Broken Tree

With new hour come an old hour fall,
In least of which was tree yea tall,
Ere he stood all his nil was struck,
Ere he stood all his joy was sucked,
For what seemed an hour then he stood,
For sought was sentiment in brood;
And all time compressed to a drop,
Whilst all mem’ry pressed to a sop,
With every tender touch comes warmth,
With every tender thought is morph,
Which how soon is but ill despised
At how the next years are come surprised,
Nor better are fools with hope at stake,
Now gleams in tide this Earth to take,
Had he not walked this far to go
Then roads yond can n’er come so low,
This ought be the hour life partakes
Though few have stopped better to take.

Meaning

In pursuing a career he wanted to be that whom inspired him, she wrote. “So he decided to be, and then thus he became.” But in the words of his father, of late has taken illness, he could not understand why his own kind would not be that of his own kindred blood which by forsaken creed had suddenly consumed him. This sickly blood, she added, suddenly became an illness; the fatigue was too great. All was lost.

There he walked, in a mountain fought, and slowly climbed. Then he shrugged. Then he sobbed. It all seemed too much, all at once. He is no mountaineer, but he simply wants to climb a mountain. He was no man, but he hopes one day to become a man. This much, his mother wrote to her sister, who since recently was under a great melancholy for ill choices she made that could never be reversed. “Oh! I am sorry for all I’ve done! The men, the wine, and all the tricks I’ve endured. It was not to be.” Though, her brother might add that he would not want to be deserted by a woman just like his sister; but perhaps to be imbued with new wisdom as to how to live with one.

Near the mountain peek, gossip for months soon called at bay. For months, our dear fellow climbed a metre closer to the tip; as much as each day his mind felled closer to the dip. It was like he wanted to break himself so that each piece can be collected overtime then brought together with each piece part of a new image that formed the basis of his own. Though the pieces have not changed, though the image has changed, the very essence upon which these images carry is now part of something greater. That greater essence became his meaning. It became his life. In essence, his life is the sum of why. Life no longer ceased meaning; it augmented the story.

His mother closes the letter with a solemn wish that once her son reaches the tip of a mountain he may at least come down and never return to the tip. “For what it is the base without its peaking stone?” He would ask. So casually it was, but she could not even answer, for she has never travelled the heights he would. Sooner or later, he would know the answer and once he does, he would have part of the meaning he needed to live.

Different Shades of Man – Prologue

Know no more the new thesis,
Indeed this plight I cannot treatise,
The art of magnificence in shadow
So far wretched and glees in meagre throw,
This I cannot spell, nor mine eyes write
Yet despair is come with and laughed right;
The art he dignifies slowly corrupts a soul,
And never, nor never, did he sheath his pole,
Lest he walks and never would laugh again,
So told the various men whose curse is gain.
So surpass God’s alternative, he ought to say,
And dare not the words he bought at bay,
How grateful is the mare the rides too fast,
So sooner he resigns in larks to distant past,
Nor woos his bark the wrinkles sharp too sad,
Nothing; nothing; tis mortal fool to deny so bad,
The nature he was; the past he was, all forgiv’n,
Not whether, so tether his heart to strings given,
To never deny, his life what once it was so grand,
Who could never relish this man he ought to brand.

Go

Though his past had come too soon:
These walls once he knew grew with time,
The lamp shades cast a mirror of doubt so few
And never did his clock once stop to watch.
The night mingled in fear and in angst,
Music and respite mingled his thoughts too late
Where enemies long past soon took up arms against,
And with haste had his ego with thought intense,
Could sooner have destroyed him without future regained;
This man art I spell his name once for love and hate,
I cannot for the life of me come to you so late,
That I shall bestow Freedom for all who art return, Read More

One Man Road

All the days that come of yore,
No hour to pass with single bore,
I kicked the stones on my path,
The air I breathed made me cough,
All the nights I lone long for walk,
Ere the nights kiss mine art to talk
With stars in shuddered whisper
Can hold not never with this pair
Of blood-boiled hands no ice can stay, Read More

Discovery

And there in the midst of space,
Who grew no age than meets a face,
Traversing through the depths so blind,
Did crease the stars so far behind,
Those fading stars alack no more,
Whose echoes dark gleam wild so sore
Could not stop light in pass of time,
In unthought speed ne echoes prime;
Man’s dream for touch of iron sought, Read More

Big Bad Wolf

Out of the darkness their mighty fall,
From hence they rose ere more they throw,
In light of thirst they yonder grow,
Tender words thought at once so low,
And there begins a triumph better they call:

Wonders then for what he was, whom shall be,
These simple words; his mind so whispered far,
Tuned his mind to the sound his life ne does make,
And threw his eyes at reality’s greatest scar,
Whose life how fret could play not in tune. Ne. Read More