Mecella | A Home For Poets

Riding on top of a glistening Pegasus,

Dashing forward without hesitation,

Engulfed around him, a world of devastation,

For how long had our hero been gone?

Nothing seemed to matter in this moment,

More than figuring out what had gone wrong.

Once where our hero once relaxed in song,

Is a world gone, where he yearned for all along.

Embracing the past made him nimble and just,

So he’d thrust forward into this broken world.

Everything is gone, shadows remain on the ground.

Embers where homes were, and carcasses galore.

And nothing seemed to matter to him, no hate.

The ruins of his home did not resonate within.

All he saw were the memories of acts of sin.

So, casually he began to investigate.

What did he find?

Just more memories of ladies walking about,

Men fustling and tussling, then talking it out.

Kids all at play, or in school where they’d learn…

Memories fading out, now everything had burned.

Walking slowly where rubble covers up loved ones,

Tons of boulders and rocks segment the area,

Any survivor would be lost in hysteria,

But here, there were no survivors.

How many were dead didn’t bother the hero,

Lost in a tribulation for forsaken ways,

Gone are the days of translucent pavings,

The sun’s penetrating ray couldn’t brighten this day.

No prayer, no calling upon the Almighty,

For these, His acts alone.

The heroes journey in all of this is just beginning,

And he does not act alone.

The world around us is never ending,

Unless celestials take a chance,

And enter into Earth’s atmosphere,

And give this planet a mighty dance.

Take note: it all started one early day in the fall.

A conundrum of a series of events began it all.

When a stranger took the call, deciding to take it on,

And served in the Army shortly from dusk up until dawn.

He had no resemblance to a warrior from the past,

Attacks slowly; honestly he wasn’t very fast.

But onward and onward did he engage in the fight,

One step at a time, struggling onward with might.

The story goes on if I remember, but to me, who really cares?

He’s no longer a man who seems to flare, nor dares,

And instead finds interest in poetry and word,

And sonnets, free verse, and speaking in the third.

Anyways, what’s the feeling that you feel today?

Random words rhyming, losing all timing.

Have you prayed? Where you are, do plan to stay?

Ability is limited, casually chiming.

Aiming, or losing, Does it ever matter if we lose it all,

Handed to our God, a livelihood, just so we can prove it all?

Freeing up the mind is never easy but it works a lot,

computers may be powerful, forever I am no robot.

Practice makes perfect.

In any given moment,

God is truly there.

Wicked is a sinner when he frolics and he chants,

Drooling at the mercy of a tight fitting pair of pants.

Lost in all relations of the way that we all are,

Drunk, then to Dunkin for some carbs before the bar.

Losing grip with reality is still considered sin.

Giving in to sweet relief, betting he will always win.

Gambling and gambling, and Lord, what a surprise.

Never in a million years he hadn’t dreamt of demise.

Paralleled in cadence are these wasteful acts alone,

Amplifying everything, delivering such a strong tone.

And to give into depression was never his will or way,

It’s only at times like this, when he does appear so gay.

Lustrous encounters and angry with passion,

Feeling trembling moments, are they everlasting?

Approaching climaxes just for mild relation,

To the testaments of ancients, once upon a nation.

Applying himself, he gazes forward with restraint.

Focused on the future, he takes a moment to think.

And in a short while, he’ll enjoy what’s left of life.

Begging harshly unto God, “End My Wicked Strife!”

Flowing down the river gently and calm,
Listening to the virtue of poetry in my ear.
What a year, lost in trials and tribulations,
Motivated to take on the whole nation.

Patience.

As I walk forward in this big world on my own,
I can’t act like a man that is not grown.
But still, I partake in acts and feel tremendous fear,
Only to drive onward, and never shed a tear.

And still I wonder.

Exactly where am I going, and what must I do?
Will this long path of mine lead back to you?
And what is it that you see?
Togetherness? Matrimony?

But I digress.

Each day becomes just another moment of mine,
Where I live life and try hard to unwind.
But I seem to never do,
The path truly must lead back to you.

So, I pray.

Lost in a moment of translation,
I built a tower just for relation.
Up so high in the sky, I couldn’t see,
But the moment was bliss and harmony.

I run around still filled with angst,
Exercising my rights, doubling down my planks.
It’s times like this that I cherish my life.
So furiously, I drive on with strife.

Why am I mad? Why can I not see the light?
I may have been a soldier, but never did I fight.
In the morning I’m confused, days still grow long.
My mind grows weary of the same old song.

Lost in translation, searching for things to renew
My kindred spirit, emboldened yet still blue.
For every moment once led to love,
Now I dream of days to glimpse at doves.

Nothing compares to moments like this,
So even though I’m angry, I walk life in bliss.
And even if I can’t seem to learn,
My inner passion screams, wails, and burns.

So onward still I’ll march,
I won’t stop, dry heat can parch.
For everything I do,
I dream they may someday lead to you.