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poetry/w/warning.txt

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+warning
+2019-01-21
+
+***
+
+I stand at the edge of the void and I scream
+"isn't there any hope left for me?"
+no response, just as I expected
+just a drop in the sea and my own damn reflection
+
+something in the water starts to swirl
+the boat rocks- and I think I might hurl
+
+all the words I spat up as a babe three years hence
+before I decided to look over the fence
+
+and as I turn my head to the sky, what should I see
+but my muses, heads and bodies numbering three
+
+"we knew what would happen.
+why didn't you listen?
+you could have avoided
+your own perdition.
+
+now get up and start taking life into your own hands.
+for too long, you've cast your gaze at unattainable lands.
+your name's not Lucine- or Seliph, or Chiki.
+what you are comes from inside of you, not from a screen.
+
+remember, you don't have to ask permission to *be*.
+to breathe, to move, to choose what you believe.
+your name is your own, regardless of those you call 'friends'.
+damn their approval! it won't matter in the end.
+those who matter will know when to clap,
+and the rest will all blow away in the never-ceasing wind like chaff.
+
+we know you're penning these words to convince yourself.
+so as long as you have the reins and your brain's on the shelf:
+
+you exist, no matter what other people say.
+you make a mark on the world in your own special way.
+maybe it's hidden, maybe it's obscure-
+but unless you live as yourself, you'll never know for sure."
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/w/watershed.txt

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+watershed
+2020-01-01
+
+***
+
+before, in your grief, you proclaim
+"I have yearned for all, and yet the world stays the same"
+just remember how you swore off eternal fame
+
+dear Coleridge, insistent that the crowds were in the wrong
+for not cherishing the pains he put into every song
+"damn it all!" he said, and turned his back to the throng
+
+but in the throes of midnight, you turn your eyes to the sky
+to cotton ball clouds you imagine the stars hide behind
+fervent prayers to Nyx between fatigue-laced sighs
+
+petition to pass into the world of the beyond
+very little with which you care to abscond
+"I've ascended the mountain; I've claimed the crown;
+now grant me sweet rest and let my fire burn down."
+
+the world shifts, and you find yourself prostrate to the throne
+of the goddess of flowers you can't claim as your own
+and in her hands is a circle, a mirror of glass
+like the one which shattered and brought with it lovers past
+
+and like the one who told you to say wolf
+her rough hands lift it so you can behold
+a forehead laced with pearly crocheted veil of sweat
+bogged down with weight of memory, pain of regret
+
+horrified, you recoil from the mirror and cry
+"oh gods, spare me the horrors of the mind!"
+so mindless you wander: retarded you find
+that the rest of the world has left you behind
+
+now, granted, this is but mere parable
+far from fitting fate for one so gentle
+but Saint Sakura stares at the family altar
+and wonders what day everything started to falter
+
+a mind languishing in the gentlest of hells to behold
+an intellectual wasteland where minds go to fold
+like a house of cards, once great empire crashing in
+and leaving oneself trembling in fear of uncertain sin
+
+dear child, please know that you're far from a flop
+but your course is charted; you've come too far to stop
+greatness now tangible, taken shape and form
+your choice: to snatch it, or shrink back and mourn?
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/w/wip.txt

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+WIP
+2020-12-09
+
+***
+
+Many a project
+has sat in disused corners of
+my laptop in neglect
+over these six past years.
+A spark of inspiration,
+a candle's fire,
+quickly muted once I yet again tire
+of coating these hands with clay.
+No oxygen, no respiration.
+Who has time to waste
+their life in work?
+I just want to play.
+
+It pains me to think
+that more than a decade ago,
+after had melted the snow,
+my family and I would regularly
+hop state lines
+to visit aging grat-grandmothers
+to make sure they were fine.
+
+But one by one they dropped like flies,
+and the farms were sold
+to repay debts passed down
+to us by old farts
+who spent themselves into a tizzy
+buying things to try to buy our hearts.
+I didn't need luxury. I needed love,
+and I sure wasn't going to receive
+any from a man whose face,
+whose voice,
+was always grumpy and mean.
+
+I remember that half-finished home,
+the exposed framing upstairs where
+Family Sarah and I would roam,
+trying not to tear our skin
+on pink insulation.
+Was it full of shards of glass,
+or was it not?
+We sure did debate about it a lot.
+
+A dear second-cousin
+(or something close)
+worked hard to finish
+her homework early
+so we would have time plenty
+to play.
+
+And now, on what
+was then an impossible day,
+I find myself reciprocating,
+working myself into a pale clam
+to complete my own exams
+so my brother and I
+have our own free time.
+
+Maybe it is not yet
+time for me to leave
+this nest and fly,
+but I can help him to achieve
+a little bit of freedom.
+I have to give it an honest try.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/w/withering.txt

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+withering
+2019-10-13
+
+***
+
+I love it when your eyes
+are lost in the city lights
+unaware of my impending demise
+just driving along on another sparkling night
+
+just another day in paradise
+where sloth somehow isn't a vice
+and the days pass by faster than I can count
+hours pass without a single sound
+
+no more time to lose
+as I grieve alone in my room
+who am I? do you know
+or did it all wash away in the snow
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

poetry/w/wme.txt

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+(w/m)e
+2019-10-22
+
+***
+
+crisp window squeaking over, unbarrier from air
+letting in the cries of crickets, early morning fair
+a strange sense of healing, repressed feelings from three years hence
+baby torn from mother's womb, strange perdition ever since
+
+why would anyone fetishize the loss of identity
+that comes from being absorbed into the Trinity?
+for I stare into neverending auburn and gray skies
+and wonder how, in Nature's face, anyone could fall for God's lies
+
+almost a year ago, undone from the myth
+of needing a collective to dissolve oneself with
+for what is the use of becoming free
+if I forfeit myself, subsumed by the we?
+
+Call me a coward, but I declare myself unfettered,
+a tactical retreat to make myself even better.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander