Tag Archives: hymn

hymn

my native

tongue

is comfortable

twisting in

songs of 90’s

melancholy,

heavy fingers

strumming

delicately on

four strings

with a hum

and tranquility,

smiling as

i sing only for

the morning

and it sings back

only to me.

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Filed under Poetry

Weekend Hymns

“If you call me at all, don’t tell me that I’m ordinary, ’cause I won’t be passing you, please don’t leave…” serenades the familiar strains of a soothing voice, interlacing delicately with the quaint glassy chords of a softly-strummed guitar, and dissipating behind the skeletal mist of the hazy whorled coffee smoke. Spongy traces of a cold jelly roll melt and shiver in my tongue, leaving traces of a sweet sensation to tease these anticipating taste buds of mine. On my right side lays a Fantastic Beasts colouring book opened on a page of Newt Scamander’s luggage, abandoned coloured pencils scattered everywhere, and a half-finished unwritten postcard with vibrant pastel shades complimenting each other in mild, careful strokes; and on my left side a battered notebook overstuffed with scribbled papers and a slightly-chewed black pen, waiting patiently to bleed words into blank parchment.

Turn off these lights, call my name. Don’t talk, just drive… Another potent vocal joins in with the tranquil music, rhythmic acoustic strains and deep baritone timbre sending quiet shivers pleasantly down my spinal column. The rain has come to a cradlesong refrain, and, time being, has ceased from thrumming a metronomic pitter-patter against the fogged-up windows. I pause, place a cat bookmark on page 12 of John Steinback’s Of Mice and Men, and take another sip of my tepid milky drink and huddle further underneath my delicate blue blanket, starry night socks rubbing against the creaky bed mattress as I do so. After partaking in such a short interlude, I indulge zealously in my awaiting literature once more, losing myself against the mollifying song and letting my imagination run away and be caught between George and Lennie’s frolicsome bickering and humbler conversations.

“Red and blue and green rabbits, Lennie. Millions of ’em.” George concluded drowsily as the chapter came to a finish, synchronously alongside Jonny Craig’s flourished crescendo of And baby, honestly these teeth won’t let you go…”, and I thumbed down on the page and set down the book once again, lost in a silent reverie. This day seems to be nothing but a lucid woolgathering, and in a momentary splinter from reality, I am quite unsure which is a fact, and which is nothing more than a mere dream anymore. It left me slightly confused whether I had actually been chasing musicians through a cornfield full of bedraggled zombies in Southern California, or if my grandmother had actually been confined in the hospital after an unfortunate slip and needs three months of bed rest to recover, or whether any of those were even real, not just derogated fantasies of an inured mind in dire need of a proper rest. Perhaps I’m simply tired. I had, after all, been looking for my exuberant nephews for a good part of the afternoon. But this is a good tired, unlike the draining emptiness of a tired stress that I have been beleaguered with the entire week. And this time around, I’ll sleep not to forget the memories. Rather, I’ll sleep to remember them.

“If you call me at all, oh if you call me at all…” The mellisonant sincerity of his lilting assurances envelopes my weary and aching bones tangibly, as if the xanthous stars had personally touched down from the lavender-blotched sky and given me a synesthetic embrace from the gentle cosmos. The final coda of the song falters and fades against the distant monsoon, washing away every worry, every qualm, every cynical thought and nightmarish daydream of mine, washing me away under the horizon’s encore performance of dying sunshine and inchoate moonbeams alike. I breathe deeply and finally close my eyes, listening to the hymn of the rainy weather and halcyon weekend continue to play around me. I’ll be alright. For now, at least…I’m alright.

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Hymn for the Faithless

We’re the hearts for the heartless
The thoughts for the thoughtless
The lies for the honest
We’re the gods of the godless!
Let it all burn! I will burn first!
God I’ve tried, am I lost in your eyes?

