tcs_tonsils_ 2829 Share Posted March 7, 2022 Selection of Poetry - Vol. 4 [!] A portrait of Borris Iver Kortrevich 24th of Msitza and Dargund, 415 E.S. “Mind of Mud - Extended” It comes upon the midnight hour, When my mind twists to a moldless slush. A jumbled knot disguised as elegant verbiage. Yet, when dawn comes, I know it was a ruse. Therefore, the words we write gnarl Into some type of horrifying beast. A creature once thought of as elegant at it’s conception, sours by the end of night. When memories no longer activate, As we force our eyes open just for them to close again. When all we know and want becomes Interspersed, separated only by broken lines. It can be an ever-growing, spiteful cadence, Of what was and what will become. The heart and mind fight a match to the death, Their blood is the toil upon which we slip. “I Dreamed a Dream I Dreamt.” I linger here, if just to see The hope of a glorious revival. A maintained pasture of something Far beyond the scope of a man’s denial. That awful and wonderful dream I dreamt, A glowing orange that illuminated The sky, in a stark contrast with the dark Crimson that stained the entire hill. That awful and wonderful dream I dreamt The trees swayed gently in the nothingness. Streaks of light fell from the Seven Skies around me, As if to pick and choose those who could come. That awful and wonderful dream I dreamt Where the birds of the fallen shrieked In a pitiful agony, yet their voices were But a faint cry to my own broken soul. That awful and wonderful dream I dreamt Where the sky crackled as dark clouds Zoomed over the growing night sky. Their forms hid all of the stars. That awful and wonderful dream I dreamt Where the world morphed into dull Colors. Boring and simplistic, it was. A rush of something dwelled within. It was on this this hill, amongst The silent thousands that I found myself again. Tears streamed down my face as the darkness Creeped in and consumed everything I knew. “Along the River’s edge” I sit upon the water’s edge The breeze a relaxing feeling. The numbing of cold upon my skin. A pleasant and sweet surprise. The touch of grass upon my fingers Their blades, tickling my hand. I hear a giggle come out of my mouth A different and weird sensation. I watch the birds as they fly, moving with such elegance. It is this peace here, that I do find a piece of me not known. 3 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Crevel 4727 Share Posted March 7, 2022 The Venerated Anders Kortrevich would surely be smiling at the poetry of his relative from the Seven Skies. 2 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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