writing Poetry Compilation #2

[Pan the Fabulous Ferret 2,642]

A note to my readers:

I really must thank you all for your general support and kind words of encouragement. You have been the real reason that i have been able to write as much as I have. I hope you enjoy the works below.

I will of course, write more.

Your friend,

 

David Favret

 

 

Also, please tell me which one is yoour favorite, and what it means to you. THANKS

 

 

 

 

 

Into the Fire

 

 

 

Let me go.

Let me take my final steps that cannot be undone.

You think that your words are able to solve the worlds problems!

Do you believe in such nonsense?

 

This world shall be enveloped in the creeds of its sanity, which by true means, is insanity.

This world will burn with the fires of desire and greed, and the innocent shall suffer.

Nothing but the foundation of human desire shall be saveed from this inevitable destruction.

 

You declare you are a saint!

Do you believe that to be true?

Begone from me,

leave me to rot in my prison of wanting.

I will see no one, hear no reason, and drown out the worlds problems with my own.

 

I am the only voice I can hear!

Am I a monster?

No, I am a common fault, a blight on the earth.

We are flaws.

 

I have nothing to say to you, the world is ending.

You cast me aside, refused to hear my words.

Now I return the favor, and yet,

all I need do is nothing.

 

I merely laugh at your existence.

You murder the innocent and darken the skies.

YOU, the people.

Words can do little anymore.

Only action and consequence make significance.

 

Leave me be.

Let me rot.

I've nothing left to say.

 

You and your people,

once more you die.

If only death was simple.

If only death came at the end of life.

 

But no,

You will die many times before you end your own life.

Don't blame me for telling you these things.

 

Into the fire,

Regret?

No, you are too stubborn.

 

You die now on the eve of destruction, escaping the worlds problems,

only by burrowing your mind farther into itself.

Escape reality before reality can be realized?

You are either clever or ignorant.

 

Once more into the fire,

I stand at the edge, awaiting my final moments.

For I refuse to face death in life.

I will carry on the burden of your lost souls.

I alone it seems.

 

Prove me wrong...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happily in your arms

 

 

"Happiness is that moment in time where all your less significant worries become nonexistent and you yourself become lost in the bliss of whatever pleases you." - David Favret

 

 

 

A feeling, expressed mournfully by emotion.

It manifests in the the heart, and slowly, yet assuredly, reaches the mind.

A sentiment that is long saught by many.

 

Often I stare out my window, my mind left for nothing.

My window was an escape of emotion.

Something i could not express in words.

 

What did I see out that window?

Why did I go back to it?

Who was I waiting for?

 

 

My questions brought no answers, only chaos in my mind.

Was I awaiting another?

 

Someone to hold perhaps.

Someone to care for.

Someone who would give my life meaning.

 

I stare out that window, every day.

Waiting still.

I wish i could stop.

 

But i cant,

not until we find eachother.

Who?

 

I used to ask myself many things.

But the you came to me.

You saw what others failed to see.

I had worth inside?

 

I shrugged off all your grace,

I didnt believe it was meant for me.

I couldnt accept it.

How could I have?

 

You, the first,

maybe the last.

I fell for you.

I think i did?

 

You took your time with me,

You let me open up to you.

And, I believe,

that I was happy...

 

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.

It felt like so much more.

And still, after we tell eachother of our feelings, I am grieved.

How can you? Love me?

 

I shouldnt, but i am.

The one who was accepted.

The one who let himself be.

And, now I am, happy.

 

Im still awaiting our future,

Even if it is gray, dull, and filled with peril.

I am waiting, for you.

Can we?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Abscence of Minds

 

 

And to this,

once again brought to thinking.

I find myself in the minds of others.

 

This is not my own,

and yet I owe them so much.

Much of what I cannot give.

 

What is it about being in the minds of others that allures me so?

Can they not comprehend the enticement they offer?

This shall no doubt be my fall.

 

I wait for that day.

The day when the minds of others are closed to me.

On that day, absence takes it's toll.

 

Why I ask am I to be this?

Why am I me?

Me? one who can.

 

Answers are a part of our lives.

I seek mine in the minds of others.

But on that day, it will change.

I will be cast away.

 

What use is a toy which can no longer function?

Yes, that is what I am. A toy.

And I will be discarded.

 

Regardless it seems, of sentiment.

Regardless of emotion.

Regardless of value.

 

On the day where others minds are closed,

oh on that day.

I shall cease to exist.

