#isaacsands

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

The Ruinous Concert of Life

Welcome to the Adagio of my Soul, Where that slow, slow, sad and sweet melody Drags me ever deeper and deeper below, As demons and monsters in panoply Frolic, full of cheer, in the blazing abyss. Salute, from the Allegro of my Mind, That dreadfully cheerful, quickening time; The one that comes when burnt bridges I find All around me, as insanity's rhyme Taunts me terribly, all my world's amiss. Enter the Fortissimo of my Heart, While it screams out loud, oh so silently, To its love, desperately wanting part, The slimmest, smallest of portions to be Returned in kind, brush of the lips, a kiss. End.  Pianissimo of my Body. Lost love, burnt bridges, demon and monster, Surround me. Overwhelm me.  Defeat me. I lay alone.  The music grows quieter. The song of my life, comes now to but this...

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

Sonnet #2

O! Pour me some of that fair, flooding draught Which marshals forth that darkest of darkness, Leaving me sinking into something less, Easily erasing all thought of craft. That's all I am, something crass, something daft, With wounds from the past that I'd rather not dress, Instead escape to my glass, not to stress Old hurts long forgotten, stitched, closed, still graft. O! Please, please, take from me this dreadful drink! It has stolen me, all I ever was; Robbing me blind with every sip and gulp. Man once, now a shell, in this draught I sink. Flee, run, I will! Yet she calls me she does. That fine draught devoured my soul to the pulp.

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

Hiding from Reality

Bottle of wine, full just moments ago, The last drops resting on my shirt, Memories of moments ago Now a blur. Tears that used to exist No longer have a home Having been replaced by these grapes of wrath, Mindless revelry. Pass the blunt, breathe in, now out, Weed helps the hurt to mellow, Touching out the feelings the wine couldn't get to. Darkness and spinning. I sit on a couch, watching plaster bumps Turn into stars and spin as my head Turns on its orbit, round and round, Drowning out everything. Blackness, preceded by heavy lids, I stumble to my bed, stumble, stumble, Sleep now, until the next dream, Sleep now, never awake.

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

Loss of (Self)

A subtle sadness resounds in my soul Constantly reminding me I am still un-whole. Where will I find what I lost 'long the way? And how long until the feeling fades away? I am entrapped by what once was my mind, Encircled by the dreams and lies that ever bind. Until the day I am made whole again. Until that day, incomplete I ever remain.

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

To a Rose

You are truly lovely Yet like a rose can be With veiled thorns, fingers, that are hearts, you prick. Blood is drawn when rashly A hand is thrust in quickly, So slowly, surely, do you a rose pick.

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

Smiling in the Rain

Raindrops, wet and warm, Splash upon my face, Looking so much like tears Running endlessly down As I stare up At the tumultuous skies. The summer rains wash down Bringing a smile to my lips. A smile midst the tears.

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

A Song for the Soul

Called forth by a subtle song,

I find myself looking for its source.

It resounds with me,

This saddening, maddening song

Carrying me too and fro like the wind.

I journey where it calls,

Though often it feels as if

The song is within myself

All the while.

[isaacsands-poet-writer-blog]

Oh! the Ponderous Musings of the Truly Insane

Oh the ponderous musings of the truly insane, When art for arts sake Takes the place of rationale and reason, Drowning itself in creativity. The thoughts and dreams that take flight To new heights, never before seen, Calling forth a new self, Both brighter and darker than before, In which, recreation as a whole is inevitable. It is by that insanity That we who are so are made whole And put the world to our blade, Calling forth naught but the greatest greatness Never satisfied with but the thought But made alive through the craft. Oh the ponderous pondering of the truly mad, Our wings insanity. Our breath creativity. Only then are we truly alive.