Caradìlis' Poems

[Caradìlis]

I know it's not Halloween, but there's a moon outside my window that is looking at me very menacingly, so I just felt like writing this...

Werewolf

Through the window shining bright,
Gleams the moon into the night.
And with torment, pain and ache,
An ancient curse keeps me awake.

Howling, cursing at the moon,
Wishing it was over soon,
Every full moon is the same,
On each one I curse my name.

Pills and potions can't help me,
From this pain I can't be free.
Blooded red is my demise,
When the dreaded moons arise.

On such nights I toss and turn,
When did I this torment earn?
And on mornings I do fear,
I have done some damage here.

I do wonder what I've done,
That warrants what I have become.
Why the Gods do punish me,
I will never truely see.

Understanding is not all,
The rising full moons still do call.
And so I'll howl and curse all night,
At a full moon shining bright.

[Jubal]

It's really good A couple of minor things - "truly" is he accepted spelling of that word, and maybe "And on each one" or "Upon each one" might scan better?

[Caradìlis]

Woops, I didn't have that one in my doodling notebook...  :] Thank you...
Yes, you are right, "Upon each one" definitely flows nicer...

[Caradìlis]

I started writing another fairy tale today and kind of got inspired (more like distracted, since I ended up writing this instead of the rest of the fairy tale...  )

The Wolf

Once upon a time,
In a forest near,
There was a story, yet untold,
That all the world should hear.

There lived a girl,
Young and innocent,
Ant through the forest deep,
To grandmother's house she went.

In her hands a basket,
With lots of things so good,
And behind her flowing,
A deep red velvet hood.

And down the path,
And through the wood,
Ran happily singing:
Little Red Riding-Hood.

But halt, who is he?
Who crosses her way?
It is big wolf
With fur of grey.

'Hello', says Red,
'Hello', comes the reply,
And after some talking,
They pass eachother by.

But back at home,
When she tells the tale,
Of how she saw a wolf,
They all grow pale.

They take up the pitchforks
And each one their gun,
And through the dark forest,
The huntsmen run.

It matters not,
That the girl is well,
For man likes the wolf,
Just for his hide to sell.

I walked through a forest a long time ago,
There I found a tombstone stand that read:
In the year 1847,
The last wolf was here shot dead.

And I walk throught the forest and think of a time,
When you roamed here free and the forest was thine.

[Jubal]

This is a really nice twist on the original, excellent

[Caradìlis]

Thank you, still working on the real thing, would probably be easier if I was less scrupelous and just settled for killing my protagonists from time to time... Well, you never know, I might just do that...

[Caradìlis]

I don't even know how this one happened, I'm not even sure why I started writing (with a pen in my notebook, I mean, I was trying to work on a fairytale on my computer...) Oh, well, worse things have happened (I hope...)

The Black Hole

Out there in eternal night,
Out there up in space,
Out there where in starlight,
The planets dance with grace.

Far across the distance,
Far beyond our place of home,
Far transcending stars' old dance,
That is where they roam.

Blacker than the night,
Darker than a grave,
When you are within its sight,
There's nothing you can save.

But a hole so black,
Is a magical thing,
Though nothing comes back,
Can not you hear it sing?

A song so old,
That time it forgot,
Of fire and cold,
And magic you know not.

A tale of the light,
Which badly it needs,
Out there in the night,
Where a lonely life it leads.

For where there now is woe,
And where there now is night,
There once was long ago,
The universe's brightest light.

And even if - to untrained eyes -
This light's forever died,
The darkness there is but disguise,
The light still hides inside.

For where there's darkness, there'll be fiery light,
And where there's fear, hope's spark is gleaming bright.

[Lady Grey]

Ooh, I like these, especially The Wolf.

[Caradìlis]

Thank you, it's actually quite reminicent of the fairytales I usually write, I might post one or two of them at some point, when I get around to editing them...

[Caradìlis]

I have no explanation for this, it just sort of happened...

Rage, Rage against the Dying of the Light

Somedays I sit there in the night,
And wonder what I'm fighting for,
Easy it seems to shut the door,
And walk free into the light.

I gaze around myself and see,
There's naught but darkness here,
Naught but darkness, pain and fear,
Out there and inside of me.

