Unearthly Worlds

I sometimes forget
who I’ve become,
who I pretended I might be.
I sometimes wonder,
in my stead
if someone else might believe
that there is something more
out there,
a world untraveled,
a spell unbound.
I sometimes think that I am alone,
in loving my small town.

Behind moons of other worldly travelers,
none that may stay here,
and mists of morning,
and dawns in pastures,
solidity for years and years.

In lakes with unearthly monsters
that haunt unbidden knights,
in stars as pieces of other heavens
and scorched earth from deadly fights.
And swords that clang
and clash in steel,
and battles never won,
and stories that feed
on my fright and wonder
that cannot be undone.

And maidens in perfect dresses,
with hair in golden curls,
and courtrooms of
unquestioned justice,
with jurors’ cutting words.
And verdicts that shed blood
and tears of ages,
that spawn a vengeful strife,
and all the other things I see,
horrifying to others’ eyes.

And I think that in
my entranced state,
I might see more than there is.
Pretend I am in lands forgotten
that thrill me more
than this.

I think sometimes
I blunder,
and search out golds that do not exist.
I think, I might
have fallen in love
with a figment of my imagination.

I think, looking over this, I’ve been reading and fantasizing too much about the books and new HBO series Game of Thrones. As a child, I always loved stories of knights and fighting and swordplay. In fact, up until about age seven, I was convinced I was going to become a knight. Years, I spent fantasizing about what my life would become. I would lie awake in bed for hours, dreaming about it. And then I would fall asleep and dream that way as well.

This is basically just a vocalization of all of my dreams streamed together in one. I will go ahead and take this time, however, to HIGHLY recommend both the book series and show Game of Thrones. If you are a Lord of the Rings fan, or just love midieval times, both are absolutely amazing!

Whispers of Him

He is a cast of grey beneath my skin,
maroon hollows beneath my eyes.
A forgotten wind to an indifferent ocean
that rocks my ship to sleep each night.

And on high moons, he is my alleviation,
potency unrivaled.
A lion mirrored in any tarn
with the innocence of a child.

Beneath watchful eyes, he wanders
boundless to a task.
To crowds of others, he bears no soul,
and no self behind his mask.

And to me, he is no other.
But only in forbidden lands.
He doesn’t see who he is to me,
and he doesn’t understand.

~To Anthony

Simple, but probably the most honest poem I’ve ever written. For whatever reason, I have been haunted with insomnia the past couple of nights. So this is me awake at 3:30 in the morning, writing down whatever pops into my head and typing it into a box on my computer. So if this isn’t exactly as coherent as I would like it to be, I apologize. Looking over it, it seems to make sense enough to me, but I’m in that dreamy sort of “tired but can’t sleep” phase, so I could be wrong.

Anyway, it’s meant to portray the picture of a young man who hasn’t quite figured out who he is just yet. To me, he is a saint, one of the most important people in my life, but he sees himself as just another ordinary guy.