The Night Past

[Law of Loud]

Here's the list of poetry I wrote on Friday. None of it my favorite, but I don't see why I shouldn't throw it on here. A couple were cut out for a number of reasons. I lost some of them, including the two that I liked the most (sorta gave them in a letter to somebody, and they haven't given them back yet).

Also realize that there is some level of anxiety in these. Friday was a completely bizarre day for me in almost every respect. Everything was in complete chaos, little made any sense, and everything ranged from complete happiness to akward moments, to moments where I honestly though I was going to get decked.

 

[Law of Loud]

Indignant, you so remind of the time I use to smile,
Reminiscient, you burn a hole through this funeral pile,
Convoluted, it's so delicate that it spins me in a whirl,
Effervescent, you're so colorful and bursting forth a world.

----------------------------

Written the day before the other one. This is merely the expression of my emotion, but I don't really know if I should believe myself.

 

[Law of Loud]

There stirs this pervading sense of dire fortune,
A wretched stench of burnt flesh and porous souls,
I should not think such thoughts but why do I care,
For matters that are superficial and hollow lie beneath us all.

------------------------------------------------

In looking back, the concern that caused me to write this poetry passed on its own time. Yet, the latter part of this poem still rings true. I am so conflicted over a few issues, because I don't really know if I can believe myself or my emotion.

 

[Law of Loud]

The ringing of the water slowly echoes,
As it patters upon the floor beside me,
Fervent effort brought no end or requiem,
Or forgot of this dire fortune.

I lie here beside myself,
Alone in this end of the world.

I cannot breathe in this steely grave,
But no longer belong to the rolling sea,
And my mind draws a blank on what disease,
Could curse me more than this lack of release.

I lie here beside myself,
Alone in this end of the world.

 

[Law of Loud]

Pale gray monotone of starkness to this hallway,
Lined with letters in the tongues of poets in their heyday,
Eternal multitudes of their profound muttering of prophecy,
Melancholy blend of these loves that I can never heed.