~*~

Our Father, who art in Heaven

Hallowed be thy fame, kingdom

Of temptation we lust for again

Deliver us for your evils, amen

A wickedness in these blue eyes

The sword I carry impaling skin

What must mortal consequences

I shall atone for my begotten sin

Blood on my tears, fallen I wept

These are the songs I am to kept

Pains I pray, damned for my lies

God, am I truly lost in thine eyes?

Blasphemy and sacrilegious vow

Of pious sinners and dead saints

Mercy begat our veneration now

No longer should serpents repent

Dust are we all for a proclamation

Hate leads to lust, our destination

One last surrender, final farewell

In before darkness embraces Hell

My banished halo is extinguished

Drowned by the ashes of the fires

And when my wings are scattered

Beckon not the fine requiem choir.

Hail Mary full of desecrated virginity

For wars I indoctrinated, forgive me

Hearts for hearts, a stigma for stigma

Holy be thy bastard son, a miracle enigma…

~*~

I can not stand who I am
I’m this man with this blood on my hands
In this blood I am damned
So watch my wings burn as they burn in the fire—
This hate that you gave me keeps saying
Just let me burn, just let me burn!

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Filed under Poetry

Hymn For Annabelle

This night, walk the dead in a solitary style
And crash the cemetery gates
In the dress your husband hates
Way down, mark the grave
Where the search lights find us
Drinking by the mausoleum door
And they found you on the bathroom floor…

~*~

Can you hear that loud sound intruding your softest elegy, Annabelle?

Melody against harsh thunderous clanging of the old church bells?

Sonorous sound resonating, disconsolate and mournful to the bone

As they carry your pastel withered body away in your chiseled pink coffin stone

.

You knelt down to me now, crying in a shadowy church confessional

Annabelle, love, what sins and vices have you often lusted for now?

Whisper all of them to me clearly, for your divine transcendental

Heaven, hell, purgatory, which will your tainted soul venture to allow?

.

Annabelle, I have always thought you were the purest of white

Annie dear, synonymous to a blooming water lily, delicate and bright

But somehow that efflorescent plant has now wilted and drowned

Filling its decaying brown lungs with the cold water that surrounds

.

Annabelle, giggling excitedly with your group of friends at the bayside pier

Cotton candy by your lips, your celestial dress hiding your dessicated heart

Pleasant demeanour fading as you stood waiting, your fluttering ebony hair

Staring down into the murky waters, how badly did you wish to jump?

.

Annabelle, would you like to relay your last prayers in your wake, vis-à-vis?

Hands clasped together, in a pew, staring at your own funeral service

Fallen rose wreaths and fake red tears, can you handle the melancholy?

Sordid priests and frowning nuns, as I mumble my heartless bland eulogy

.

Carafes of bloody wines toasted, canticles in a morbidly-joyous anthem

Ostentatious display of sorrow, grotesque streamers on a mausoleum

You were a simple girl, Annabelle, but they wanted your lifeline celebrated

But confetti and balloons and the static noise is what you always have hated

.

Annabelle, there’s a budding flower flourishing inside your twisted womb

But you don’t wish for it to blossom so you chose the sanctity of the tomb

They would shame you, they’d disgrace you, throw you down the pit of deceit

You thought it better to have a fabulous death than a life of wretched defeat

.

A parade of endless black and grey, silk dripping and umbrellas raised up plain

As the dislimned anguished skies pulled a fresh sheath of sobbing rain

A grave dug fresh, a grey cracked tombstone, a short epitaph inscribed

“To the beautiful girl who still radiates hope and inspires even as she died”

.

A wandering soul with a grave mistake, my perfect, sweetest, bleeding Annabelle

Society has wept and grieved this day, for such a innocent lovely girl has fell

Annabelle, your teasing scarlet lips are forever stained in a permanent smile

Won’t you tell me one last secret to keep, or will you hide them all for eternity’s while?

~*~

I miss you, I miss you so far
And the collision of your kiss
That made it so hard

Way down, way down…

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Filed under Poetry