O How Sad The Torment by Jagotiberan21, literature
Literature
O How Sad The Torment
O how sad the torment of a restless soul
That seeks wanton pleasures to make it whole.
This body burns on earth in solemn ire,
Bound for rest in cold, boundless fire.
So now the just punishment takes its toll,
O how sad the torment of a restless soul!
Ah me! These distorted faces!
How these men live in grim torment,
With their steady eyes downward bent,
Only stone and Labor worthy of their praises.
They cannot see the true Beauty in things,
Woo'd by the sensation Mammon brings;
To them, there are no loves and graces-
Ah me! These distorted faces!
The Mind Is Its Own Hell by Jagotiberan21, literature
Literature
The Mind Is Its Own Hell
Here I sit, consumed in thought,
Of what once was, and what is not.
For those that are eager to hear a tale,
Here is a fine one, that ends in hell.
There are no knights in armor, or valiant heroes,
No second chances or kindly bestows,
Only mistakes that make things worse,
That further manifest the main character's curse.
Now for my tormenting tale,
Let's begin where our hero first failed:
The maiden is certainly fair indeed,
But this maiden, our hero did misread.
He thought her encased in pain and grief,
But she was actually in calm relief.
He tried to dig deeper than he ought,
And because of this, they always fought.
One hars
Things Once Left Unexpressed by Jagotiberan21, literature
Literature
Things Once Left Unexpressed
She is my fine heart, and although my words
May prove inadequate in their poor search
To describe her, my mind still roams likes birds
Seeking the perfect place to take their perch.
The manner with which she conducts her day
Holds rather propitious omens,
Because most unwavering are her ways,
Obstinate like the waves of the oceans.
Her hair and features are carved beautifully,
Ambrosial, fine, and without defect,
By the seraphs who sing in euphony,
So to her the vain and prideful eyes direct.
With her visage distinct and uplifted,
Lifted as much as her presence lifts me,
With lust have those men become afflicted,
Blinded by her
Her presence fills the unsung air
With a countenance most divinely fair;
Her face shines in the midnight light,
Her voice cures the harshest blight.
The mightiest warriors for her would defend,
And in her steps heav'nly dancers attend.
But to where do her steps take her now?
And what causes her glorious face to scowl?
Many people have proclaimed from their stations,
"Her hands can allay the discord betwixt nations!"
But now her shade becomes less clear,
As the rage of Man approaches ever so nearer.
Her mind is as the violent sea,
Whose waves erase man's memories!
But those who of her choose not to look,
Drown themselves in the
O How Sad The Torment by Jagotiberan21, literature
Literature
O How Sad The Torment
O how sad the torment of a restless soul
That seeks wanton pleasures to make it whole.
This body burns on earth in solemn ire,
Bound for rest in cold, boundless fire.
So now the just punishment takes its toll,
O how sad the torment of a restless soul!
Ah me! These distorted faces!
How these men live in grim torment,
With their steady eyes downward bent,
Only stone and Labor worthy of their praises.
They cannot see the true Beauty in things,
Woo'd by the sensation Mammon brings;
To them, there are no loves and graces-
Ah me! These distorted faces!
The Mind Is Its Own Hell by Jagotiberan21, literature
Literature
The Mind Is Its Own Hell
Here I sit, consumed in thought,
Of what once was, and what is not.
For those that are eager to hear a tale,
Here is a fine one, that ends in hell.
There are no knights in armor, or valiant heroes,
No second chances or kindly bestows,
Only mistakes that make things worse,
That further manifest the main character's curse.
Now for my tormenting tale,
Let's begin where our hero first failed:
The maiden is certainly fair indeed,
But this maiden, our hero did misread.
He thought her encased in pain and grief,
But she was actually in calm relief.
He tried to dig deeper than he ought,
And because of this, they always fought.
One hars
Things Once Left Unexpressed by Jagotiberan21, literature
Literature
Things Once Left Unexpressed
She is my fine heart, and although my words
May prove inadequate in their poor search
To describe her, my mind still roams likes birds
Seeking the perfect place to take their perch.
The manner with which she conducts her day
Holds rather propitious omens,
Because most unwavering are her ways,
Obstinate like the waves of the oceans.
Her hair and features are carved beautifully,
Ambrosial, fine, and without defect,
By the seraphs who sing in euphony,
So to her the vain and prideful eyes direct.
With her visage distinct and uplifted,
Lifted as much as her presence lifts me,
With lust have those men become afflicted,
Blinded by her
I'm only 17, but I have an intense passion for the written arts. Some people say that I see things in other's works that people don't normally see. The thing that one must keep in mind is that there is a certain flow that a reader must tap into in order to properly interpret and understand another person's communications and writings. Each poem, each novel, each piece of art is the effluence of the artist's mind, and the artist's hand. Once this tenet is clearly comprehended and respected, it doesn't matter how old one is, anything becomes possible in the arts.
Current Residence: Richmond, TX deviantWEAR sizing preference: Medium, I suppose Favourite genre of music: Anything except country Favourite style of art: Realism Operating System: Windows 7 MP3 player of choice: Ipod Shell of choice: .357? Skin of choice: Mine is fine, thank you Favourite cartoon character: Bugs Bunny Personal Quote: "The light is always shining through the window. One just has to wake up and open ones eyes.&qu
For some time now, a frequent disturbance has plagued my mind: So many before my eyes are seeking nothing but their own ends, and refuse to be appreciative for none other's existence but their own. Why? What keeps us so consumed with ourselves? From where has this malignant nature emerged? Is it an innate fettle that we, we of whom seek moral independence, must resist? Or is it a resistence to the innate ability we have to give aid to others? What are the benefits of living to help others? Is there even such munificence? Such questions and more will be answered in my next piece, "The Interdependence Proclamation". Send me your prayers and tho