|First poem I've written in a while that wasn't horribly ridden with anxiety. Nice change of pace. I think it's one of my better works.|
To Ink One PageLook, my friends, at these blank pagesTo Ink One Page by A-Wandering-Man
These vast spaces, and yawning ages;
Upon this canvas I will spin my tales,
Through which I speak when voice fails.
So long and wondrous a story
Which practically begs to be told
It promises love, honour, and glory;
A tale tall as mountains, and almost as old.
But it is only my place to ink one page;
One fresh, new leaf in a book of immense age.
A ponderous, wandering epic, weaved of blood,
Time, and love; witnessed by eyes with tears aflood.
Set upon me by cruel and benevolent fates,
This tapestry of lengthy battles won and lost;
Writ large and small, and yet more awaits.
Things of immeasurable value, and extreme cost.
I write with a shaky hand, steadied only by time,
And so my page takes many years to fill, a crime
But for the fact that no one waits on my conclusion;
For we all pen our own page in this great illusion.
That I might eke out only a line in the ancestral account
Worries me little, so long as my passion and legacy amount
To some minu
This Empty TimeWhat will I do to fill thisThis Empty Time by A-Wandering-Man
Deep and abiding darkness?
This time is calm, sedate
I lie back; sit and wait.
This night I while away
In neither joy nor dismay
As the minutes stroll by,
Past my thoughts and I.
The hours stretch out before me
Long and slow, and yet all I see
Is a hurried blur, my busy fingers
Tapping away, but a coldness lingers.
I've exhausted the well of incandescent ire
Which once fueled the immortal, raging fire
That burns within my tenuous being, and dire
Now is the need for warmth; a spark of desire.
Emptied now of immediate anger and pain, adrift
Upon a sea of muddled emotions, from which I sift
The scarce few that may still resonate within me,
In the hope that I might do instead of merely be!
What must I do to fill this empty time?
Which immeasurable mountain must I climb?
For to do nothing, to sit idle, to simply be
Is no way to act when one desires to be free!
Of Wanderers and WhispersI don't want to write about painOf Wanderers and Whispers by A-Wandering-Man
Any longer. I don't want to refrain
From the experience of joy, or fun
Or excitement. I don't want to run
Away from my feelings; hide behind
A facade of placidity while my mind
Devours itself from the inside out.
I'm tired of forcing myself to rout
These burning thoughts from my head.
So many times desperately I've said
"Let me be, I have no will to fight,
Let me heal, under cover of night."
I don't want to write about pain.
I want to write about love, fire,
Passion, life, death, earth, rain;
The things of which I do not tire.
Of wanderers and whispers, without
Regard for worry and woe and doubt.
I want to captivate, awe, and amaze.
To entrance, and witness eyes blaze
With curiosity; set the spark alight
In their minds, to extend their sight.
I want to illuminate some modest part
Of the encircling darkness with my art.
InnervateMy flesh is numbed by a dull, sorrowful ache;Innervate by A-Wandering-Man
A ringing, a reverberation of long-healed wounds.
Simple echoes of acute pain and suffering,
Muddled by and melded with agitation.
The vibration is constant, unending;
Spurred on by volatile worries.
The signal is utterly lost in the noise;
The words blur together and stain the page.
My nerves are frayed by the ever-present buzzing.
Droning, irreverent, incoherent wisps of thought;
They become moths to the flame of my anxiety,
Devouring my life's tapestry, leaving it ragged;
Riddled with weeping holes; and threadbare.
The white noise and the dreary, bleak darkness
Mix and mingle to form a seeping, grey sludge
Which drains into my empty skin and hollow bones.
It fills me with foreign energy; a morbid animation
Which approaches a state that might be called 'alive'.
The numbness is overwhelming.
So I ask of you only one thing:
Innervate, release me from this
Barren expanse of nothingness.
Stimulate my senses, give me
That jolt of life, t
|Feel free to peruse my gallery... some old gems but mostly there's a general trend of improvement as time goes on, I feel. Mostly just poetry but there's some prose thrown in here and there. Hope you enjoy.|
|I don't favourite things often. If I've favourited something you've written, painted, drawn, photographed, etc., it means I like it a great deal.|
I'm a writer, not an artist! And a pretty damn good one at that. |
I'm looking to be a scientist by the time I finish university (read: PhD). I'm a student of philosophy, though I'm not enrolled in any philosophy classes. I'm a decent writer by any standard and an arrogant one by most. I'm politically active as an anarcho-communist and I try to address social issues with my writing, particularly my poems, but I also convey personal emotions in them, as well as my spiritual beliefs (I am a Naturalistic Pantheist and atheist; by spiritual I do not mean supernatural, to be clear.)
If you enjoy my writing, you're probably crazy; but then again, life is boring if you aren't. Normalcy's nothing to be proud of, in my opinion. I suppose I'm a fairly introverted person, though my friends know me to be loud and to laugh readily. Meeting strangers, particularly cute girls or respectable adults, is where my shyness reveals itself. I think too much, feel too much, and eat too much, and I don't think any of those things will ever change. I've been told on occasion that I am wise beyond my years and clever beyond reckoning, but despite my arrogance I have never really convinced myself of these supposed facts.
I love nature, especially forests and rivers; and I absolutely love pictures of nebulae and galaxies and the like from various observatories and the Hubble Space Telescope. I'd very much like to get a telescope of my own. I love standing outside, looking at the stars. Meteor showers are my favourite things to watch but I've only ever seen two. I love the complexity of life, and the greater universe. It's all so amazing.
I appreciate music greatly, though mostly metal and classical (and sometimes both combined); and I would have loved to have been gifted with musical ability, but I'm useless at playing music. I have an 11-key range on a piano, which is ridiculous, (I have big hands, ok?) but I'm useless with one. I love any music with cello, violin, or viola in it, and I wish I could play any of them, but alas -- no talent. I suppose I must make up for it in my writing. Some of my favourite bands are (in no particular order) Nightwish, Epica, Freedom Call, Gamma Ray, Dream Theater, System of a Down, Blind Guardian, and ReVamp, among others. I love Chopin's (classical) work as well.
I'm mercilessly rational, which accounts for the aforementioned wisdom, I suppose. I often find myself struggling to accept the paradigms of society, as most of them are irrational. And I really, really like pizza. And pasta. And pretty well anything else with cheese. Not relevant, really, but needed to be said.
I love living, but it terrifies me. Odd, that. Suppose that's how it's supposed to be.
My best friend in the world is MissSoarrow , so be nice to her!
As you may read below I'm a very quotable person.
"Perhaps, I think, the important thing is not only that we look to the stars in reverence, but that occasionally we tear our eyes from the great void for a moment to look over at our fellow humans, give them a smile, and encourage them to gaze at the wonders of the cosmos along with us."
"Those who think the air empty have never breathed the breath of life, they have never stood in the gale and released their pain and worries to the calming wind; never let themselves go, free in the swirling eddies of the ever-moving air. There is life in the air, in all the world, every day, in everyone and everywhere."
― Me (yet again)
“Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.”
"Come, come, whoever you are; wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving; Ours is no caravan of despair; come, yet again, come"
― Rumi, Sufi poet