Fleeting
Why do I feel
The need to spill
The overwhelming
With a quill,
This need to organise
And arise
To overcome the hill,
To see beyond
The limit of eyes
To exercise my will,
To break this bond
Challenge the sight
To make my soul still,
To find a door
Perfectly right
To always hope for more,
Banish the might
Of love
Accepting what is in store,
To soar away
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Why
Why?
My human eyes gaze at the sky,
The Beauty imprisoned by the lie,
My tormented soul wishes to fly,
My body aching, begging to die.
Why?
Beauty sleeps in the heart,
True infinity in everyone's hope,
Reality and serenity so far apart,
Oblivion promised at the top of the slope.
Why?
Constrained by man's domination,
Twisted by vanity and frustration,
Fearful of the only solution,
Absolute peace in emancipation.
Why?
The dreamer refuses to live a lie,
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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From All, To All
From a doubt,
Spirals up a snare of weakness,
From a fear,
Lashes out a vision of bleakness,
From a fall,
Grimaces down a sickly illness,
From myself,
Am I crippled by enslaved meekness.
From a dream,
Arise the winds of illumination,
From a hope,
Are cast off the bonds of imitation,
From a purpose,
Unspoken words whisper of this haven,
From your smile,
Is born the renewal of recurrent occasion.
Yet from all is taken far greater than I,
The Other is nothing to the outshining eye,
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Thought And Demise
What is a thought meant to be,
But a hazardous waste of collected memory,
Twisted and embellished into clarity,
To complacently fall into sanity.
Who can understand enough to categorize,
The emotion that looms in the depths of the wise,
That animate all and light up the eyes,
That stir and trouble the sensitive cries,
Enshrined in a forgotten isle of lies,
Precariously navigated by the reader of skies,
Awakening the artist, who anxiously sighs,
Confronted by a reality he ardently denies,
In an idyllic stupor of creativity he lies,
The expanse of Beauty he tragically espies,
Vainly piercing the conceited disguise,
Of the unseen friends that secretly chastise,
Bane of the thorny rose that withers and dies,
Discarding shards of memory, the poet replies,
Hoping to perceive this catatonic prize,
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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The Untold Story
I have long known a strange man,
His identity, a complete mystery,
He seemed content to wander without a plan,
Saying: 'I will know when I meet it on my journey'.
Not a sigh escaped his lips,
As he pursued his aimless task,
Uncaring for what draped his hips,
Not a worry lined his tranquil mask.
In pity I once offered companionship,
Or maybe it was vague curiosity,
But he gently declined my friendship,
Responding: 'My path must be walked solitarily'.
He pursued ever onward so tirelessly,
Answering the unseen beacon,
This statuesque figure of forsaken majesty,
Traversed roads never to be beaten.
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Journey
My every gaze ends at the foot of a door,
One that looms with mystery,
My longing hungers to explore,
That infinite possibility.
I am told to follow the path in front of me,
And this I am often reminded,
That I must began my life journey,
That curiosity is blinded.
So I drag on to some unseen end,
Hoping to achieve fulfillment,
What others need, I can't comprehend,
All they see is entertainment.
So as I go about today,
Busy with routine occupation,
I secretly plan to disobey,
To be free of this oppression.
So in my mischief I conceive,
A plot ingeniously planned,
That will lead them all to believe,
That I have left this land.
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Inevitably
I surround all, even you,
Condemning liberty to fall, this lie,
My oblivion is a fatal sigh, their cry,
Cannot modify it's course, it's true,
Futility fills the damned nature of being,
The one's cursed with partial feeling, or seeing,
The sand trickles onward, it flew,
To an uncertain destiny, always fleeing,
But there is no escape from my hold, I was told,
That they clutch on to this thread, believing,
It would prolong this illusion, but the cold,
Numbing, sensation of my love enfolds the core,
Of this brief little moment, so forever fleeting,
This touch of mine, instills them with horror,
I grant them this gift, it is my power of healing,
They refuse to understand, there is no meaning,
This notion of existing, is but a painting,
That opens the door, to a forgotten Beauty,
A gateway to marvels, the key of fantasy,
Accept my quiet embrace, join me in infinity,
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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The Mumbled Shrieks Of A Soft Delusion
I wish to write you a word, or two,
To paint the sky with a sliver of color,
That came not from above or below,
But from the throbbing of our hearts together,
Written on the immaculate mirrors of self imagery,
Glows a figure of brightness, of luminous treasure,
Humming a melody not of sounds but of intuition,
Melded into a pool of light breathing a living artistry,
That cannot be questioned through the insatiable armor,
Of a long gone knight purposely drawn to his mission,
As silence kisses the currents flowing through fantasy,
Traversed by a streak of enthralling shards of pleasure,
As they rejoin their distanced purpose and indecision,
Trickling along and around the picturesque statues of majesty,
Crying tears of starlit nights shared in a time of flickering glamor,
As the bleak vision of an inevitable disgust in a sickly corruption,
Travels through the teetering towers and thorns of a damned perpetuity,
To soar and find a destructive son and sun, of a deceptive enamor,
Cast down from his lofty throne resting in a celestial bask of treason,
I join you though the door of our love, into a garden of mystical infinity.
poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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The Continuity
Yet Love is a thorn to my peace, my serenity,
Even now it withholds from me, my intended journey,
I seek only finality, with this step will arrive immortality,
Even in perfect clarity, I am racked by insecurity,
Why am I still burdened by duty, by necessity!
Am I not my own master? Who can claim me as property!
Even in absolute resolution, my liberty smiles grimly,
Beckoning, taunting, will I ever be free?
Despair, my faithful companion, the fuel to my artistry,
My vision fails again, I impose my will on society,
And arise from the subtle bonds of cursed reality,
Universe of hypocrisy! What do you want of me?
Flee my friend, this is no place for Beauty,
It is to this end that my sightless eyes truly see,
What some men only witness in slumber, I grasp effortlessly,
To the pretentious fool is known all humanity,
You would understand, but your faith stumbles blindly,
Like all men of this land, cursed by perfectibility,
Existence in hand, God condemns free-agency,
Before the trinity I will stand, and will declare boldly,
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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The Leaf As Life
A leaf I am,
Through currents incomprehensible,
Dead, the knowledge of my origin,
Severed from prior reality,
Left with a lonesome journey,
Free from all worry,
Yet the liberty makes me worry,
Fatigue rains on me,
Contemplating whether there is an end,
To the free fall of existence,
Laugh in despair, in irony,
Master of my own destiny,
Ultimate and total absurdity,
Illusions of branches above me,
Spurred by forces unbeknownst me,
Ridiculous, my desire to see,
Society but a vague curiosity,
But a weak twig of connectivity,
What truth there may be,
To me, there is only identity,
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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