Grey are the leaves that we leave behind
Brown is the path that drive you to the ground
Heartfelt goodbyes and hugs of sadness too
Nothing is forever
My path is my own
Don’t come after me
I need to be alone
So that I can fully understand
The damage I’d done
Lives were taken
Their goal mistaken
For what they really found
On the shores of old
Was a world in the making
Their place in it
Unmistaken
A Kingdom born in yoke of another
Cast away in obscurity,
They sought a notion,
To find devotion
A heritage without conclusion
They expand their realm across the sea,
As the ancients before them
Rekindle their story
To create a past
An empire forged and abandoned
Their ambitions out of reach
The clouds are bustling
The night blast rustling,
Sighs are breaking
From Grave-hills quaking,
The regions were under
Thunder.
Of the mighty and the daring,
The ghosts there muster
Stains of war bearing,
In their eye star luster.
Ye who blind are straying,
And Preying,
Shall an ag’d relic meet,
Which shall come and shall fleet,
Its red sides golden,
The stamp displaying
Of the time most olden
That shall give ye a notion
To hold in devotion
Our gift, is your duty!
A maiden, of beauty
Most rare.
Shall find the token!
An old translated verse from the Danish Poet Adam Gottlob Oehlenschläger. I don’t know much about him or the verse, but I aim to find out. This was epic!
How does the world make sense
In the mind of the believer?
In the mind of the sceptic?
Different conclusions drawn from different experiences
One is pious
The other is curious
Both intangible
Effort is nothing
Everything is meaningless
Effort in everything
Everything becomes worthwhile
Is everything worth doing?
Sleep is the bane of creation
For who wants their memories properly stored?
Give me chaos so that I can create
My masterpiece is ready
Greatness is ensured
The world is frightening
With monsters under your bed
And ghosts out of place
But nothing comes close to the fear that harbour in your mind
Your psyche
And the terror that lies unbound
Strangers, they find their way
Through the village of dismay
Their presence, evermore demanding
Uplifting the villagers
Their own hardship they garner
But once strangers went away
They were sorely missed
For their own hardships they are reminded
By lady bliss
The moaning
And the scratching keeps me up at night
My house too close to that which fear festers
At day they dissipate
Returning to the ground
But over time,
Their presence still linger
They invade your senses
And nothing will ever sounds as good,
Taste as good,
Or look as good,
Ever again
Their smell unyielding
The mental images
I try to foil
The Horrors of Writing 