lost in the world

[cryptomancer]

Did I ever mention the dark shadows around the edge of the view I am looking at?

The indefinable shades of grey that haunt the edge of the light?

That which the soul sees as a curiosity,

The blurring of the lines that mark the trail of solitary footprints upon life’s beach.

Crumbling sand at the lip of that small escarpment created

When your life imprints reality with your presence.

 

I think of them often in my waking moments between the distractions of life

Real time transitions of shade to day, and the night of my soul to the dawn of common sense

That makes me human, or at least vaguely so

In the grand scheme of the picture that was drawn so long ago.

I missed the image that lay beneath,

The lines that first drew my form, showed the likeness of me in the eyes of the creator.

 

Isn't it strange that we never seem to look inwards enough to see that shape?

So strange that our image is so hidden even from us,

We spend our lives looking at the images reflected at us by the world,

The shapes of the shadow moulded figure that is carved by filtered light,

The almost dark twilight of society, lost to the selfish void of humanity.

That inner image fading ever more to grey.

 

Those first lines captured the burning white of the canvas, the single moment of creation,

The breath drawn by the artist, showing that perfection was gained,

And slowly we fill it in, painting ourselves in the ash of the fire.

Ever there was only one fire, and the pit is open to the breath of the world,

That first slip, eating that which should never have been consumed.

And ever more we breath the smog, that colours us the shades of the world.

 

Where is the canvas now? Bar the texture of our form, the tangible reality of what could be.

Hidden in layers of tar and ash, in the painted lies of sin,

Weighted down with the mire of human emotions and self interest.

Drowning before we even see the light that burns within.

Softly sinking into mortality, and dropping the immortal shape,

Through the ash, into the fire, before it can rise to light again.

 

 

[Wyvern]

Nice poem, cryptomancer. :-) You paint some vivid images and interesting metaphors here, and the religious undertone was felt without it overtaking or dominating the poem. My favorite stanza was probably the second to last stanza, as the metaphoric image of people painting themselves "in the ash of the fire" was very effective as was the concept of the smog coloring us "shades of the world." In terms of possible things to improve in future revisions, my main suggestion would be to try to strip the poem down to its essentials, as there were points where the sheer number of words per line made me lose sight of the subject a bit. I think that there are a good number of words that could be cut without harming the poem in any way... for example, in the first line of the poem, are "Did I mention the" or "I am looking at?" needed there? One other minor thing - in the last line of the second stanza, "fist" should probably read "first." I normally wouldn't correct a simple typo like that, but I figure that "first" is important to the poem in that line!

 

Anyways, very nice poem once again cryptomancer. Thanks for sharing it here, it's always nice to read something new from you. :-)

[cryptomancer]

Thank you Wyvern,

 

It has been a while since i actively wrote and the freeform style that i tend to use is very wordy. i like this and want to refine it a bit so we see what i can post as i work it and rework it.

 

thank you for the feedback.

 

(typo corrected too, i missed that one)