FalkinPAAAWNCH

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

Endure

You were called to endure
By a voice deep inside
Though you deny whence it came
The word yet remains

Endure

Night has just begun
The pain only just set in
The cold freshly kissed your skin
Causing the hair to stand on end

Endure

Does night not precede the dawn?
Can the pain never be mended?
Does the chill overpower the fire?
Does the Now mean there's no Tomorrow?

Endure

The speaker is a liar when it predicts no hope
The voice isn't a friend when he says give up
There's another on your shoulder who bears no halo
Block him out and give him no quarter

Endure

You profess to be a stranger
You believe yourself alone
You accept you are an orphan
You call no place home

Endure, my friend

Repeat the encouragement whenever you need
This is for you: I offer this seed
The garden needs tended but it was made for you
Your place exists and has always been true
So while you still draw breath
I wish you to

Endure

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

To Reach Beyond

I raise my voice to heaven
Hear me cry with a thousand gails
I believe you are there high up
I see beyond what I am shown
I know there is an immaculate throne
I see a river without end
I feel the shade of divine boughs
I am apart from there
But I see it so vividly
I feel the breath of the sun
A new sun
A sun foreign to me here
I hear the singing of many voices
I feel an unchallenged peace
Pray with me now
Hear my soul cry out in yearning
I am empty, woefully empty
My substance dissolves
I am nothing apart from yon distant land
Send down your chariot
Recover me with your messengers
Send me help for I am weak
Promise me something eternal
I weep for the great chasm between us
But I am strengthened in your light
Reach down to me as I reach up
I am not alone
I am not alone
I was never alone

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

Captured Star

Child of starlight, where did they hide you?
Pale splendor wasted on so few
Whited halls kept spotless for who?
Sterile and stifling--you feel it too.
Do not let them drown you, little star
Their take on perfection only goes so far
Can you measure the worth of the sun?
No one can name a price, no, not one.
Born of molten cosmos, you catch fire
They fear your light: their pyre
Catch fire, my star, and burn bright
Ignite your soul and scorch their sight
Even as you burn them, they will be saved
In your radiance the future will be paved

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

Accuser

I have spent the day weighing
Your woefully inadequate soul
Look how the scale tips against you
All you could manage was thus?
You dare think this is acceptable?
Who deluded you?
Who filled your head with thoughts of
Succeeding on half measures?
You cannot even rest on your laurels
When you haven't enough leaves
To weave your honored headdress
Finished?
This is the fullness of your work?
So many hours have you toiled
And all you could produce was
Failed attempts and "maybe next time"s?
Wishes and hopes that Fate would be so kind
As to offer an undeserving wretch such as you
A second try costs more than the effort you have submitted
Where are your tears?
Where is your sweat?
You have not bled enough to earn
Pity or favor
Try, try again then!
You have yet to notice my hand on the scale
Pulling it deeper
Raising the price higher
Than what you are capable of paying

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

Mother's Eyes

Surrounded by masses of people
Intoxicated with wanting to be
To exist in another's gaze
I lose myself in their futile search
For meaning found in the eyes of the beholder
Inundated by these lost souls
I cannot fathom what quiet is
So many voices crying out with longing
Believing that if they cry the loudest
Someone might notice their
Validate their existence
"I see you therefore you exist"
It's the voice of Mother
Snatching up her miserable infant
Wailing if by some way to reach
Her lofty ears up out of sight and reach
From such billow the smog I am smothered by
Children reaching up to each other
Belching haunted echoing wails
"You will replace Mother in my eyes"
I am not Mother for anyone
I am not a miserable infant
I stamp my foot with insistance
"I AM NOT! I AM NOT! I AM NOT!"
Tell me I am not a child like them
Tell me I do not wail like them
Tell me I am not them
Separate us by kinds: I and them
Tell me I'm better Mother
Notice me Mother
Don't cater to them mother
I AM YOUR CHILD MOTHER
NOTICE ME MOTHER
NOTICE ME, NOTICE ME, NOTICE ME

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

Mosey's Palace Series

Room 123

Room 123

The door jingles a bell as you enter
Here in the lobby at the very center
You'll find a door to the left and right
A staircase ahead that ascends out of sight
The tile floor is old and missing pieces
The yellowed walls hold termites with leases
A single light flickers overhead
At least it doesn't smell like something long dead
Through the door to the left is a hallway with doors
A wrinkly red carpet runs ahead on the floor
Mostly dark in here save for one light
There far ahead almost out of sight
You look down at your key
A faded piece of leather stamped with '123'
In this spanse of darkness is your room
But there in the dark could also lie your doom
One step, two, three, six, nine
You desperately scan room numbers on down the line
A wrinkle in the carpet catches your foot
You stumble, stumble, stumble, like a galoot
Fallen facedown, you scramble and claw to your feet
When your eyes look ahead your heart skips a beat
Against the distant light a silhouette appears
It opens a door, enters, and disappears
The door isn't closed, left open for you
As when you arrive you find you are who the room belongs to
It's dark inside but enter you must
You gulp, thinking 'It will be fine, I trust'
Your feet cross the threshold into the gloom
As a voice shrieks out certain doom
This is my, my, MY ROOM!

