Mysterious Turns
December 20th 2006 04:31
Mysterious Turns by Epiphanie Bloom
Meanwhile events keep churning,
Blinding me, and overturning
the sense of serenity that I never arguably had,
and casting me further
into irreverence instead.
Poetic moments mingle
with unpalatable splashes
of that cruel blue sea…
who is my friend
and yet my enemy
and I fear (not) that it shall always be.
I crash and crash,
altho I’m only spectating.
The sea was everything and nothing that I was expecting.
It simmers in its daily, untamed beauty,
it picks up and carries off human creations for its booty.
It’s an uncontrollable force
I cannot wade into today-
the temperature of it’s windy soul
shall cool that which
needs to be heated today.
I’m angry I cannot enter this world now
and hurl at it my wild dismay.
I was forced to leave, to go away,
with not a tip of me
contacting with the water.
But I’ll be back (in full regalia)
to tackle that which never really left me
(no matter how I tried to abandon it’s opulence).
It drags me back and unsuccessfully
begs me to lose myself
in it’s wild scheme.
It was a cloudy day, and light was fading,
symbolism that heralded vigorous evading,
in my landscape of confusion,
as the water terrified
a lost windy wave in me-
one which falls and scatters all that it set out to be-
I (im)passively reside.
Wherefore do waves originate and disassemble...
In this space, on which I can't get a handle?
Ever so intricately immersed, and I'm duly entranced, but...
Does my search for something new
Come out of all the old things I couldn’t face?
Does to add, compile, embrace the new,
Mean older things become erased?
And yet but what is the space I’m subconsciously seeking
As I'm flattened to the door but leaning,
Into the next room, which I've never seen before?
I think I'll leave my answers at the door
Too many questions lie in store...
Please do not reproduce this work without permission.
Meanwhile events keep churning,
Blinding me, and overturning
the sense of serenity that I never arguably had,
and casting me further
into irreverence instead.
Poetic moments mingle
with unpalatable splashes
of that cruel blue sea…
who is my friend
and yet my enemy
and I fear (not) that it shall always be.
I crash and crash,
altho I’m only spectating.
The sea was everything and nothing that I was expecting.
It simmers in its daily, untamed beauty,
it picks up and carries off human creations for its booty.
I cannot wade into today-
the temperature of it’s windy soul
shall cool that which
needs to be heated today.
I’m angry I cannot enter this world now
and hurl at it my wild dismay.
I was forced to leave, to go away,
with not a tip of me
contacting with the water.
But I’ll be back (in full regalia)
to tackle that which never really left me
(no matter how I tried to abandon it’s opulence).
It drags me back and unsuccessfully
begs me to lose myself
in it’s wild scheme.
It was a cloudy day, and light was fading,
symbolism that heralded vigorous evading,
in my landscape of confusion,
as the water terrified
a lost windy wave in me-
one which falls and scatters all that it set out to be-
I (im)passively reside.
Wherefore do waves originate and disassemble...
In this space, on which I can't get a handle?
Ever so intricately immersed, and I'm duly entranced, but...
Does my search for something new
Come out of all the old things I couldn’t face?
Does to add, compile, embrace the new,
And yet but what is the space I’m subconsciously seeking
As I'm flattened to the door but leaning,
Into the next room, which I've never seen before?
I think I'll leave my answers at the door
Too many questions lie in store...
Please do not reproduce this work without permission.
This was originally written while I was in high school, and could be seen as a companion piece to A Poetic Deconstruction of 'M'eaning, also written around that time. I edited it significantly today, working off the clues I'd left for myself in the original, the last few stanzas of which were:
Waves originate and die
In the same pool of collective feelings.
They’re all immersed into each other.
My search for something new
Comes out of all the old things I can’t face.
To add, compile, embrace the new,
Means older things become erased
And that is what I’m subconsciously seeking
As I’m standing on the edge of one door and peeking
Into the next room, the one I haven’t yet explored
I insinuate myself in like a hundred times before
In the same pool of collective feelings.
They’re all immersed into each other.
My search for something new
Comes out of all the old things I can’t face.
To add, compile, embrace the new,
Means older things become erased
And that is what I’m subconsciously seeking
As I’m standing on the edge of one door and peeking
Into the next room, the one I haven’t yet explored
I insinuate myself in like a hundred times before
What do you think of the changes? I'm happy for the poem to exist in multiple formats, as they bring out different subtexts.
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