 

 

 

 

 

In the Arms of another

 

 

_{Is it so wrong to dream?}

To find yourself wanting to be with the person you have come to love?

To wish you could take the time to hold one another?

 

My wish is apon a star.

Oh to you, you lovely thing.

For it is you who makes the night sky beautiful.

You give meaning to the moon itself.

 

It shall never be wrong of me to dream of such things.

Hope is all we have as we derive our feelings.

Deprivation of affection can be as deadly as any poison.

How often do we come to love?

 

Answers cannot define the basis of my further developing feelings.

I am lost in the arms of another,

wasting the days away.

I have nothing to lose but those who make dreams come true.

 

In the arms of another,

my dream is fulfilled.

Content with life, we retreat.

Lest these feelings overwhelm.

 

Tears of pain can never be felt as much as tears of pure joy.

And so I think,

all I can think,

not much.

I am distracted by the one in my arms.

 

 

 

 

 

To write

 

 

So often that I,

a person,

a poet,

am lost in emotion.

 

So often, i put pen to paper in an attempt to drown out harder feelings.

 

I,

a person of such,

limited only by twenty-six letters and a plethora of words. I must find a new way to bring about change that i want in my life.

This change is more idealistic than most.

So often,

I dream of it.

 

I write beautifully?

I do not quite understand.

What is it my hand creates not by will that is so highly admired.

Perhaps it is more contoversal than it seems.

I digress.

People see what people want to see,

In both dreams and reality.

I care not if you are of a degenerate generation, or of an educated venue,

I care not.

For so long i have heard of suffering only we can bring about through our selfish desires.

I look past it all,

past the hate in words,

and look instead to the paper.

The paper in which more commonplace and deserving words can be placed.

 

This is where I often choose to stay lost.

Better in a world where words are a solitary comfort from fire.

 

My hand guides me,

tells me what to write,

for I myself am unable.

If only they understood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Melancholy of Sadness

 

 

I am alone.

I stand alone in the rain,

outside a home,

a home for many people.

A harp can be heard,

Its music angelic and sharp.

It soothes my aching mmuscles.

My hand lets go of the rose it held,

a colorless rose.

It falls to the wet ground before me,

without a sound.

The harp stops.

an eeries silence permeates the air.

I cannot hear the rain,

yet I can hear my own tears as they fall against the ground.

 

This is the bolero of life.

A melody of hardship and loss.

 

I am searching.

Still I stand in the rain,

my eyes trying to comprehend.

The rose, the colorless rose,

It absorbs the color of the ground where it lays.

A piano can be heard.

Its music is brisk and powerful.

I reach for the now transformed rose.

Now it holds the weight of the world.

The piano's melody makes me tense as I hold the rose.

Now my tears turn to stone and fall with force.

They go unheard as they now clamber to the ground.

I am left in unbearable solitude and pain.

I open my mouth to cry out in anguish and anger.

But nothing comes out.

I am standing in the rain,

in front of a home,

a home that is not my own.

I hold the rose close to my heart.

 

This is the serenade of truth.

A melody of reality and misery.

 

There stands an entity,

awaiting in the shadows.

She watches him.

He is a being of interest,

for he stands alone in the rain.

He drops a rose and picks it up again.

He cries out silently and unrelenting.

In front of him an empty space.

A violin can be heard,

Its melody is bitter and longing.

It beckons her.

She aproaches him,

stands by his side and stares at the empty space before them.

A space that contained a home, long ago.

A home that faced fires, and turned to ash.

 

What is it you have at the end of the day, when the Bolero of life and the Serenade of truth come together?

 

The answer is hidden in the rose.

A rose, devoid of color.

It touched the scorched earth and sbsorbed the colors and ash.

 

This is the Melancholy of sadness.

A melody of a life that could have been.

 

 

 

 

 

Let us, now and forever, sing a song.

 

 

Come with me and sing a song of varying degrees of emotion.

Let us raise our voices high and drown out malicious sorrow.

 

Go and sing a song of hope.

Let me hear that benevolent melody.

Such passion and grace eminates form you.

 

Come hear and listen to me sing.

I sing a song of past times, shared and spent.

 

Gather round once more,

all of you this time.

Let us, all of us, now sing together.

Let us sing a song of elegency, and of better times.

Passion amassed in this one, simple song.

A song beyond measure.

 

 

 

 

 

An unbearable question

 

 

I am lost.

Without a word or a care,

I am lost without.

 

Make sense of me please,

for I am lost still.

I don't believe i can be found.

 

I'll take the time, just this once,

to stop for a moment.

