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Old Thunder
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Since some people here, like myself, often engage in poetry writing, I figured that I would open up this thread so anyone can share what they’ve written here. I will begin with a new one I wrote this morning:
“Thus Spake The Nightspirit.”
Thus spake the nightspirit:
”The world is turning still.”
Turning on as if it is
Part of a divine will
In the halls of happiness
There find the bride’s focus
Outside in the garden
Find the blooming crocus
There behind the garden wall
Worms run all around
And the nighthawk stands to attention
In the summer’s ground
But elsewhere, elsewhere, they heard the call
Eleswhere, elsewhere, took up the song
Elsewhere, elsewhere, they sang the tune
And elsewhere they went out, by the moon
Many souls called by the insatiable
Spirits of the hills
To the wild outer lands
They came to see their fills
But as the loon’s sound echoes nearby
Some of these would not make it by
They came to hear and to heed
But for them was not the cry
The old fisherman with his silver rod
Finds himself at an end and odd
The young mother whose dying breath
Sends her kin to untimely death
The old preacher who must face the stand
And begin again without God’s hand
The businessman with nothing but trust
Must give it all up to begin to lust
A young woman raped at a railway station
A wearied mage with no use to the nation
An old sorceror with none more to give
And a young magician with no life to live
All these had dreams, hopes and ideals
All these went out to make them real
But Fate is a master hard to please
Alas, the world was not for these
Thus spake the nightspirit:
”The world shall turn once more.”
And so do we all, turn anew.
“Thus Spake The Nightspirit.”
Thus spake the nightspirit:
”The world is turning still.”
Turning on as if it is
Part of a divine will
In the halls of happiness
There find the bride’s focus
Outside in the garden
Find the blooming crocus
There behind the garden wall
Worms run all around
And the nighthawk stands to attention
In the summer’s ground
But elsewhere, elsewhere, they heard the call
Eleswhere, elsewhere, took up the song
Elsewhere, elsewhere, they sang the tune
And elsewhere they went out, by the moon
Many souls called by the insatiable
Spirits of the hills
To the wild outer lands
They came to see their fills
But as the loon’s sound echoes nearby
Some of these would not make it by
They came to hear and to heed
But for them was not the cry
The old fisherman with his silver rod
Finds himself at an end and odd
The young mother whose dying breath
Sends her kin to untimely death
The old preacher who must face the stand
And begin again without God’s hand
The businessman with nothing but trust
Must give it all up to begin to lust
A young woman raped at a railway station
A wearied mage with no use to the nation
An old sorceror with none more to give
And a young magician with no life to live
All these had dreams, hopes and ideals
All these went out to make them real
But Fate is a master hard to please
Alas, the world was not for these
Thus spake the nightspirit:
”The world shall turn once more.”
And so do we all, turn anew.
