Month: January 2020
Ancient Yowl
I, man will not lose that fire
The smell of burning wood smoke on my shirt
The sound of the feral life surrounding my body and soul
Cravings deep, sinewy, scraping against the earth with my chest bare
Lost, wild and ancient I roar my rage into the wind
I will never surrender to some Faustian bargain just to survive
Bleeding out my life, one sterile piece of plastic at a time
I would rather die stripped naked, beaten and thrown in my barrow
Body almost dead but soul fully intact ready to scream the ancient yowl
That the gods will hear my roar so that I shall grow love and joy from my moist, sweet grave
Is Love a Fancy or a Feeling?
Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.
It is immortal as immaculate Truth.
Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth
Drops from the stem of life- for it will grow,
In barren regions, where no waters flow
Nor ray of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o’er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness nought doth shew
Is my love’s beauty, – yet it cannot die,
Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;
Tho’ fairest beauty be no longer fair,
Tho’ vows be false, and faith itself deny,
Tho’ sharp enjoyment be a suicide,
And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.
by Hartley Coleridge