Here I will sit and ponder.

 

Through that which I ponder raises a question.

Why am I lost?

I know the answer.

 

It is a simple answer, yet so complex.

Often that is just how we, as people, feel.

And so apon answering myself on my rhetoric.

 

Now I ask, how?

How does one know warmth without first experiencing bitter cold?

And how does one know this cold without first feeling gentle warmth?

 

The answer is simple, yet complex.

So still I write?

WHY? The question rings in my ears.

 

I once thought I knew the answer,

back when my life had little meaning.

Back in the time of pointless depression and self directed hate.

Why is it that things seemed so much simpler in that time?!

 

The answer?

simple, but complex.

There is no answer.

 

Or so I now believe.

 

I racked my brain and others for this answer.

It is a falicy.

Questions only bring more questions.

Pain will only bring more pain.

Or will it?

Should I be the one to know?

 

I cannot know,

I am far too weak to understand.

I already gave up in this endeavor.

 

And to the reader, yes i mean you,

why is it that you still read?

 

Are you perhaps enthralled by the idea of an answer?

 

You could have chosen to stop the redundent work, yet you stay.

 

I am without words to speak.

Perhaps that is why I write.

On days like this, i write.

 

My goal?

To give a question to unanswerable questions,

and to provide answers to that which has yet to be asked.

 

 

 

 

 

When eyes meet and hands join

 

 

A first glance is casual at best,

often it seems, that the first glance is overlooked.

The second glance is always noticed,

often it seems that this is where stories begin.

 

I wonder myself on these precarious glances.

Often I wonder just why it is you bothered to give them to me.

Me? not many words I can use to properly define.

You? oh how the dictionary bleeds when I speak of you.

 

Obviously I find myself undeserving.

How could I not?

To be blessed by the presence of such beauty.

Beauty not merely on the outside, but locked away in the furrows of that precious mind.

A mind and soul which I have come to love.

 

Its not often that I, as myself, can express my feelings.

But it seems wholeheartedly that you are able to bring out the best in me.

The best in one who thought his worth had long slipped away.

Yes, this is why I felt for you.

 

Yes, these are our glances that we shared,

I lost count at just how many we shared.

I suppose this is when our eyes met.

On the day where the shy man makes a bold move.

 

One month to that day, and so much seems to happen.

Im lost in the words we shared.

Im lost in your eyes.

And then we join hands.

And i will never regret the moment.

 

And to this luxury you provided me, i was content with life.

Nothing it would seem could possibly remove the joys bestowed by you.

Though, it seems that I was wrong, for they were removed by you .

My heart still aches.

 

I make my point now, to stay by your side and continue to join hands.

Let them never part.

I will wait through the fire for you, and I will endure your suffering as well.

Together we will walk the length of life's garden.

Hand in hand, smiles pronounced deftly on our faces,

a shadow arcs our length plus two more, and they join together.

Let this symbolize our feelings.

 

Once we reach the end of our walk, after we have endured so much,

that will be the time where I ask, where I declare.

 

Oh yes, I wait for that day.

Let it come sooner.

For now my heart aches.

 

 

 

 

 

Twice into the river

 

 

Once again I lay my head down to rest.

Once again into the nether known as dreams.

Im left without understanding and reason.

Im left without hope of rescue from my peril.

 

What is my peril?

I do not know.

But what I do not know saves my soul.

You see, that which remains creeping in the shadows?

Ther it stands on the brink of discovery, as I throw myself into the water.

First my toes touch,

They are greeted by the harsh reality of frost bitten cold.

Now onto my knees that are thrust into the water,

still unbearable, is the frost on the river.

Next my thighs,

And by now the true feeling of the frozen river grips me tight.

Im paralyzed by the time my torso reaches the tip of the ice.

Now be my face under the water mixed with salt and ice.

My arms fly round waveing desperately in an attempt to keep afloat,

in vain, it seems.

 

Now Im drowning, falling it seems.

 

I fall once more into a river, not of ice.

But rather of flames and razors.

And once again into the river I fall.

Toes, to knees, to thighs and torso,

Following suit by my head.

Im drowning in fire and bleeding the same.

 

Now I miss the frost, and the salt with which to clean me wounds.

That is my pain, that is what you asked.

 

That looming shadow, it still taunts me.

 

 

 

 

 

Setting fire to reason

 

 

Pardon me, my sanity is no longer here.

I hope you will allow me to make one last request before you send me away.

