YaşantıEkspresi

"My heart is the throne of the Beloved, the Beloved the heart's destiny: Whoever breaks another's heart will find no homecoming in this world or any other." -Yunus Emre

[yasantiekspresi]

Waterfall

Icy-cold water rushes through coarse granite

Off the high ledge and into stark hazy mist

Murky waters engulf my frail body

A freezing, soaking blanket drags me down below

Seeping into my pores it pierces my skin like a hot blade

The river weeps, echoing the sirens below

It rumbles and shakes with fear, confusing it with anger

The river's whisper trembles my soul with its breeze

Sweet nothings pulling me in closer and closer

How I wish it's claws would stop tugging my flesh

I can't tell if I'm closing my eyes or not anymore

My breath warms the darkness as it embraces me further

As the moss building up in my lungs pains me no more

"The Drowning of Ophelia" (1894) by Paul Albert Steck Original poem by yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Harp from Above

We sit underneath the glistening starlight.

As you pull the strings of heaven's harp,

Pacifying the endless roars of the dark.

Playing so softly, it makes my heart take flight.

The melody that bewitches my ears,

Perhaps it'll never stop for a thousand years.

"The Harp of Erin" by Thomas Buchanan Read (1867) Poem by yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

"Temporize"

Doesn't it ache your heart,

When the stillness of life drowns you in the dark

While rotting in bed, never knowing where to start?

To desire the things you always observe others doing,

Are you truly procrastinating, or just lazily viewing

A lifestyle so seemingly fathomable, but am I really trying?

"The Death of Chatterton" by Henry Wallis, Tate version

Poem by yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Recall

Until our passion ignites

We'll listen to the tales of the old and wise

Chasing a white rabbit through a field of lies

Just so I can see my reflection in your eyes

Until then I shall reminisce as time flies

"The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali (1931) Poem by yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Oyster in the River

From the first moment I saw you,

I realized the pearls in your eyes shined brighter than mine.

And as you grasped my cold and rotting hand,

From the murky river I was drowning myself in,

I aspired for my pearls to finally shine like yours do.

But you thought I was the moon to your sun,

That the stage lights would shine on me as everyone cheered,

As long as you performed beside me as well...

You may have pulled me out of the river I was drowning from,

Though you never noticed my feet, still sunken in the murk.

And my body, still rotting and molding,

Nor the envy that was seeping from my pruney fingers...

No, no, I would never. I still adored you, loved you.

But the glances I give you after every other performance,

It stings and aches your fragile little heart, does it not?

I may have let the river of jealousy drown my thoughts,

Though I never noticed the others, much more vexed towards you.

And their souls, so fuelled with unnecessary animosity,

Nor how they viciously pulled you from the stage that night.

Clawing onto your clothes and dragging your body across the cold floor,

As you fought for your life while they gouged out your eyes,

Stealing your beautiful pearls, full of life and joy...

I stood there, shivering,

as I felt my own pearls' light darkening yet again,

...I'm so sorry.

"Ophelia" by Alexandre Cabanel (1883) Poem by yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Penumbra

I've never laid my eyes upon,

A more prominent figure,

Than The Shepherd lurking in the shadows.

He swears his puppeteering is his responsibility

But the muffled yells of a thousand sheep of "faith",

Says otherwise...

Even the wolves hear silent cries of the sheep

Yet they never once question The Shepherd

They blame the grass on the field:

"That filthy grass, it must be poisoning their minds!"

"It's those farm animals, preaching 'oppression' how awful!"

"What about those shears? Its metal must be cancerous."

But it's never The Shepherd intoxicating the pasture,

The Shepherd, who whispers misogyny "in the name of God",

The Shepherd, who blended "culture" into faith within the shadows,

...Never once questioned.

(Please read the tags for some context and extra thoughts.)

[yasantiekspresi]

A Swan by the Sunrise

I was awoken by a mellisonant voice.

As my fingertips were jewelled with golden sunlight,

My eyes blossomed beneath the ravishing dawn.

The silence lent my ears a soft kiss, a chance to rejoice

After hours of unrest, accompanied by angelic moonlight.

So shall I rest in the silken river akin to a noble swan.

"The Lament for Icarus" by Herbert James Draper (1898) Poem by yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Silent Ache

Feels as if I trudged through trenches of dreadful sorrow,

Yet, my pain couldn't amount to the true woe they endured.

Ashamed of the labour I call agony.

Humiliated, for "selfishness" became an epithet for I.

I musn't cry, for I never felt true suffering,

I shouldn't complain, till I hurt as they've hurt.

But for how long must my labour weigh me down,

For I to crumble to the ground and drown in my despair,

And for not a soul to yell my "epithet" and call out I?

Painting: “Hope”(1886) by George Frederic Watts Poem by yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Act of Venomous Love

Morality; is a compass of divinity,

Clashing with magnets of theirs vanity.

I struggle to escape the tight strings around choices,

Forcefully playing the game of puppeteer's indulgence;

I cannot fathom my own being through the echos of thousand voices.

