Saturday, May 25, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Read On
By Mark
Bishop
I've got a list of
favorite places
favorite foods and
favorite artists
Where you went last
weekend, no idea where your heart is
I can pick out your face
in a hundred photos
see your age and who we
both know
from these pages black and
white I have the facts about your life
I can even know what hurt
you
hear all about that thing
you went through
how he did this, she said
that and every word could be true...
But if I just learn where
you've been I miss out on who you are
These periods of time aren't just dots at the end of a line
These sentences pronounced over actions and words
These paragraphs, these chapters sad endings and ever afters
are what capture the glory behind what's authored
These periods of time aren't just dots at the end of a line
These sentences pronounced over actions and words
These paragraphs, these chapters sad endings and ever afters
are what capture the glory behind what's authored
If I can talk about your
life but haven't lived it for a minute
careful not to touch
the sticky ink upon these pages or stepping out
and being in it
What good are lists and
likes and looks
because people are novels
not textbooks
Saturday, May 4, 2013
When the Stars Seem Silent
By Mark
Bishop
On a starless autumn eve
in a graveyard at rest beneath the shroud of darkness sat a maiden,
fair, and sorry for life's toll
She mourned for life cast
too soon into yonder field and stoney bosom
Time, anxious to leave
this piteous haunt hastened onward until the moon shown bright above
the leafless trees and cast it's glow on every quivering tear
They fell from beauty and
smote themselves upon the sod
'round the corner of the
sepulcher at which the maiden wept
a ghoul waited in silence
enchanted by this twilight dirge, this fount of crystals
For a long hour he stood
and stirred not as the maiden cried
And all that was dead
amongst his crooked limbs and gnarled flesh yearned for life
He shambled forward
startling his midnight guest
She gasped and cowered
backward
Her form, pale as it was
awash in the warm lunar tide became frozen and ivory
The ghoul stopped. And
spoke softly.
"Tell, what sorrow
spurns sleep and bids even the night to suffer broken hearts?
Perhaps two may bare more
patiently the afflictions of life."
These words seemed spoken
by the darkness itself, for surely the tattered lips before her were
long since bled of such kindness
And yet his gaze from
gentle jaundiced eyes extended to her the same offer
Seeing that, like her, he
was well acquainted with death and suffered still under its heavy
hand
She replied to the
darkness and added to its depth
"Here lies the body
of my father, his soul not yet accounted for
Perhaps the stars can tell
but tonight they hide
how can hope be such a
small light? such a distant thing not radiant but flickering... and
almost gone"
Her words struck the ghoul
where his heart should have been for he had been a father
and he had left a son
and he would come, and
cry, and break his soul against the walls of stone and lose his voice
among the rocks
"My dear, there is
pain so great not even the stars dare answer,
Even the watchman of the
ages cannot hold back the night.
But hope,
hope is like the moon,
It shall rise and show
most brightly on the eve of your despair.
It harkens you to daylight
and reminds you of the sun."
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