The glaring light beheld beauty
Where dark subdue the frozen soul
Fear not, oh Poe’s Annabel Lee
Find your way, not to the Sheoul
Rest once more..
Oh wind you come, begins September!
existence flourish in vanity
These sea of dreams, I know its queer
Ephemeral, I wish it may
Sleep no more…
Out of reach, eternal bliss
Of feathers, the seraphs glow
The devil’s scheme you failed to miss
Now wand’ring mind, you wept so slow
Faint, like Faustus’ yore…
Amidst the silence, yearn to pen
Of love that’s strong, whose worth’s ascending
oh Annabel,distressed maiden
Wond’ring still, waiting..
but write still more..
If lower than the grave, your heart will sink
Tears freely fall, melancholic escape
As pieces of paper, revealed the ink
“Where art thou, my heart’s possessor?
..thy maiden’s secluded here, forevermore…”
© Cyrustale 2011
Did you know Edgar Allan Poe? If so, you must know “Annabel Lee,” one of the greatest poem I ever encountered. It talked about love that ends up tragically with the maiden being separated from his loved on and later passed on to sleep on the grave.
“Countenance of Sorrow” is a poem written on Annabel Lee’s perspective while she is away from her lover. Long distance relationship, aww!
I created this poem when I saw a note from a girl asking where is her boyfriend when she needs him the most especially on the hard times of life.
Enjoy reading! Thank you 🙂
I have to sail–somewhere far
With a silent song
and mem’ries engraved in a photograph
Leaving behind–a seed
soaked wet by your tears
and of future turmoil
echoing–Can we survive this?
When you said it yourself
“We can’t be together–for now…”
So you’ve watch it grow,
until it bloomed
reminiscing our distant yesterday
–melancholic, mystic yesterday
‘til you get tired of watching the li’l plant grow
and left it for someone’s scent
And now–I’m back to the place
Where our promises gave birth
Only to see that once tiny seed
–turned into an enormous tree
But there’s nothing left
between you and me…
© Cyrustale 2016
I have written this move as a “moving on” after a heartbreak with my first girlfriend. The seed represents the love we have for each other that keeps our relationship. We were still immature back then and I guess I don’t have any idea how to keep a long distance relationship. I haven’t seen her after we broke up through text and she has moved on already. Well, what poets do after a breakup anyway?
© Cyrustale 2016
This poem is written as I feel so brokenhearted about how my plans of going home was ruined. These are times when my Daddy God is teaching me about getting close to His heart and I’m not giving up whatever the circumstances may be for where I am right now is where He put me to grow best. This poem reminds me of the message of Ezekiel 47:9:
Swarms of living creatures will live wherever the river flows. There will be large numbers of fish, because this water flows there and makes the salt water fresh; so where the river flows everything will live. (NIV)
I am breathing within this intersection of the river and the sea making everything grow in abundance. Thank You Jesus!
The city shrugs in dreadful sounds when soundless are their mournful siege
As waves of men that rides on horse with horses’ mane that war has waged
As if to sully what their mighty banner carries, just strained out to haste the reason that’s so mere
Sena Fe’s a city having ruled with idiocy just where religious tyranny’s unclear
The essence of their faith has crushed the city’s gate and mercy granted that’s so late
They bear a cross so mightily it looks, being perverted on this solemn state
When they had shouted, “’tis for greater glory”, when actually they’re sowing violence that’s gory
and all the while their heads on heavens are but heaps of hypocrites enough to stir the laughter of the heathens hanging on the havens of the hate
And utter foolishness resides in forms of godliness which utter goal’s to dominate
When actually it’s opposite as good fruits come just solely from the trees that’s good and bears the emblem of real faith
But absurd is the truth that gaze, though countless times the fire has blazed, the townsfolk seemed to keep on living all the while keep carrying the burden that become their ways
It never dawn that they’re in prison heading to their own destruction far beyond their flesh and bones
But oh, how dreadful it would hurt when all the while they live in mirth if someone, yes but one tell all the young and all young once
That they’ve been living in a lie as puppets playing for the vile whose cares are mundane transient shares wherewith the weak are eaten by surprise
For how can one survive the vanity that bribes the worth of souls that doomed in their demise?
Indeed the worst things in this world are not the wrecks of tyranny but of the fate awaiting those who never knew their enemy when all the while they do is walk in strings in blinded misery
© Cyrustale 2014.
I wrote this poem to illustrate how religion came into someone’s life as a brute force but somehow the person accepts it without challenging it, confirming to its ritualistic prison and became a slave of it. In short, I just hate religion. It divides, and draws men away from the Truth of Jesus Christ. When we can sow love instead of religious dogma.
We all love to fantasize. A simple idea circled our brain giving birth to different streams of thought until a connection and pattern emerges and the idea evolves into either a mystical character, machine, culture, language or even a new world. After that, books came into existence, and an unlimited supply of awe and wonder continues to thrill the curious minds—and the cycle goes on.
However, as marvelous as the process may seem, most pieces of knowledge usually begins with “a lump in the throat” as quoted by Robert Frost. There are times when an author find it hard to start the piece, either by looking for the perfect words, rhymes or rhythms to use, or as a result of lack of words, found it better to use figures of speech as a means to illustrate or exaggerate a situation.
Furthermore, since the beginning of time, our ancestors used parables, myths and fables to explain the origin of mankind, describe the indescribable and fascinate the younger minds. We all live in a story-stricken world where plain words are just not enough to communicate a thought or feeling. We need to play with words and this is where I begin to recollect some important memories.
I remember when I was an elementary student questioning myself as to why we need to learn about those figures of speech but as I grow older, I realized that using those makes the explanations of things easier. When I reached high school, I was amused when the topic is about idioms and decided to study these literary devices.
I started simply with simile as it basically is a comparison between two similar things connected by using the word ‘like’ or ‘as’ such as making the softness of clouds the softness of things of the same nature. Next, metaphors grow into shape as it did become an apple to my eyes and a key to vast world of poetry.
It was in third year of high school when I started creating my first poem blended with figures of speech entitled, “Brokenhearted,” a poem by which my choice of words clearly unveiled the shadow of Edgar Allan Poe’s melancholy. Thanks to my best friend, Keith that I was able to realize what a great world poetry was and the perfect place for my escape where I could spend my “me time” wholeheartedly. I could say that even right now, my journey with words has not yet reached its peak and yet, my spirit felt a heavenly bliss.
After some experiments with metaphors, I stumbled upon a new concept that covers an analogical representation of expression. It is the extended form of metaphor–Allegory! This happened when I first discovered the treasures left behind by C.S. Lewis who penned “Narnia” and John Bunyan of the “Pilgrim’s Progress.” Until then, the wind has never been the same.
Sometime later, I met a personified glimpse of love, and the feeling was so great that I can’t contain it. Good thing though that words are good containers of feeling and I found myself in that room where I was able to spread such feelings. In that place, moments are captured in stillness, time is forever frozen, love is always young and at the same time, sorrows are shrouded, and hearts are often wounded. Poetry provides wings when one learn the secrets of the metaphor. There’s a vast universe out there where worlds collide at the tip of the writer’s pen.
Though no one would be able to fully comprehend the pieces that I carefully weaved, I know someone will, someday. Someone who will discover the treasure map I hid behind the cryptic words of allegorical expression–of what I really meant beyond the narration. Someone who will see the different facets of a striving poet, a “noobgrammer” and an enthusiast who dreamed of nothing but for fancy to embody itself, shedding truth beyond the flavors of mystic coating.
– Cyrustale 「サイルステール」 2016