A Poem: Left or Right

I wrote this poem when I was a senior in high school, and just came across it recently, so I decided to put it up. Why not, right?

Left or Right

I went walking through the woods one day,
along a path quite old and worn.
Walking briskly ahead and humming a tune,
same as I had since the day I'd been born.

But something happened on this one day,
something that had never happened before.
I saw a large mass of people ahead
upon the banks of a distant shore.

As I drew closer, I noticed two groups,
each guarding a separate way.
One to the left, and one to the right,
both looking at me on this beautiful day.

"Left or right?" The people asked.
"Come now, quickly, make your choice.
Choose your companions and road for life,
and choose the man who will control your voice."

"Control my voice?" I asked. "But no one can."
The replied, "Not just any, only men like these.
Who? Why, the leaders of left and right, of course!
Choose whichever one you please."

And so, baffled, I looked about.
And wondered on what side I should be.
I looked to the left and I looked to the right,
but neither side looked very good to me.

And so I looked around some more
and noticed something I hadn't seen.
I saw a path that wasn't left or right,
but exactly in-between.

And so, without a backward glance
I started out from behind the sign.
I took a road neither left or right,
but a new direction: mine.

Since then, my path has led many places,
but the end I cannot see.
For the best part of having my own road
is that the end is up to me.

-M

A Poem: We the Living

As I sit and ponder here, of thoughts that fill my sould with fear,
Of visions formed the visage of the reaper's scythe held high.
I still can't help but wonder, that what immortal's blunder,
Could end the life of one so young and very much like I.

Already it brings me pain to hear, of that which killed all life held dear,
Yet still her mind and spirit kept within the power to fly.
And her sweet soul burned with fire, wrought from bright, immortal desire,
To raise her glass and steel far into the sky.

But her vision wasy abandoned, when that sacred soul had landed,
In a place ruled by a code that we cannot live by.
And the reaper came with hurry, to the bottom of a snow flurry,
And took the life of one not bound to earth or sky.

Thus eneded the life of one, whose beauty pierced like a blazing sun.
But was thus denied her life under the morals of a lie.
Her eyes held so much magic, making her short life's end so tragic,
That praised and fallen angels alike could not repress a sigh.

That star which beamed with defiant light, and struggled to breathe with all its might,
Has fallen now from its place far above our mortal sky.
And my brother soul is burning, still hotter now from learning,
That the righteous of this world can be denied the rights of I.

And so, eternally, I shall give, my respect and love to those who live.
To those who aren't content to fall where mortals lie.
She'll exist, unforgiving, in the memories of We the Living.
Who live and love on the deathless wings of spirits born to fly.

-M

Life and Harry Potter: A touch of philosophizing

Woa, it's been a while since I put anything on here. Of course, this is all pretty worthless since nobody is reading (nihilistic much :-) In any case, I've recently discovered Harry Potter Fan Fiction, and must admit it can be pretty damn entertaining. Some of the stories are significantly better than the actual books by J.K. Rowling. Of course, considering the debacle that was Half-Blood Prince, that's not saying much.

Something that is interesting is that I realized that the reason I like fantasy stories like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, etc. is that they reflect the fact that humans are, by their very nature, heroic. Think about it this way: every time you see a hero fighting tirelessly with no hope to win, you feel it. Frodo destroying the ring, Aragorn leading a hopeless charge (twice actually; Helm's deep and then at Mordor), the Spartans at Thermopylae. Think of your favorite sports heroes and it's the same thing; always the underdogs. Rudy, Seabiscut, Joe Gibson, Harry Truman, Jimmy V and NC State, and all the other cinderella stories. In every case, people love to see guys fighting againt insumountable odds, whether they triumph or not, because it is heroic.

Now think about this: every single one of us is going to die. I don't say this to be depressing (although it is), but because it's a fact. A funny quote I heard once is "you shouldn't take life too seriously, nobody makes it out alive." What is life, then, if not the same type of heroic stand against an un-defeatable enemy? Every day we struggle to exist, to find meaning, and if we're lucky, find happiness. Yet when it's all said and done, no matter how much meaning you've found, or how happy you are, you are still going to die. From this perspective, life itself is exactly the same type of heroic struggle we all love to watch and read about. And here's the kicker: the worse your life is, the more heroic you are to struggle against it.

