,
    And so there was nowhere to go for the retinued.

    It was much simpler once, in those days of old,
    When we thought that universes didn’t go cold,
    But that they expanded and collapsed,
    Still destroying all, yet ever giving more to last.

    And, well before that, once upon a storied time,
    We simply made it all up, with tales and rhyme,
    In place of any physical observations,
    Or of all our revealing experimentations.

    The past was now a reef of dead accumulations,
    A graveyard of various useless informations,
    Which, despite their splendorous beauty,
    Could not provide a novel futurity.

    The last one of us, born of the sparkness,
    Kept a window to the outer darkness…

    S/he looked out, from a once brightly
    Colored and sparkling inner reality,
    Into the dark abyss…

    There was nothing out there,
    All being so lonely and bare—
    No more singing of life’s song;
    For now everything was gone.

    The Final Epilog

    Our fruits are of a universal seed,
    Are yet another yield of All possibility treed,
    For siblings elsewhere in the entropic sea
    Are also born of such probability.

    There could not have been any special time,
    One that was privileged over any other chime,
    Nor any special place, nor any specific form
    Arising out of the necessarily causeless realm.

    Even those locally specific dates and places past
    Of the events’ novel memoirs could not ever last,
    They being writ on water, with no meaning vast,
    Disappearing in significance so very fast,
    Since it’s only the universals that last.

    …The protons were all gone from the show,
    Having decayed so very long ago,
    Into positrons—ever canceling the electrons,
    But emitting the fleeing light of photons;
    There being, of course, an equal amount
    Of protons and electrons in the count;

    And, of course, along with all the protons,
    Went all of the atomic elements, the end,
    All of their forms becoming myth and legend—
    As they were still dreamt in night dreams,
    Those forms that we once had, so it seemed.

    S/he, as many of a luckily adaptable kind,
    Had long since lightened and lighted the mind
    With the dwindling electrons, and precious photons—
    That beginning light of ancient times, growing wan.

    Ours had been the only line in the uni-verse,
    One that had become sentient, with proto-man first,
    The rest of the cosmos being but a colossal waste,
    A foreboding, harsh, and very dangerous place.

    S/he was now the only one left,
    Having outlived all of the rest.

    The universe was near crumbling away,
    Having run out of space, time, and all its sway.

    S/he was dispersing, melting, into the vacuum, lone,
    But, s/he held on for another thousand years, alone;
    And, then, s/he, too, was gone,
    Being the last of the hominid’s song,
    Of all that was sapient: the Magnificat,
    The composition of Earth’s sweet plot,
    The greatest symphony that was ever sown,
    Now having faded into the unknown.

    …From near nothingness our forms became,
    And into the same must go our remains.

    If the unknown be such, ‘though it’s otherwise;
    But, still, if it’s yet called unknown, then the reply
    Is still, for sure, that we’re free to be, anywise.

    If you’ve shed a tear, reading here,
    For both the far, and the near and dear,
    It won’t make their graves green again;
    But, it’s possible that life could begin again…

    Be of Good Cheer--the sullen Month will die,
    And a young Moon requite us by and by:
    Look how the Old one meagre, bent, and wan
    With Age and Fast, is fainting from the Sky!
    (A Fitzgerald quatrain that’s not in his Rubaiyat)


    Behind the Veil, being that which ev’r thrives,
    The Eternal Cycle has ever been alive.

    Some time it needed to learn Everything for,
    And now well knows how these bubbles to pour,
    Of existence in some meant universe,
    Those that wrote your poem and mine, every verse.

    So, as thus, thou lives on yester’s credit line,
    In nowhere’s midst—now in this life of thine,
    As of its bowl our cup of brew was mixed
    Into this state of being that’s called “mine”.

    Yet worry you that this Cosmos is the last,
    That the likes of us will become the past,
    Space wondering whither whence we went
    After the last of us her life has spent?

    The Eternal Saki has thus formed
    Trillions of baubles like ours, and will form,
    Forevermore—the comings and passings
    Of which it ever emits to immerse
    In those universal bubbles blown and burst.

    So, fear not that a debit close your
    Account and mine, knowing the like no more;
    The Eternal Cycle from its pot has pour’d
    Zillions of bubbles like ours, and will pour.

    When You and I behind the cloak are past,
    But the long while the next universe shall last,
    Which of one’s approach and departure it grasps
    As might the sea’s self heed a pebble-cast.

    Indications of a MultiVerse:

  18. #1378
    Quote Originally Posted by SciWriter View Post
    Pretty good, Chi, the last line is great. Is this part of your new Bible?
    Lol it's a philosophy book to be taken with a grain of salt not a Bible. But no Im doing a seperate book purely for poems, but more in the form of poetory, Old english styled exerpts and also some Haikus and hokus. All of the ones ive posted on Sciforums I did off the top of my head while posting on the forums. I do freestyle poetry and can knock out about 12 poems per hour. but obviously they are lay pieces of workm and sometimes no better than a nursary rhyme lol. The stuff that's going into my books will be streamlined and edited and I will add punchlines and more word play and fuse some nice one liners I have in my scrap books i carry with me.



  19. #1379
    That last was nice, one of my favorites of yours so far even. but they lack the most high and usualy show the more void side of nature tbh.


  20. #1380
    Valued Senior Member SciWriter's Avatar
    You are a fast reader (of that epic).

    Expansion would be a one-way dead end street, but I did provide an escape at the end.

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