Broken or Kintsukuroi

All my life I've been a failure,
To what victory can I grasp or defer,
Like a rope,
To give me hope?

I have but one great accomplishment,
But all the world seems hell bent,
To show me it as a flaw,
While my heart doubt does gnaw.

Did I make a mistake?
And thus break,
An already worthless jar,
Have I fallen so little, yet so far?

Am I that three legged dog,
Trying so hard to jog,
Along with its brothers,
But cannot, for he is not like the others?

Am I a broken vase,
A shattered disgrace,
Worthless, worn, forgotten,
And never should have been boughten?

Or am I kintsukuroi remade,
As each day I bade,
Myself to begin again,
And try some victory to win. 

Seduction

With your perfect sexy breasts,

Like two mountains of magnificent mammary,

And your eyes,

So round and full,

Like the full moon,

On those rare days when it is red,

And all of heaven blushes with her,

And your skin,

So smooth and soft like silk,

Richer and fuller than a mothers milk,

Your lips so soft and full,

Like the waves of the sea,

Slowly cresting,

As they follow the moon across the great oceans,

And where those waves part, the pearl white teeth,

Like ivory walled fortress cliffs in perfect symmetry,

And such hair,

Long and wavy with curls,

Like a waterfall cascading down,

And the ripples where it meets the water below,

In wave upon wave,

Soft,

Flowing,

And your body,

Curved like stone,

Cut by the wind through the desert,

Slowly carving out intricate shapes,

Yet perfectly smooth,

Without a crack or flaw,

In the perfect tones of the earth,

In all the things of this sphere,
I see your beauty,
Yet none can draw near,
To the verity,

Yet I would still love you,
Even if it were to see mar,

For what you do,
And who you are,
Is why I truly love my wife.

Thrice Born but One True Name

A dance of fire and ice,
A soul born thrice,
Once of water, dust, and breath,
Once of steel and ice cold as death,
And once in eternal flame.
Thrice born but one true name,
From the forebears came the dust,
Water spilled,
Lungs with breath filled,
Pneuma, power, filled with life,
Then with age comes the strife,
Nascence of logic in ice,
And the daily price,
Paid in sweat and blood,
That I might change the mud,
My clay into steel,
But then a tempest gripped the keel,
Rebirth in the magma maelstrom dire,
Setting soul on fire,
Inspiration,
Self reformation,
The path finally clear,
I must live to win,
My true name: Sven.

Lamp Posts

They cast their glare upon the street,
These lamp posts stand tall, straight, and neat,
While the fire in the skies,
Slowly burns out and dies.
Then comes the dark,
And they stand out stark,
Beacons of light,
Illuminating the night.
Unnoticed by most,
As they play host,
To the beams,
Which pour out in streams,
Upon edifice and pavement,
As our lives are spent.
Yet when their bulbs expire,
And the street looks dark and dire,
Then we look for the lamp posts.
We look for a pillar to host,
The light of our society,
A light to guide you and me,
But perhaps we should be,
The ones to help others to see.

~~~This poem was inspired by a photo taken by my friend Andre. See Below.~~~

 

Veiled Virtue

They wear veils,
But not of their volition,
No one hears their wails,
Stifled by this moral remission.

Hidden from the world's eyes,
Hidden from their own value,
No one hears their cries,
As they long for their due.

You circumcise,
And force them to obey,
Treating them like a prize,
For which a man only has to pay.

Those who dissented,
Are now scarred and torn,
For you resented,
The virtues that might be born.

The day is coming,
When you will see,
How strong is the sting,
To be the one who isn't free.

For those in living perdition,
Silent like a caged bird,
Know you need not permission,
To make your voice heard!

Every woman is a princess,
Till she makes herself not so,
No man can make you value less,
May you ever know,

Your struggle is true,
Your warfare is worthy,
So whatever you do,
Don't stop till you're free!