Thread: Two Poems-->The Warrior Victorious and Pouquoi?

Well, here goes.

PourQuoi?

The days drone by,
Flutter through existence.
They pass before I re’lize their preciosity.
And as they pass,
One thought lingers within me.

You.
Your image fills my mind,
With sweet dreams,
Not of lust,
But of something transcendent.

I yearn to know you,
I pine for your acknowledgement.
But I know,
This fixation of mine will not be granted,
I know true love is not a prospect.

I can only glance from afar,
Admire at a distance.
But You do not notice,
You do not see me,
I am like a specter in your shadow.

Day after day,
I pass you by,
And ev’ry time,
I wish it would develop,
To something greater, something more.

Day after day,
Though we see each other,
We are mere acquaintances,
And to my dismay,
Ne’er anything more.

I change these habits of mine.
Ev’ry moment in your presence,
I see my inequities,
And I wish to rectify them,
To become more acceptable to you.

You make me want to improve.
You set me a goal.
I want to be desirable,
to be more than a specter to you,
I desire to be your equal, your love.

And as these feelings pass through me,
Not one thing changes ‘tween us.
Not one feeling,
And it so pains me.
What am I to do.

The one person I’ve most desired,
Been most enamored by,
The one person I’ve truly loved,
Loves me not,
Knows not my affection.

I now see,
That you will not love me,
But I keep hope,
I wait with patience for love,
I wait in vain
(this is very raw, and i'm trying to make the words more...'poetic')


The warrior victorious

The field was painted a deep crimson.
Its artist was war,
It’s palette—the blood of men.
The blood seeped into the barren ground,
It fell into the cracks,
Quenching the earth of its thirst.

These fighters lay, dead and cold,
Their faces concealed,
By the beavers of their helms.
Their horses had run,
Fled the corpses of their masters,
Or they lay in death with them.

Then from the butchery of men,
One arose,
Supported by his blood-stained blade.
He was wounded,
With lacerations writ over his body,
His indelible testimonies of war.

With sword-cane in hand,
He limped forward,
Step by step he trudged farther.
He held his blade above his head,
In defiance of death,
Today, Vict’ry was his.
(i like the death and artist thing.)

no answer?...dam