'This Life Is But A Lengthy Test'

This life is but a lengthy test
that very few take not as jest:
they dance and sing and drink their ales
while spinning foolish, epic tales;
they celebrate regretful tears
and waste away their better years;
they take for granted their good wives
and sacrifice their long, long lives.

But not we - we who spends our lives
with youthful fruits from faithful wives.
We venture through our sinless years 
while serving in remorseless tears.
And when we do recount our tales
with mirth and joy, with drinks and ales,
we will recount in gleeful jest
for we'd have passed God's every test.




?/10/15

Poet's Notes

First off, let me wish everyone reading a merry Christmas. It's so close to the new year and, since this would be my last post until then, I thought it would only be fitting that I shared this poem in particular in conjunction with the declaration of New-Year resolutions. 

This poem concerns the casual treating of life as a game to be played for mere sport and fun. It condemns that sort of attitude towards life while promoting the more virtuous alternative. The many times I have seen proud and public displays of such behaviour boasted fondly to the world on social media were inspirations while writing this poem. However, the first quatrain written - the last quatrain, ironically - was conceived from messages, lessons almost, by a dear friend. Initially, the poem was to be written in the voice of a persona undergoing such changes; but as I composed it, I felt that I had undergone similar changes, thus allowing the poem to affect me in the way I had hoped it would others. 

'Quaint Blue-shaded Eyes'

~ Dedicated to a Brenda, soft-spoken and shy ~


Before the mirror with crossed legs sat you,
th'look of your passion smeared across your face,
repainting on a canvas with soft blue -
a hue of blue that did your soft eyes trace;
and then, you put a mask of fairer paint
all over that which was already fair.

But are you beautiful beneath your quaint
blue-shaded eyes and neatly tied-up hair,
for oft such artistry does not display
the anxiousness and rawness of the soul
you do possess, nor th'baseness you portray
in utter brilliance that I'd fain t'extol;

to see you at your worst is at your best. -
               With this my love for you is now confessed.



10/12/15

Poet's Notes

The past few months have brought me on an emotional journey filled with laughter, sweat, stress and heartbreak. I had spent countless hours interacting with people I have never met before, characters of interesting natures and behaviours. But one of them stood out among the rest, in my eyes, as she was the most curious of all. Despite being soft-spoken and shy, Brenda had always been the one to bring a smile to my face whenever I was feeling particularly upset. She always had galaxy of mysteries in her eyes as she sat, saying naught, in the ritualistic circle we all loved so much due to her anxiety. 

As the time to say goodbye to her forever was drawing near, I began writing this poem whilst watching her perform her daily rites of beautification. Being stuck in a Groundhog-Day-esque repetition allowed me to capture each smile and wince in vivid clarity; and I loved her in her utter naturalness and her beautiful unflattery. This poem may just be the only physical fragment of her memory left that exists, but it serves to immortalise Brenda and my fond recollections of her.