Aira: City Born of Fear (Part I)

Sleep won't come to me tonight,
not after such a sightly fright.
Do I dream, am I awake?
Or am I dead beneath that lake?


Flee, do flee! If you go near
Aira: city born of fear,
only horror does await.
Learn from my most grievous fate!
When the moon begins to rise,
look and see, it's Satan's eye
staring down on tainted waves;
dead beneath rise from their graves.


And into the lake they drag
any fool who's fool to lag
after sinking of the sun.
Yet still the nightmare's just begun...

Passion of an English Major

I'm not a huge fan of writing about myself, especially in poetry. Certainly, I use personal experience to draw from for inspiration. So I was less excited than I might have been otherwise, when assigned in a creative writing class to construct a sonnet about myself. Nonetheless, here's the Shakespearean sonnet I produced.

I am of life: I live and breathe and think,
I feel. What else is there at all to say?
Is life a goal or daily quest? Does ink
on page define the passing of these days?
I yearn to write of all the scenes I see.
I crave to read the hearts of those who came
before and during my short life. I plea
to those who read my words: what great acclaim
is there to find in inky blood? I've tried
to speak with love and truth. What there, within,
speaks not alone of that which I've implied?
Can one relate to what I've said therein?
Yes, please look within yourself and tell
me, kindly, what inside does live and dwell?

Silent War On Enchanted Times

A silent war on pleasant times
fought within my own sad mind.
Are you not weary of the fight?

Memories invade at night,
and steal any peace they find.
Have you not fought this long enough?

Control the thoughts, they'll eat alive
the peace of mind, or what they find.
Are you not weary of the fight?

It's always simpler said than done,
but finally the battle's won!
No more hope of enchanted times.
Are you not weary of the fight?
Had you not fought this long enough?

Passion, outline

What defines your life through your long day?
Is it a god to whom you pray?
Or maybe family or in friends,
that defines passion in your life.
Perhaps it is in literature:
the aged ink on aged page?
The scent of books once they have aged?
Does your heart fly when you see clouds?
Or are you flying in the sky
when nothing on Earth can make you frown
and bring you back down to the ground.
Maybe you sail on open sea
when your pulse races, you are free.
Is it the first thought in your head
that gets you up and out of bed?
That mountain waiting to be climbed
or the cars that race along the road?
County drives or country pride?
Is it the players on the field?
Or the players up on stage?
What frees you from your bonds and cage?
Tell me, where's the passion in your life?

Lord it's just her time to die.

I did not get much sleep last night.
In midst of dream, I heard her cry.
I called her name into the dark,

but all she did was cry and cry.

From warmth of bed and blankets

I went into the hall to find

the cause of the repeated calls.

My lovely, sweet and gentle cat

who I have known most of my life

was writhing, clawing across the ground.

She cried. She cried. She cried.

I tried to pet her gently, ask

"What is it girl? hush, please hush."
But all she did was cry and cry.

Her back legs would not hold her weight,

she flopped her body left to right

and clawed the carpet, crawling as

a soldier would in battle-zone.
Eventually she stopped so I

could scratch her head, while my heart broke.

I realized she sought to hide

somewhere dark with peace to die.

I did not know what troubled her,

legs paralyzed or body pains.
All I knew was that she cried.
She could not become comfortable,

she scratched my hand and left a mark.

I did not care, she is my baby,

my baby seeking where to die.
I could not take it, the dam had broke

behind my eyes, I joined her cry.
I went into my room and sat.

"What can we bequeath save 

our deposed bodies to the ground?
...And nothing can we call our own but death
and that small model of the barren earth
which serves as paste and cover to our bones."

The cat insisted stay with me,

she fought her way into my room

and crawled beneath my bed where I

could hear her painful struggle, cry.
I guess there's no more sleep tonight.
Eventually she crawled back out

and I reached down to pick her up.
I cradled her in my warm arms

as father would his baby in his arms.

I took her to the living room

and built a fire to keep her warm.

My broken heart did shatter more,

when she began to purr. 

I know this tortured death

could take some days, a week to come.

But I won't sleep, I'll comfort her

and pray to God to stop the purr.
Oh lord, please give her peace and rest.

Do take her soul into your house,

please save her from this pain.

For she is old and weak; and I 

know that it's just her time.

Lord, it's just her time to die.

I measure life by rainy days

I'll measure life of mine by rainy days:

When as I child, water fell
and made soft earth, my heart ablaze
I'd scream and laugh through sweetly smells
of wet concrete and moistured ground.
No happier days are to be found.

And when the sun, obscured by clouds
My adolescent mind did find
a soothing peace in rainy shrouds.
Again does water fall, and it reminds
me of those happy, rainy days.

Then in my teen years, when First Love
was miles, and miles, and miles away
I walked in pouring, drenching storm
Just to hear her voice and to talk of
whatever in our minds did form.

I lost her to another man who broke her heart.
Her birthday dinner, he wouldn't show
she called me crying, while rain and snow
began to fall, and drench and flood the roads.
I took up danger, left with hope
that being there just might restart
that dying flame found in our hearts.

Time did pass, and I did find
another girl, I loved; I loved too great this time.
We watched rain fall, inside the car
While sitting legs and arms entwined.
I gave her more than she deserved,
I gave her all, no distance from her was too far.
Alas, this innocently hope
betrayed me. Soon, I couldn't cope.

And so, as college student, I
Went out in rain to clear my mind.
I had by chance, and with some luck,
obtained green herbs to pack and burn.
And burn they did, while all around
The rain poured, soaking me and flooding ground.

Now bereft of what I loved,
girl, friends, college, green herbs, all the 'bove
The drops of heaven's sweetly tears
caress my face and wash out fears.
For in the mist and wet downpour,
I find some quiet peace of mind.

I measure life by rainy days.

Love, I do regret

It's been ten months since we did part
and yet I still don't have the heart
to make it through the passing day,
nor even care to stop and pray.
God gives not strength, nor joyous times:
it's only misery entwined
in life at night until sunset.
Oh, Love, oh, Love, I do regret
for ever seeking your soft care.
Since our love lost you do not share
more than the tortured punishment
of silent hate. (Though I more hate
this most unfortunately fate)
From friends of best to hated thoughts:
Oh Love, oh love, I do regret.