A Collection of Poetry written by Arabella of Carolustadt
One day, I pray that I shall see the wheatfields of a land free from the grips of tyranny, and my mind will be at liberty with it. I have imprisoned myself to the whims of my paranoia and distrust, furthermore to the forces that are outside of my will that cannot be controlled by my voice alone. A voice in the contemporary era holds more weight than it once did, yet it still drowns amidst the millions. The opinions brought to life by language are often stomped out like a beginning flame by inter-subjective thoughts that control our lives without having any life to them but imagination. I find these writings for all of humanity who has suffered greatly in these past decades.
The Stranger Who Shapes Me
In our dreams were cities of gold
We saw a future for us both, brighter
Than anything in that land foretold.
Winter sang tales of new beginnings,
Yet to occur but soon to come,
And with it our unexpected endings.
I hear it still, the glass that shattered
The screams, the painful shouts,
And anger as nothing else mattered.
Our wounds, hearts, would heal,
But what we had written together wouldn't.
All the unmade memories were his to steal.
Who is he? I'd like to ask that too
For the man who stole my future
Is someone I never knew.
I have seen his face, it is engraved in my mind.
He enjoys being there, to torture me so
Blissfully unaware, of the life he defined.
Gently I will not go into the darkness
As alike to the sanguinary anomalies
Who are void of love, remnant to starkness.
Steadfast I will be in your presence,
For no matter the lack of humanity in your eyes,
Nothing shall break hope's essence
There is no wall between these lands
And yet when I close my eyes, I see his hands
Reaching for a line drawn in the sands,
Declared impassable by a stranger's commands.
Whose hands do I see, that reach so far?
It is that of two brothers with cities of char
Blockaded by the collective imagination
That creates our understanding of the nation.
When I ask of his pains, for him to free himself of his woes
His eyes are only what tell me the most
Never shall he dare to open the box, to expose
The hardships of forced distance despite being so close.
Unfathomable is the strength of a brotherly bond
Which shall not, by this vitality, despond.
The Grey Palace
Daybreak, and with it the morning sun
Into the oranges hues we go, with the rolling hills
Grey scars the land, in buildings one by one
The air is crisp here, with the sweetness of nature
Do you know who lives here, amidst the castle before my eyes?
Children are laughing, and the cornfields sway,
Yet to say the joy there is unquestioned with happiness is full of lies
Oh, we are all so far from our home, and they are here to stay.
A stranger's embrace becomes one of longing
When that of a mother and father's are beyond their small reach
They crave for a sense of belonging,
And a normalcy they may never know.
His Name Will Remain Untold
Power seeps from the words unspoken
And the names I refuse to give life to —
For they deserve none of it from the pieces left broken.
Only when consciousness meets fringe do I hear them.
When the others ask for recollection,
It is of my mindful duty to sweep such questions away
Without desire for more speech, through subtle objection.
These names deserve nothing save for oblivion.
Like a liquor I drank them amidst casual routine,
In settings most unlike to mention them within.
An obsession of the mind and all such things inbetween
Of the jarring cruelties struck upon me.
Words, names, be them as they may —
Mean nothing without breath and gifted light of day.
Flinches at the clashes of metal
And tears from the sound of silence -
For it soothes your trembling soul,
Which coils in recollection of those terrors
As your hearing bursted into a singular piercing noise.
Home you stay, as the world caves in around you.
Close to your sons, whilst bloodshed surrounds you.
Physical existence becomes the nightmare,
Rather than the torments that fill your rest.
Only glimpses show this awakened sobriety.
Never shall they see these inner trials,
Nor the questions that consume you without words.
Tonight, I pray that you find a few hours of dreams in your rest.