It still feels this has come far too soon. I don't feel like I should be leaving school and applying for university. Not in the slightest.
But enough of that. I've completed my anthology of poems for SOR. There's only six, but I feel they flow and I've decided I'll post them all here, including the very first one in the series that appeared in yesterday's entry.
My task was to write an anthology of poems on the themes of suffering, death, resurrection, and God. I would have liked to have written more poems, but as it is, I feel these flow together and work perfectly. In my opinion, six is sufficient and hopefully Johnno feels the same way. I have no idea how many poems he expected.
Some of you will probably notice the titles of the poems and may reason that I stole them from things I like. For the record, let me state I only stole one title and the others are co-incidence. Bragging rights to the person who guesses which one correctly.
Repetitive Strain Injury
The light broke through the thick wreathes of dull clouds,
Piercing a way through the dismal, grey shrouds,
Scattering the dawning pain of daylight
Over the bleak landscape of winter night.
A new day brought a renewed agony
Felt over the land and into the sea,
Splitting a heart so strong it did not feel
While night was so long, protective and real.
The sins that darkness covered were exposed;
Shown to be burdensome and sordid woes
That would torture the souls of the guilty
For the day until an hour after tea,
When again the revelatory sun
Would set and let night have the bleak, dark run.
Seeking redemption with a passion strong,
Everything the people knew was wrong,
And errantly they took blissful comfort
In the same wrongs that had previously bought
The suffering they did not seek at all.
They saw not that they nightly played the fool,
Tricked into suffering, left in pain,
Out in the cold, stung by the poison rain.
Without cessation, the wheel revolved,
Enslaving the people blindly involved
In the deceptive behaviour that saw
Conclusion in the agony they bore.
An unconscious, writhing turmoil
That would not abate or recoil
Sold a flourishing, convincing
Lie the people took sans blinking,
Not comprehending or thinking.
They began to doubt, fell away,
And watered down the light of day,
Thinking tonight would ease today,
And balm pain in a soothing way.
The truth lurked in one’s heart and mind,
Yet few would claim to seek and find,
A truth so harsh but gently kind.
Rarely would they ever propose:
With their saviour, hope fell and rose
A Change Of Seasons
A torn curtain, hung ragged and ripped
Bore witness to the unfurled horrors
Of the day when eternal life slipped
And bled akin to slaughtered warriors.
Draped from a cross, messianic hopes died,
And a ravaging grief tore down faithful,
Devout followers, asking “had God lied?”
Their lives were darkened, wrapped in bleak turmoil,
Lost in the suffering of God’s passing,
Given to the despair of hopeless death.
Yet with a gasp, their grief became fleeting,
Resurrection restoring hope with breath.
The Walls That Hold Inside
The denial and rejection of the pain
Created a blasphemy so insane
That it would dare to defy stern reality
And live in the vaguest beds of pity.
It challenged the sayings so sincere and true,
And made prophecies of death to accrue
But would shy away and deny error,
Choosing instead to remain with terror.
Yet the walls came to buckle and crumble,
And life again grew, a start so humble.
Almighty hope, enduring the Tempest,
Took solid root and brought a holy rest,
Establishing a sanctuary of life,
Never again to fall victim to strife.
The Great Escape
Once enslaved by processes that power
The society that will waste every hour,
The spirit broke free of the bitter chains,
And soared skyward, lost in the soothing rains,
Regenerated through blissful freedom,
And no longer confined to the kingdom
That dashed independence through oppression
And locked vision in voids of repression.
The stone had rolled away from the exit,
And higher destinies beckoned to it,
Providing the spirit with the strange chance
To feel love and life through suffering’s dance.
It flew from the hollow world it had left,
And with subtlety so daring and deft,
It broke through the dance and upward into
A liberty both refreshing and true,
A higher plane free from the broken earth
Of shattered dreams and where healing is dearth.
Continuum of Resurrection
As a testament, the annals of time
Stood, a paradox, an innocent crime,
Revealing a riddle, the path of man,
Sketching a portion of a greater plan.
A litany of pain passing the sun,
Defied by a road of joy not yet run,
Permeated the soul of humankind
And hidden deep within it, one could find
A bloodied, buried truth; a risen life;
And the salvific path not free of strife.
Stories of the ancients told of flooded years,
Of lion dens, burning towns, realised fears,
And through all the despair, a sustenance,
That carried the race and spurred persistence.
Without the pain and suffering below,
Or the contradiction from heights a-glow,
History would not have been constructed,
Nor the fleeting agonies destructed.
Although a cycle turns around and around,
Through resurrected truth, escape was found.
Neatly plotted today on a white page,
The disorderly, horrid wars we wage,
Seem certain, tame and calm through reflection,
And the written word reveals direction.
Each historic storm came to pass and cease,
Civilisation grew again in peace,
And the lesson is taught: that no matter
What windowpanes hurt seeks to shatter,
Or lives it attempts to leave neglected,
Life never fails to be resurrected.
Tomorrow, I will be handing in my Geography and SOR assignments and hopefully receiving information about a potential job. For now, I need to put the finishing touches on both assignments. Have a good night, everyone.