The Other
I cannot write.
The star is dead.
The poet in me returns to slumber.
So fleeting the instant, so silent the time,
Already Fall slips into December.
The twilight has come.
The end is near.
The final sigh of Winter.
Nature heaves, my heart dies.
Life poised on a balanced whisper.
That cannot fly, is already gone,
Far away, twisted by a convulsive mutter.
I am lost, I am dread,
The illusion so faint, so sweet.
It was said, I once said.
You are mine, I am yours,
In you fulfilled, I drink and meet.
Lost, oh lost, hopelessly lost forever.
Escape, escape, I fly, I run, I go.
On the precipice of dreams, I roam.
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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Renewal
I once knew a man, cursed to slavery,
He had been broken, yet did not understand,
Why he was imprisoned, he blamed society,
When he was king in this land, ruler of his reality.
He dreamed one night, it was quite a sight to see,
That he had grown wings, he was truly free.
When he awoke, he laughed joyously,
He could still soar, he could find liberty.
He had never lost his wings, only his ability,
To see clearly, this darkness was of his creativity,
He was the origin of this thing that lead him blindly,
And he had blamed all around him, oh what great irony.
So he arose, what a great and marvelous sight,
To see him fly, no more did he have to fight,
All witnessed his awakening, his majesty and might,
His gaze had shaken off it's chains, all around him was light,
Humanity's heart sang, Nature joined his kingly flight,
Beauty welcomed his return, his fall had only been slight.
He roared in triumph, vanquished his foe so imaginary,
Never again to weaken, death had been an illusory agony,
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poem by Jeremy Cahoon
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