This is why I have come to really enjoy Harry Potter fan fiction. You get authors that cover every part of the spectrum and every part of a person's mind, no matter how dark (although the really dark ones are too much for me, thank you very much). The point is that many of these authors are actually baring their soul a little at a time when they write these stories, no matter how unrealistic or fantastic they may be. Every person that really starts to get into their writing is writing, in some way, about who they are and what they feel. Some Harry Potters fight for justice, some fight for love, some fight for innocence, some fight because something in them says it's the right thing to do. Some fight for god, some fight for revenge, and some don't fight at all. Think about all the things these Harry Potter's fight for, and then think about the reason's people live for. Some people live for love, some for justice, some for innocence, etc. Some people give up and decide life just isn't worth it. But most often people live for a little of all these reasons, and many more. We find reasons to fight the good fight while we can, knowing that we can't win and we'll never get out alive.

And that, my friends, is definitely heroic.

-M

A Poem: A Lover's Dream

Beauty and Grace like spring flowers be
in you my love, though not to me
do your eyes turn with heaven's gleam,
for it is another that such faint heart's esteem.

Another indeed, who has many battles won,
and great armies led beneath the cresting sun.
Wealth, fortune, and immortal fame,
all these can affection's object claim.

And yet I too have battles won,
and deeds as great as his have done.
Oft less in fame, in lands grown cold,
among the huddled sick, the weak and old.

Though now I see with God's eye plain
that were all tales told, t'would be in vain.
For true valor's color finds not your thought.
Only the echo of false shadows sought.

And I? I sit with aching head,
as I lie slowly down to bed.
To dream my minds eye didn't see,
all that is, but what should be.

-M

A Poem: An Apology

What words from this poor heart did come
to take from you my sweet love's flame?
What soul-less beast did I become,
that even my lips forsake their name?
Oh Dearest love of heaven's grace,
would that I could see you now.
And with a gentle touch replace,
my words with this, love's truest vow.
All sights we shall, with eyes entwined
behold with hands in soft embrace.
And beyond these mortal cares confined,
let unworthy words my soul replace.

-M

A Poem: Evermore

Bright Star, in heaven shining, immortal light of truth beguiling
what strength of soul must I reveal to see your light no more?
Jest not at mortal gaze forlorn, that hopes and dreams my eyes adorn
and let instead my feet rest upon the distant shore.
Let all my prayers be answered there upon that distant shore.
Let me know you, evermore.

Let me know you, light of time beginning, ancient answers with you bringing,
and let me know from whence you came and from what masters door.
Past earthly touch of passion, fleeting, all purposes with it defeating,
let me tread the silent steps unending I implore!
On bended knee head bowed and set with passion I implore!
Light embrace me, evermore.

Oh, this question burns unending, and now each whole night I am spending,
with pen in hand by moonlight and this book upon the floor.
To what timeless trick am I enthralled, thickly bound to dreams recalled,
and visions cracked and facing seeing through Saint Peter's door?
To feel the endless sands that lie just steps beyond the door.
Can I stay here, evermore?

-M

A Poem: She

She cries, and God is mistaken.

The high heavens surely must be jealous.
For angels, tried and true above the ugly of man,
to swallowed by the sphere of one living.
And to be so admired by the soldiers of righteousness.

She smiles, and the sun is put in shadow.

With beauty worthy of the azure sea itself.
Twin celestials shine, beacons of hope,
above the rivers of rose beneath the golden sky.
Surrounded in eternal perfection by the finest of God's coverings.

She looks, and death feels alive.

The creeping dark scatters under her piercing gaze.
Men feel their consciousness burned, spirits swirl with envy.
Angels of the highest graces rise and fall with her beating heart,
and time pauses to observe the passing of perfection.

She cares, and doubt removes itself.
She adores, and the righteous cry.
She loves, and one finds the perfection he sought,
here in the arms of the best of all things.

-M