Sometimes; I couldn't tell if the blade you swore to protect me with was pointed at me,

Some days you want me to bottle up my emotions for your glee,

Just so you could throw the same delicate bottle at me...

For if I wished upon these strings to snap would it come true?

If so would I weep over the scars that never came to outgrew?

The Wounded Deer, 1946 by Frida Kahlo

Poem by - yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Euphony of Horror

A haunting melody chimed in times past,

A tune purely phantasmagoric, left all aghast.

Her silver harp; fused with her fingertips,

Tarnishing away as her essence slips.

She was a snowflake gliding down;

An ephemeral splendour in a melting gown.

Accursed to a fate she desired no more,

A marionette rotting in a ghost orchestra.

So long before, Madness seeps into her core; Her body and mind in divine war...

Poem by - yasantiekspresi Pin by - ThEnddark

[yasantiekspresi]

Longing

Thus the letters of my darling arrived,

A hint of vanilla and oak so divine.

With a touch of the sweetest notes;

And the dearest of words written by,

Shall come to an end with the loveliest of goodbyes.

As the early morning wind flies away with my letters,

The gust of wind lightly brushes my woeful tears.

Jeanne-Marguerite Lecadre in the Garden, Claude Monet, 1867 Poem by - yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

- Without You -

I've longed to feel as light as a feather,

Yet when I'm near you I'm inevitably heavier.

Mayhaps if our souls were to drift apart;

These palpitations inside my heart would be over,

Maybe this "love fever" of mine would get better?

It only took one glance to melt my heart of leather,

A divine sensation so tantalizing I had to place a barrier.

Yet I suppose fate had greater plans than to depart;

She was a beauty so rare, akin to a four-leaf clover,

I could never leave her side let alone forget her.

El Beso (Pinacoteca de Brera, Milán, 1859)

Poem by - yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Blizzard of Animus

My fingertips burn in the restless cold,

As I feel my body weighing me down;

Lower and lower, heavier and heavier.

A sense of grief flows through my soul;

My vast, bitter and icy-cold soul.

Is grief supposed to feel warm and mellow?

In this frigid blizzard of loathing and animosity,

Grief felt the most human than it ever was before,

Akin to an oasis in the middle of a desert;

The most welcoming of the most distasteful of all.

I can't feel my fingertips:

My fingertips, feel hollow and empty.

I suppose grief has taken over me,

My mind, my soul, my body...

Grief, ripped my scathing heart out,

Out... Out of this vicious blizzard...

Out of my misery.

Is death supposed to feel homely and kind?

Akin to a field of sunflowers in gorgeous daylight.

They really meant it when they said:

Every cloud has a silver lining.

In a blizzard of animus;

Lying on the cold hard ground,

A pearl of grief; shining.

La Douleur (Sorrow) (1868 – 1869) by Paul Cézanne Poem by - yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Fragility Of Love & Death

Love felt sorry for me,

So it lent a soft kiss for me;

Perfect for a hopeless romantic like me.

Death took pity on me,

So it gave a pillow for me;

Perfect for the welcoming deathbed of me.

Promised to thrive like a delicate rose so it would seem,

Bound to perish like a withering rose so it may be...

Flaming June, by Frederic Lord Leighton (1830-1896) Poem by - yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Angelic Cries of Demise

A spellbound butterfly dances along the cemetery,

As the dead whistles to the portentous ceremony.

A daunting melody echoes throughout sung by a fairy,

The cemetery enchanted by rows of divine blackberry.

Wynorrific sirens chant the deific curses of a centenary,

The gondolier of death whispered to I to be wary,

For the wicked thorns of black roses hold my cinerary,

Biding their time for my wondrous and lovely funerary.

Shall be glorious, says the witch on the death ferry;

The Banshee, impatient for my deadly hour to bury.

Thomas Jones Barker, The Bride of Death, 1839 Poem by - yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Manipulator

Oh "Sherlock" won't thou give me a hand

For 'twas destined for I to be thy right hand man

Nestled in a burrow of shadows for thee to be grand

Rose to fame, climbed the hill of brilliance and demand;

Just for I, to be shunned away by thy master plan...

Eminent cigarette burns marked along thy trench coat.

A shallow smirk with eyes that hold no more,

Than a hollow grave followed by silence and nothing more;

One step closer to madness, reckon we're on the same boat.

Oh "Grim Reaper" shall say he expected no more,

Than death, money, repute and broken promises galore!

Vincent van Gogh - Head of a skeleton with a burning cigarette Poem by - yasantiekspresi

[yasantiekspresi]

Enamoured

Her essence is just as charming as when she smiles,

Alluring the butterflies within I from a thousand miles.

Feeling as if I was losing my mind,

Sensing as if I felt more tender... more kind?

Following her bewitching voice like I was blind.

Longed to see her; it felt like running through love tiles,

Her gaze felt like bliss, my emotions in a load of piles.

...

Springtime (Pierre Auguste Cot), 1873 Poem by - yasantiekspresi