# The Poem Thread



## Svava (Jan 6, 2014)

Have a poem floating around in your mind/office/hard drive?

Leave it here.

Originals.





Truth's Elegy

That flaxen hair which flirts fanciful tales with the wind to entertain my heart;
the curtain-shutter to those electric diamonds which blind eyes and inspire sight

The red lips that shine on as long as a sun-touched coastline,
and the tide of her voice like ebbing fire-honey; that wash of spellbinding liquor which coaxes the soul to sea

Verity and Faith hang sharp by her side; 
the air cut alive by their adamantine notes

Her hearth's altruistic light illuminates the Paige's of her story

Her epic shall be written not for me to read

~ Sv


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## Whammy (Jan 9, 2014)

I'll contribute 

One of my favorite poets is A.E. Housman so I went for a similar structure to some of his shorter poems.

--------------------------------------- 

I questioned an all knowing man,
"Why do the heavens cry?"
The man did muse, and then began
To grant me my reply.

"You seek a tower on babel's ground,
To scale with heart and pith.
When sky and stone it seems are bound,
'Tis merely but a myth.

Perched in soil atop this tower,
A beauty for the eye.
Behold, such a graceful flower,
Bearing a heavy sky."


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## Svava (Jan 9, 2014)

Whammy said:


> I'll contribute
> 
> One of my favorite poets is A.E. Housman so I went for a similar structure to some of his shorter poems.
> 
> ...



Beautifully constructed sir.


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## EcoliUVA (Jan 9, 2014)

I'll play! About halfway through the 3rd song on my band's demo, there's an instrumental section that we decided we wanted a narration over. So I wrote this, more or less as poetry (and read in an overly-hammy voice):

As the bitter wind pours down from the northern hills, 
Seven thousand souls rest fireside 
As the moon hangs high in the night 

Camaraderie shared and communion held for companions still 
Whole of spirit, resolved of mind 
Oppressed no longer by burden of time 

Deep droughts of jest and merriment mask iron will 
As thoughts drift readily towards dawn 
Resolve hardens, as last plans are drawn


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## Svava (Jan 9, 2014)

EcoliUVA said:


> I'll play! About halfway through the 3rd song on my band's demo, there's an instrumental section that we decided we wanted a narration over. So I wrote this, more or less as poetry (and read in an overly-hammy voice):
> 
> As the bitter wind pours down from the northern hills,
> Seven thousand souls rest fireside
> ...



I'd love to check the song out if you have a recording of it xD

I've always have a soft spot for programmatic music !


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## EcoliUVA (Jan 10, 2014)

Not sure I'd call it programmatic, but this bit is at about the 1:35 mark here (with some overdubbed additions from our vocalist):



Full demo is up on youtube if you happen to like melodeath, or free DL available on bandcamp here: Undrask


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## Svava (Jan 10, 2014)

EcoliUVA said:


> Not sure I'd call it programmatic, but this bit is at about the 1:35 mark here (with some overdubbed additions from our vocalist):
> 
> 
> 
> Full demo is up on youtube if you happen to like melodeath, or free DL available on bandcamp here: Undrask




Nicely done man- it's quite good!

I love the guitar work at the beginning.


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## BrailleDecibel (Aug 7, 2015)

Sorry for the necrobump, but I didn't want to start a whole new thread for poems when one already exists.


"Empty Hills"

These empty, echoing hills reflect
The screams that issue forth
My eyes closed tight against the tears
Of loneliness and remorse
Where night once held a place for us
Solitude lays endless ahead
My only company your memories
That will haunt me until I'm dead

Your name etched on my shattered heart
Even though you are long gone
Wondering ever more each day
What is the point to carry on?
The night sky stretched like desolate canvas
Over the shell of this broken being
Drawing breath and still alive
But forever without any meaning


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## chopeth (Aug 8, 2015)

You mind if I write the one I love most. It's in Spanish, sorry.

*La guitarra*
F. G. Lorca

Empieza el llanto 
de la guitarra. 
Se rompen las copas de la madrugada. 
Empieza el llanto de la guitarra. 
Es inútil callarla. 
Es imposible callarla. 
Llora monótona 
como llora el agua, 
como llora el viento 
sobre la nevada. 
Es imposible callarla. 
Llora por cosas 
lejanas. 
Arena del Sur caliente 
que pide camelias blancas. 
Llora flecha sin blanco, 
la tarde sin mañana, 
y el primer pájaro muerto 
sobre la rama. 
!Oh guitarra! 
Corazón malherido 
por cinco espadas.


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