Crooked Teeth

Crooked Teeth

I awoke one night to a persistent noise
A grinding sound that only annoys
It was the tenant above me on the second floor
An elderly man long at death's door
How unlike him to make such racket
So I grab my slippers and don my jacket
Out to the lobby and up the stairs
Down the hall to the old man's lair
At the door I pause and have a listen
Bothering the man causing indecision
Through the door I hear it still
The subtle sound of a grinding mill
A couple knocks and I beckon to him
"Sir, it's late. Could you quiet your din?"
Quiet ensues in the wake of my call
Was there need for me to be there at all?
I start to leave but a voice calls to me
"Come in here. Quick! Come in and see!"
I wonder if the man is possibly ill
Maybe he's fallen or needs a pill
I open the door which was left unlocked
I enter the room with an urgent walk
Stopping short as I slip on black residue
I nearly fall on the couple from room 202
They stared up at me blankly, eyes long dead
Only now did I know to begin to dread
Footsteps approach from a room in the back
I try to crawl away but traction I lacked
The floor was covered in a viscous goo
That now prevented me from bidding adieu
To what presently appeared from around the corner
The elderly gentleman: a vision of horror
His limbs were too long, his neck overly extended
His mouth opened beyond where it should have ended
But worst of all were his crooked teeth
Stained black, out of whack, a wicked wreath
They stacked together in a vicious smile
As the man approached saying "Won't you stay for awhile?
My teeth are crooked from grinding up bones
Of men and women in my neighbors' homes
The couple there are both past their due, but you,
With you there's much yet I can do...."

Room 202

Room 202

The sun wanes to golden embers
Over a road that very few remember
A car travels the path long and winding
Over desert hills and sand that's blinding
By and by a sign reads at last
"Rest stop ahead: Mosey's Palace"
The travelers agree--it's getting late
Best save their adventures for a later date
Cruising into town in search of a palace
What they find seems more rugged and callous
A two story building with a wide, peeling face
It couldn't be said it didn't have space
Worn yet pristine in a used sort of way
High end or low: neither could say
Parking the car and grabbing their bags
A long stretch and a sigh as their posture sags
Fatigue weighed heavy as they approached the door
One tug, two, three and a few more
Were they closed? No vacancy? Surely not
How could they fill up such a large plot
Then a click from the door as it opened so slightly
"Must've been stuck." his wife joked lightly
Whatever the case, they were in at last
Into the lobby they moved quite fast
The tile floor was so retro and old
The walls may have once been painted gold
Hard to say in the current state
Well, at least it should be an affordable rate
Approaching the counter, he rings the bell
While they stood and waited, a silence would swell
A couple more dings in rapid succession
But no one showed, making them question
Just what kind of place this establishment was
That the staff would be AWOL without cause
They looked every which way but saw no one
Reasons to stay had just become 'none'
But just then as they were making ready to leave
They spied a key on the counter ready to be received
He picked up the key and studied its tag
A worn piece of leather looking more like a rag
Burned into its face was the number '202'
Clutching the key, he announced to the room
"We'll be staying the night and can pay what is needed.
I tip well for service, so don't think me conceited.
Skip the wake up call, we'll need our rest.
Tonight your bedsprings will be given our test!"

The Gilded Lion

The Gilded Lion

In Mosey's Palace through the door to the right
Is a peculiar wing that should stay out of sight
The rooms here are dangerous if you couldn't tell
Open these doors and you might fall under a spell
But one such woman did not have this warning
She was wandering around about midmorning
Opening the door she was met with a hall
Not unlike the one on the leftside sprawl
But this hall was lit and seemed very inviting
Glitzy and extravagant, it was very exciting
She walked down the hall examining each door
One, two, three, five (there was no four)
"How curious." she said before looking further
She passed many doors without much fervor
Yet one stopped her right there in her tracks
A white door with a gilded lion's head engraved in a plaque
Her pulse raced at the sight of the majestic beast
She murmured, "I'll take a peek in here at least...."
The doorknob turned at her meager touch
(This place doesn't lock its doors much)
Upon entering she finds the room empty
Save for a sign which reads "Can the beast tempt thee?"
On the floor before her was a magnficent rug
Woven in the fibers was a large lion and its young
They were laid out on a background of deepest blue
Her eyes could not move from that magnificent hue
A titillated breath escapes her lips
She crouches down and sits as she smooths her slip
Her hand caresses the rug's silken fibers
The texture intoxicating her worse than an imbiber
She lays down next to the lion's head
As she strokes its mane, she felt heavy as lead
She was quite content to lay there forever
Petting the lion a worthy endeavor
She continued to do so unaware of the sound
A chirping purr could be heard all around
The golden fibers of the lion bulged and grew
As the beast rose from the carpet and the sea of blue
The girl's hand never left the great lion's mane
Unaware of the beast or whether it was tame
But the lion was real as was its hunger
For long had it been in deep, deep slumber
And so if you travel down the right wing
And spy a door with the head of the lion king
Pass it on by for you shall not find
A young damsel therein to wine and dine
Just a lush rug with a gilded lion
Waiting for a passersby to tempt and dine on

