Am I a lone insight,
Longest shadow of the shortest day,
Bound forever to fight,
Every step of the way.
Whilst you, Winged Vision,
Of fate unfairly divine,
Ye tremble through the sky,
Free of all design,
And wasteful plays of men,
And weeping bowls of earth,
Each night to burn away,
Each dawn to claim rebirth.

My calloused hands are scattered,
Black hair, brown with dust,
Soul gaping through the cracks,
Voice waiting to shed it’s rust,
Whilst you, Winged Vision,
Of feathers white as milk,
You stand bedecked in pearls,
Dressed in finest silk,
As springs first sprouting allure,
Fragile as a fay,
Far away from mortal pander,
Immortal everyday.

For you I have tasted,
Bitter tears without rest,
For you I composed seisms,
Beneath my hollow chest,
So that you, Winged Vision,
Shall never find me hollow
As a wanton manikin
But a heart that will follow
You, to the end of age,
In skies on weightless ships,
Past high seas and horizon’s hour,
With love on unsealed lips,
So if life ends tommorow,
And indifference wreck my cast
I could have a breath to borrow,
To ferry my very last.

Author: TheHumanAnvil

I find poetry as a gentle reminder, a medium to relay and dwell upon all things considerate people find inconsiderate. Poetry as an art is akin to a lamp or a magnifying glass. It trails volumes of meaning behind obscure, vague words. I have been writing for a time now, and intend to do so for the time to come. And hopefully, hopefully, hope that one day, someday, a person stumbling across this veil of words, find it alluring enough to shift aside the curtain and peer, into the eyes of the naked truth which sways with the wind of reason. If you have any thoughts, it would be my pleasure to know them, if you don't then it would be a pleasure to not. Be my guest. This feast of words is for you.

One thought on “Misnomer”

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