Category Archives: Poetry English

The Gospel of the Eyes (previously, its all in the eyes)

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All eyes tell stories - this poem listens to them all.

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In the eyes, everything can be found,

and I see eyes everywhere and all around

Happy and sad, and also good and bad eyes

tired and watchful, and hungry and soulful eyes

Lustful and virtuous, and dreaming and tempestuous eyes,

eyes that evade, and eyes that stare into other eyes

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Eyes that are happy in their forgetfulness,

gold, women, and the laughter of children,

sedated by the fulfillment of petty dreams

And eyes that are sad in their knowingness,

death, old age, and the torture of loneliness,

confronted by reality when maturity screams

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Eyes that are awake in their mindfulness,

virtue, religion, and the seduction of charity,

attracted by heaven or the morality within

And eyes that are asleep in their sinfulness,

wealth, selfishness, and lust for the world,

numbing their hearts, each loss and each win

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Eyes that are tired in their exasperation,

poverty, destitution, and the pangs of hunger,

numb and dull, when madness brims over

And eyes that are watchful in their enragement,

injustice, genocide, and the horrors of war,

stopped by helplessness when frustration takes over

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Hungry eyes with their constantly begging needs,

power, money, and the sultriness of status,

entangled in webs of silver and gold

And soulful eyes in their mournful creeds,

ethics, morality, and the concept of social justice,

entwined in philosophies, contradictory and bold

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Lustful eyes with their passionately burning promises,

murmurs, whispers, and the fragility of assurances,

lighted, lived, and extinguished over a single night

And virtuous eyes with their polished hypotheses,

conscience, belief, and the solidness of integrity,

drafted and nullified just after a single fight

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Dreaming eyes with their dark, forbidden fantasies,

caprice, obscenity, and the call of devilishness,

darkened and colored by unfulfilled desires

Tempestuous eyes with their guilt-ridden ecstasies,

sex, alcohol, and the lure of dominance,

emboldened and driven by unheard cries

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In the eyes, everything can be found,

and I see eyes everywhere and all around

My eyes, your eyes, smiling and frowned,

eyes of the chaotic masses, countless and abound

Eyes that are bewildered, and eyes that astound,

eyes that are deceived, and eyes that confound

The Lament of Imagined Worlds (Previously, Harbingers of Doom)

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A journey through dreams where prophets whisper, and sirens lie, and where imagination walks among shamans, sinners, and dying fires.

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Sometimes, I imagine the most unimaginable,

playing with lightning within the clouds of doom

At other times, I dream the most indescribable,

part of another time, walking the hallways of gloom

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Sometimes, I visit the land of the sad throat singers,

their chords singing the melody - foretelling the end

Then there are men from the West - the tired gunslingers,

flames are dying slowly - the fires that they tend

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There are shamans from Tibet - humming ancient words,

and flutes playing softly, the lament of the damned

Lonely prophets in the streets - the ever-preying birds,

warning of the apocalypse, their words all crammed

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There are lonely gypsy women, with wings under their feet,

their crystal balls telling fabulous lies, all without shame

Sirens hungry for young blood with their smiles so sweet,

their seduction dancing the tango - a never-ending game

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I see the silent eyes of the mindless throng - ruled by sin,

smiles masking a thousand fetishes, all pleasure and lust

Tears of the guilty Midas, hiding the insatiable grin,

desires swirling in frenzy, their feet covered in rust

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I dream of the strange mer-people under the stormy seas,

the weight of the dark waters burdening their heart

Pale mermaids and their sad laments, begging on their knees,

weaving a million enticements, perfecting their art

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I dream of dense forests, under the humid skies,

the old, gnarled trees, standing a solemn guard

Roots gripping the black soil, upwards they rise,

the old gods sleep, their memories all marred

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Sometimes I imagine, and sometimes I only dream,

pastimes of a failed saviour and delusions of grandeur

Life is the darkest of all curses, and so it may seem,

users have failed the system, and He is only a voyeur