But when to go I am prepared,
When almost I have given in,
I find a spark still glow within,
Whose fire has me soon ensnared.

Burning with hope, I stand and fight,
Never to give up, nor ever to give in,
To fight a war that I will never win,
The war of darkness 'gainst the light.

And you can do what e'r you may,
Threaten, push and hurt and maim,
What does not kill is my own gain,
As I live to fight another day.

I will burn against the night,
With the fire of a thousand stars,
And neither wounds nor any scars,
Can ever halt my raging fight.

I'll still fight throughout the night,
Through the day, throughout the age,
And still I fight and rage and rage,
Against the dying of the light.

[Caradìlis]

I got bored in class this morning... (in my defense, we were only getting our essays returned and I was still listening)

Bored

My mind is soaring high,
My thoughts on wings do fly,
From this class I want to flee,
To get out and to be free.

Listening to you drone on,
My attention is far gone,
Ten minutes seem so long ago,
How long will this keep going for.

And when this class is fin'lly done,
And when home is where I've gone,
Nothing happened in this class,
That I'll later need to pass.

[Caradìlis]

Something more lighthearted (I think)...

Stardust

Long ago and far from earth,
I was born in darkest night,
In a star's fires burning bright,
The universe to me gave birth.

Atoms insignificant and small,
Flew into the world so wide,
Where they among the stars now glide,
Or down onto the planets fall.

Some of those falen ones made me,
And as I look up at the sky,
I wish that I still could fly,
And be like my brothers: free.

Half of me is here on earth,
Singing sadly to the night,
While half of me is shinign bright,
Where a star to me gave birth.

I don't belong around here, no,
Here is only half of me,
And now I fin'ly see,
Where it is that I must go.

Half my heart and half my soul,
Is half the world away
And from oh so far astray,
I still can hear them call.

Among the stars out there, you see,
Out there high above the sky,
Where my lost brothers nightly fly,
That is where I'm meant to be.

For all of us are stardust and all of us belong,
Out there in the starry night, in a poem, tale or song.

[Caradìlis]

So, as you can probably guess from this, cooking happened...

Soup

In a pot on the fire
A heavenly smell,
Whoever knew
This would mix so well.

Just a pot full of water
And a prime boiléd beef
Some roots and some leek,
And pepper and laurel leaf.

It boils in the kettle,
For a long enough time,
But trust me on this:
The result is sublime.

I'm grateful to them,
Lone hermits or group,
Who long ago discovered,
The secret of making soup.

Now a telling scent from the kettle does call,
There's soup on the table now for us all.

[Caradìlis]

I was doodling today...

Fly away

Fly away to the distant stars with me,
Where we belong and we can be free.
Past the moon into an everlasting night,
Where suns and stars are burning bright.

Fly to a galaxy far, far away,
Lightyears from our Milkyway.
Past Mars and Jupiter, into the dark,
On our spaceship, on our Arc.

Fly with me to a newer earth,
Where there's still hope and love and mirth.
Past all these planets, away from this sun,
To somewhere, where peace has already won.

Fly to another world with me,
To a ew sky and to a new sea.
Forward, my friends, into the unknown,
One day we shall find a place of our own.

[Caradìlis]

Since today is Cyril and Methodius Day (which I wish you a very happy one), I wrote a poem about it...

Requiem for a Flower
or Cyril and Methodius Day

There is a wilted rose
Upon my window sill,
It's life draws to a close,
It's story sadder still.

Why did my dear sad rose,
Now have to die so soon?
Is it just thrown to crows,
So that lovers may swoon?

Oh, flower dear to me,
I know you died in vain,
Cannot all of you see,
That this is just insane?

Three-hundred-sixty-four,
These other days are too,
For showing you adore,
And making sure they knew.

If you cannot on those,
Convince someone you care,
What help does you a rose?
None, though it may be fair.

What help does you a day,
Of pure materialism,
What help does it, I pray?
It's just consumerism.

So, what now shall we do?
Here is what I would say:
Let's celebrate now too,
Cyril-Methodius-Day.

A festival quite great,
Of language, books, my word,
It's truly the best fete,
Of which ever I've heard.

So, don't murder a rose,
But read a book today,
From opening to close,
And spread the word and say:

There is another way to celebrate today,
Because today, it's Cyril and Methodius Day.