News

News: I moved the keyboard to my room and now I feel strongly inclined to tell the world that I adore Phantom of the Opera. Everything is perfectly normal and no, I don't have access to any secret underground labyrinth...yet.

--12 August 2017 --

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

October 30, 2012

Conglomerate I -- A Poem

Hey ya'll, so I decided to spew out a bit of poetry because I kinda felt like it. I don't really see much reasoning at all in what I wrote...just a little burble to clear the mind and whatnot :) Although, I must say for the last stanza I was definitely envisioning a military scene, if that helps clear up the cobwebs. Anyways, inspiring music for this piece was Jonathan Harvey's "Tranquil Abiding" (now there's some unique orchestral material for you). Enjoy!

P.S. Oh yeah, and when I was writing about the "forbidden depths" I totally had that Smeagol-by-the-pool scene where Bilbo comes in and observes the poor soul :P entirely random haha!!


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Conglomerate I

Render me incapable, tie the knot and throw the ship to sea,
Puddles of gloom, despair, suggestion.
Stoke the fire and let it flame across the forest,
Take down the trees, smoulder across the sky,
Sensations.
One pause, one look into forbidden depths,
Forgotten emptiness that bodes danger,
The last out-ridge before the drop-off.
The eclipse of stone with air,
Tumbling down, spiralling, swirling, swirling, spinning,
Out of control, swinging as a pendulum, swinging and hovering.

A crystal burns away the mid-morning fog,
Glistening in the sallow candle-light, frothing against the glow of the moon,
Rippling amongst the air, shimmering between my fingers.
Throw it away, out across the lake, skipping skipping
Down the fountain’s peacock plumes to the penny-drenched depths,
Let it blend in silently, morosely with the glassy-eyed victims.
Another drop of amber pulls passionately against the rim of the glass,
Reaching for the floor, reaching reaching, crashing,
Successfully leaping and splattering into a hundred pieces.

Fold the blanket, fold and re-fold and unfold and fold again,
Smooth the crinkles and wrinkled lines,
Turn about, pressing black against linoleum, pressing skin against skin,
Salute, then spiral, soul spilling, senses searching and reaching,
Across the galaxies. Time has no essence.


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Signed with green leaves and tinsel,

Squeaks.

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