My attempt at a T.S. Eliot style poem, my favorite poet.
Mind you, I'm no poet, so I'm just experimenting to find my own voice :-)
by Tim Woodacre
Not content with the wood of the forests,
Trees overgrown with poisonous emotion,
I count paces when tall weeds obfuscate.
The softness of soil an uncertain footing
For a mind full of doubt, ever wanting
Some complete thought, tangible and true.
I came upon a place of stones, weary tablets
Whispering stories of lives forgotten
To whatever will listen, a sad monologue.
"I hear you." I cried to no one, and heard nothing.
But ventured on unimpeded, watching anxiously
As no one real appeared, a death of expectation
Then I fixed upon a quiet shadow, a form of nothing,
Eyes with a fire of hate unquenched and lips
Mouthing words of unrelenting envy.
I witnessed in an instant a life unlived and lost
Never forming from a void of what could be
Dreams released to the waves
And bottles with messages hastily written
Of sorrow and loneliness on an island
Of pain unknown to the oblivious vessels
That floated on the horizon, lazily content
With a lot that satisfies and the warmth of closeness
Never felt in my heart; never known.
This demon formed of bitter disappointment
In a dark place untouched by the spark of life;
An amorphous mass, composed
Of a hundred unfulfilled realities; a thousand stillborn men.
Oozing malcontent, overflowing with jealousy
and born of a sickness, it spoke these images
And warped the shape of my soul to a terror unspeakable.
So I ran directionless in the night for a place of refuge
To escape the evil enchantment of unchangeable past
And happened upon a tomb of ideas unhad.
Behind me the something cold and pursuing,
Breathing heavily with effort to envelop me.
A new darkness covered me instead between the walls
And carefully I waited with vigilant feet
For a new death, which never came.
So within the forsaken box I wept, confused and angry.
While outside the thing persisted
With a sneering indictment.
A voice from somewhere broke the dim fog of despair,
It held me captive with strength.
With a conviction of truth unquestioned it spoke.
"You have a light, Tim. Don't you feel it?"
"No, where is it? How can it be?" I replied
And with swiftness the torch appeared
A burning flame of rebirth to tear the darkness asunder
A galaxy of sparks danced within the doubting fog
illuminating shapes of futures never believed.
Upon the wall I saw a sentence etched in the stone
Each crevice filled with my own blood,
Shed while in the greatest pain of hopelessness
During countless nights of unforgiving solitude:
"Life after death is life before death."
So I wore it on my sleeve and protested
The gloom, sending it back whence it came and resolved
To forever see the road ahead
And wear the crown of kingship proudly.
And so I waited for the breaking of the dawn
To arise from the dust
And begin again.