From time to time a poem

Brilliant !! Alexandre, mind if I print this out and stick it on my wall ? this is great guys

Here I stand
Three me and
a band
of brothers and
sisters and yet
to be defined

I stand and fall
and yet to be
all I
not I at all
but to me the creek
and to you the tree

We’re all in
and
yet
to
be

In the forest there grows
a tree
In the prairie there grows
a blade

In the city there grows
a child
From start to finish
a pawn

In the universe there grows
a galaxy
Captured by gravity
and drawn

In the force there sleeps
a soul
Waiting to become
I

The Five

In the wind it rides
integers abide
in the formless
divide

Galaxies collide faculties
decried by secrets abide
the senses visualize
arrive

Gnosis overwritten deeply
indelible illusions
emerges all grumpy
volatile and attitudinal
surprise

Anathema the noble
inscrutable the fallen
clinging and craven into
haven

It sees the dream
it feels the scream
I in the end delusion
Force

Dark and distant, lightsrider sings
deep and motile seastrider rides
hear the crackle and the crush
deep within the universe and
deepening the rust

In the deep ocean light blossoms
connects
In the galactic clusters light pierces
the veil
In the earth’s ocean bioluminescent
glow
every night’s hunt writ in the
flow

Deeply connected each one to another
instincts erected in a chemical glow
Forced to acknowledge we’re tidally
At One

such a tiny thing,

to grant release,

but such a cold path to walk alone.

And if I am so sure

why does my body react so violently to expel what my mind craves.

Can there be no peace

amidst the raging storm,

each breath counts for nothing

when measured against time.

If I step of this path I balance on so delicately

will you let me fall?

If it is what I wish

and yet I ask if you will catch me

knowing that it is an illusion.

Fly or fall is only within myself to grant.

33

Driving home, a crow atop
The driftwood tree
His eye aside, beak up, he seems
Inquisitorial, while below
Ancient bodies
Turn to stone.

Arriving home, a zephyr runs
And voices come,
Voices murmur, murmur on
A sussurus of leaves which fall,
Letters from the
Hospital.

Aching for this ghost behind
The darkest day,
Through brightest night, no fear, no fright,
Just no more fight, spectral flowers
Summer perfume
Turning sour.

Lights Out – Edward Thomas

I have come to the borders of sleep,
The unfathomable deep
Forest where all must lose
Their way, however straight,
Or winding, soon or late;
They cannot choose.

Many a road and track
That, since the dawn’s first crack,
Up to the forest brink,
Deceived the travellers,
Suddenly now blurs,
And in they sink.

Here love ends,
Despair, ambition ends;
All pleasure and all trouble,
Although most sweet or bitter,
Here ends in sleep that is sweeter
Than tasks most noble.

There is not any book
Or face of dearest look
That I would not turn from now
To go into the unknown
I must enter, and leave, alone,
I know not how.

The tall forest towers;
Its cloudy foliage lowers
Ahead, shelf above shelf;
Its silence I hear and obey
That I may lose my way
And myself.

Over the mountain
tall trails
brake lights and gas
speed to no avail
rocky bottom diving in
high mountain lakes
challenges arise too
situations in joy
signals made yet
decisions awry
life carries on wherein
calmness abide
inelegant solutions in
retrospect to evade
brute force or finesse
do aptitudes advise
peace and good order
illusions soon fade
Noblesse oblige
universally inferred
life is the path yet
no exit defers

I find myself thinking of this more often nowadays...

'Dulce Et Decorum Est' - Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.