Make your own free website on Tripod.com
The Seraph's Voice
Poetry...
Home
Interesting Church Signs
Old Logs
Ruminations
Odds and Ends
Almost Art!
Pictures
Taste of me...
Favorite Links
Contact Me
Journal
Poetry...

The Word was made flesh, and together they were one...

There are many things that poetry can be... A Science, an art... a passion. It can be potent and intoxicating, moving and revealing. It is as much a part of us as a mirror, a contemplative reflection of what we know ourselves to be...
 
Vision
 
Take my hand, I give it freely
Let me lead you out of darkness
out of slavery and oppression
a warrior subject to creed
to a better world I will lead
where men know truth
and fight for justice
where children are ever blessed
and live to be born
and your country is lead by honest men
and citizens of honour, your nation
Can you envision this?
Can you up hold this?
No, this is not childhood idealism
this is a reality denied you by theives in the night
men with false sense of power
men who before truth, cower
Are you blinded by darkness?
Your silence is submission to thier misdeeds
and your dispair is proof of their success
If a better world you would die to see
Give me your hand.
 
The Artist
The poets soul is often heavy
and under the burden of a finely polished cross
Finding existance he is thriving
on the vitility of petty cares
He is unyeilding to the crypt
unyeilding to the peace
yet surviving to dwell in the hearts loss
He lisps one last prayer
blindly grasping a saviour lest he drowns in dispair,
 
The artists last hope
to use virtue to conquer the ever reigning hate
a true work of art, his smile made out of paint.
He is ever taking refuge in this world he could create
only on his death bed does he become a saint.
 
The actress's heart
belongs to the theater
to the romances and tragdies
the dramas and comidies
the life that takes place in this psudo world
Because when she goes home the world is lonly and cold.
 
And here is my tribute to the voice that sings
long after the saprano is silenced
to the immortality that flows through mortal hands
to the happily ever after
that for some , never comes.
 
Word
 
If you were a word
I would not speak you
Nor would I write you down
I would merely always keep you in mind
and just at the tip of my tongue...
 
Name
 
He calls out my name
it dies on his lips
and so do I
 
Criminal
 
I am a Criminal
a villian, virtue has checked out
yet I am still in
you can break me and bruise me
but I will be damned
if I let you use me
I am perverse
my soul sold
but I am worth far more
than what rumours have told.
I am a sinner
I tempt saints
I am the pleasure you love
yet say you hate
I have been a blessing since the day I came
Now you will always have someone to blame.
 
 
Temple
 
My body is my own temple
and I am my own goddess
My worship is reserved...
Not all may pray to me.
 
Goddess
 
Once upon a time
a girl looked into a mirror
and to her vast wonderment
 a goddess lyed there
She had big blue eyes
reflecting summer skies
but skin that spoke only of moon
and her lips , crimson shows
to the envy of every rose.
 
Farewell
 
Lost is what used to be
And gone is what should have been
good-bye, good-bye
I say farewell to thee...
I am sorry for what I could not be
I apologize for what I have become...
A tear, a sigh, I say farewell to me.
Farewell I say, farewell I am gone
no more shall I hunger or thirst
nor kindle my desire, my curse
Granted my leave
Once again I say farewell to thee.
 
Convictions
 
Before the congregation of worldly foes
And the bloody battlefields of religious convictions
We see this one, fighting desperately 
For his own soul
And in the valley of the good
he also fights for his blessed sins.
He fights for his right to his own misdeeds
Fore they are his own
And his virtue too is under his governance
His place is not to judge or condone
But just be and give free will a chance
True courage it takes indeed to stare
steadily in the face of fallacy
And cowardice to follow
That proscribed by voices unknown
But we are all the same,
In the end all we have
is uncertainty
To whom do we belong,
When we ourselves nothing own?
 
Villian
Here meet our fiend, our devious malefactor
You know him of course, he is you
He lives inside you,
And to him there is no cure
He has the dangerous freedom to think
As well as do
From his condition of toil and sweat
He bargains and pleads at a heavy price
He battles for his right to regret
Fore virtue is as human as vice.
 
 
Disappear
 
It is a great day to disappear
to fade from the fake and insincere
Maybe to regroup again far from here
away from want and from fear.
 
Heaven
 
What would we do
if heaven was not so far away?
And we could visit it everyday....
What if it's price
wasn't quite so high
so for all to see it
we don't all have to die.
And for once 
 let it be all that it seems not
the essence of something
remembered from dreams.
What if it is not
what it is suppose to be?
What if the only heaven
I will ever know...
Is inside of me?
 
Spiders
 
Spiders creep down my spine
Roses strangled in vines
The world crumbles around me
Should I care?
I have been lost for far too long
Now my home is in the wrong.
 
"The Portrait"
 
A thousand things I am...
Suppose to be, and I can not even succeed at one.
My makeup begins to drip away
And the portrait "Me" has just begun.
A shimmering fanasy, a sterling dream
All seems confounded at the concept
What could be me.
I look away and start to scream...
All I can do is be.
 
"Secret"
Shhhhhh....
It's a secret.
No one can see.
Hidden for much too long
To ever be free.
It is all too vunerable,
And much too weak.
It is a hidden treasure
No one can seek.
 
Bewitched
 
How bewitching is the moon
as it casts it's shadow
across my room.
And silent rays
strike a dark glow
upon the dust of my memories.
Visions of ghostly images
dance upon the pale wall
then fade...
I weep and tears stream gently
as I am abandoned to this
sleepless, silent, solitude.
Lost between a phantam reality
and a feverish dream.
 
How long?
 
Be there no sun,
be there no moon
be there no heat
to the day at noon,
gone forever are the days
of the past
and time itself will die at last
So how long will I dwell
in this vale of tears?
How many more minutes?
How many more years?
 
Sleep
 
I dislike sleep,
bearing all too well
the image of death.
Conscesness fades
and we no longer retain free will
In sleep we surrender to
an unearthly darkness,
only dispeled by visions be they of good or ill.
The breath softens
and the pounding of the heart slows.
You are on the brink of another world.
But in this narrow space
a vast wonderment exists
It is here between life and death
the dream comes.
Be it angelic or more like
the suductions of the incubus
It is here I knew my first happiness
and first sadness
Having come so close
to only lose it.
Yes, I died in my sleep
and awoke to live.