Can I have that which no longer wxists if that which no longer exists lies deep within an existing being and can in-fact be discovered and brought to existence through sheer will?

 

Think about that while I slip away unnoticed by your inferior mind.

It is funny how those who seem to have lost their sane side of mind often express a better understanding of a creation in its whole, and will not judge based on preunderstanding.

 

People ask me all the time just why am I here... I dont really know...

 

But perhaps this isnt so much an ode to sanity, or a poem at all.

 

Perhaps Im just not here, not here in this world or the next.

No, Im not... i am only an illusion.

You are the only real thing you know.

Everyone else in your life is false.

We are not true, only an illusion, only what you want to see.

Wake up and stop dreaming...

You want to, but you cant,

everything just seems so real, but it isnt.

everything is just a fantasy derived from our emotions.

Im not really real, you are not really reading this.

You only want to read this so that you can wake up from this accursed and pointless dream.

Isnt that what we all want?

No, because you are the only thing capable of thought in this world.

Everything I say is a deviation of your own mind.

please wake up, please stop the nightmare.

Im hurting because you wont wake up,

Im dying and Im not truly here.

Spare me this pain and stop thinking.

Stop imagining everyone as there own entity and free us all from eternal damnation.

 

Im waiting for you to stop, and join us...

 

 

 

 

 

Emerald eyes and colorless roses

 

 

Look into those emerald eyes, and fly higher in these octagonal skies.

Up is now on your left, and down is right here.

There isnt any palce I would rather be than over way yonder.

There you can do all the things that aren't possible,

so I heard.

There you can make any story into reality,

so I heard.

There you can take the time to know everything,

so I heard.

 

What separates this place from here in this broken world?

I dont know, perhaps that dotted line?

Perhaps that chain link fence that gaurds an empty building?

All I know is nothing at all...

 

All I know are those emerald eyes.

Setting fire to the earth with the blood of a rose.

What is there left to say?

Perhaps that there isnt anything beyond that dotted line?

Who is to say that there is?

 

Past that dotted line and chain link fence, there is a place,

so I heard

 

Picking a rose fresh from the bush, its color bleeds out after my touch.

It empties out all over my hand, I cant help but stare at it.

past the dark entity in front of me hides a child behind a mask.

His is not my concern,

only my torment as I cross the dotted line only to salt the earth with my footsteps.

 

Now I am bleeding...

so i heard

now I think i know how that rose felt as I looked past it into those emerald eyes.

There is a new place for me.

so I have seen.

 

 

 

 

 

Do not believe

 

 

Deeper still into the furrows of my mind I find solitude from a nonexistent dimension.

I find that which proves itself unreal is beyond measure in the greatest of worlds.

Deeper still beyond my sanity, beyond witt and reason.

Later you will find that all is just what you want.

All is nothing in a sense of gratitude for a dissipating personality.

Just what do you expect to find in this cavern?

Seek no further and you will find yourself wanting more.

Seek farther into this unkown and never return.

Why do I bother to educate you masses?

This life will soothe no wound I feel.

I am harrassed by the unexplained and untrue.

I am a victim of self derived punishment of the highest standard.

What does this make me to the nonexistent world.

I am nothing more than a free will amongst puppets.

This to no end derives my insanity.

There shall be no rainbow in my time.

No exception of grace left for me by those who came before.

I am alone in a world of billions.

This is why I seek nonexisting parameters of utmost capability.

I am not a truth.

I am not a saint.

There shall be no forgiveness in my time of living.

When the candle flickers to black I shall fade.

I shall leave no legacy or tale of heroic deeds.

I sought that which is not possible.

I left my life for another.

I further ventured into the cavern and lost myself amongst everything.

I ask myself to belive it was real so that may live on knowing I have not dreamed.

Do not ask of yourself what you cannot give.

Do not seek farther into the cavern of a mind that cannot be spoken with.

Never believe it was all real lest you end up like me.

Do not believe...

 

Do not believe that this is all you are, a slave to your mind, a meaning without words to speak, a sindle ash burning its last. This is not you. Do not believe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THANK YOU TO ALL WHO READ THEM.

 

 

-David Favret

[Master Blade the Bearded 112]

This is awesome! I personally love reading poetry, but I hate writing it. The fact that you came up with this, with such quality AND quantity, is just mind blowing to me. I look forward to reading more!

[Cherry Blossom 864]

If people were brought back to life, just by the graceful words of your poems. Then many people would have their lives back and I believe you are the best poet here on the forums. The world needs more wonderful people like you who would write their emotions with their magic fingers.