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

A Man Loves the Moon

What words might describe you
In a way that would give what is due
My adoration, my awe
Enamored with the beauty I saw
Hung on the gravity of cosmic beings
Speckled with dust from Saturn's rings
Not a moon but a bride in waiting
I, a mortal lowly and prating,
Grasping at words to convince
Yon angel to lose her sense
Forsake her realm and descend
Come nigh to me and pretend
That one such as I could suffice
To be worthy of your dowry price
Would I be guiltless in this crime
Of stealing your heart and time
While covering your glistening eyes
Hiding this inadequacy of mine
What could man offer the moon?
Could flesh and blood make you swoon?
Will my fragility entice?
My insecurities? My vice?
Would these vexations be pleasing?
My shortcomings appeasing?
O whited maiden of the Milky Way
If you will, if you may,
Permit me in hoping you'll say
That you would be happy to stay

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

The Forgotten Fool

With the weight of mortality
Bearing down on my shoulders
I took a stroll through the streets
To try and ease my turmoil
While crossing the first block
I witnessed a store open
It flourished for a second
Then a 'For Sale' sign appeared
As its windows went forever dark
I shuddered and impatiently
Waited for the crossing light
While I waited a mother came by
She was carrying her newborn
And as I waited, pleading the light to turn
The babe dropped from its mother's arms
And began walking around her as a toddler
It began growing further but I dared not look
The light turned and I trotted away
The mother and her child pursued me
I had no choice but to quicken my pace
Across the next block I watched in horror
As a building, freshly erected
Corroded and decayed until men came
And tore the building down brick by brick
Until nothing was left but its memory
My eyes began to water but there was no time
My pursuers were hot on my heels
Though the child was now almost a man
And the woman had gray in her hair
I turned the corner hoping to lose them
But I was trapped by construction
The city was reshaping around me
And had now trapped me in its labyrinthine growth
I turned as my pursuers turned the corner
The boy, now fully a man, approaching middle age
The woman, withered and at death's door
It was only a matter of time for her
But the man, her son, held her in her final moments
My legs buckled underneath me as my tears began flowing
Who was there to hold me?
I don't know these people
I don't know this city
I don't know this world anymore
I lean back on the cold pavement
My strength leaves me as I stare up into a foreign sky
"I suspect..." I say aloud
"No one shall know of me either...."

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

A Call to Those Who Still Live But Have Forgotten

With wistful voice
Sing I this chorus.
It pleads and draws;
Breathe as my mouth yawns.
Sing out, my tenor,
Cry out, thine tender
Message of hope
Without limit or scope.
Cry out to the warrior:
"Peace my brother!"
Listen and be cleansed--
Calm, not incensed!
Why die by the sword
When you can live by your word?
Live, rage against your captor!
No longer slave but master!
Raise your voice, thou mute.
Speak reason, cry truth.
Rise, on your feet.
Not halted, no defeat!
Lick not the festered wound!
Maddened dog, distracted loon,
Come out and away!
Leave the dead where they lay.
Dwell with the living.
Sew life, reap thanksgiving.
I cried to you with all my force.
My breath is ragged, voice hoarse.
With tears I look out--
Voice unable to lift a shout.
May even these tears convince you:
Your life is not left. You are not through.

I was a writer once. [Poetry(?)]

When I Look at You

When I look at you, I remember a time
When I was young too, age less than a dime
Tiny was I and very curious
So full of energy, and at times furious
I remember playing, running, and laughing too
Trips to museums and even a zoo
The world was so big and everything new
Grass was so green and the sky so blue
I am much older now and can only just remember
The excitement that brewed every September
The leaves fell away and the cold blew in
Soon it would snow as winter begins
Breaks from school and holiday fun
Back when my life had only just begun
It comes back so clear when I look at you
I once wasn't much older than two plus two
I've grown since then and gotten much older
But I keep those memories tucked away in a folder
A folder I open from time to time
Whenever I look at your big youthful eyes