Gaze
The crimson Orb doth shine on its upward path
Manifold dying shear Tongues chase an arclite-shaft
A Blazond in the Northern sky for aught to see
Aye, but tis Naught nor but silt next to thee
Autumns Aurora shrines its last wretchèd loom
The singèd eyes of the Beholden do consume
Bloodred corpses have painted what ere were green
But matchd with thine Eyes, immortal beauty be but fiend
The steeliee rapiers of natures torpor foal
Shrieking ghoul winds part the morbod whole
Staggered Ancients guard the secreted swoon
Silent lids watching below my Funeral Moon.
---
I know it sounds like it makes no sense but basically it's about seasonal change/love poem with a medieval bent.
John Donne is my favorite poet and I like the "old english" type sounds when it comes to this so that's why I write like that. Plus I'm more interested on just having a lot of cool sounding words that sound good together and that bring interesting imagery to mind than actually making sense.
Here's one by John Donne to show what I'm talking about the "old english" (though this is pretty easy to decipher):
THE BAIT.
by John Donne
COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.
There will the river whisp'ring run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun ;
And there th' enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.
When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.
Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest ;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.
For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait :
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas ! is wiser far than I.
The crimson Orb doth shine on its upward path
Manifold dying shear Tongues chase an arclite-shaft
A Blazond in the Northern sky for aught to see
Aye, but tis Naught nor but silt next to thee
Autumns Aurora shrines its last wretchèd loom
The singèd eyes of the Beholden do consume
Bloodred corpses have painted what ere were green
But matchd with thine Eyes, immortal beauty be but fiend
The steeliee rapiers of natures torpor foal
Shrieking ghoul winds part the morbod whole
Staggered Ancients guard the secreted swoon
Silent lids watching below my Funeral Moon.
---
I know it sounds like it makes no sense but basically it's about seasonal change/love poem with a medieval bent.
John Donne is my favorite poet and I like the "old english" type sounds when it comes to this so that's why I write like that. Plus I'm more interested on just having a lot of cool sounding words that sound good together and that bring interesting imagery to mind than actually making sense.
Here's one by John Donne to show what I'm talking about the "old english" (though this is pretty easy to decipher):
THE BAIT.
by John Donne
COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.
There will the river whisp'ring run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun ;
And there th' enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.
When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.
Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest ;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.
For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait :
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas ! is wiser far than I.
). He wanted me to write a poem for him.
). But when I wrote this, I was and am referring to Jesus Christ.