Orion

[rat]

Tis better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all.
--Alfred, Lord Tennyson


Orion

Washing up on shore
In the aftermath
Of the storm, he
Breathes no more.
He is spent, wasted
And dying on this
Small rocky shoal,
Life untasted.

Storm-tossed on a raging sea
His small, leaking craft sailed
Steadfastly ahead
His soul left to bleed.
Cut loose from all binding ties,
He wandered this parchéd earth,
Eyes searching for truth
In the backlit skies.
With but a single guiding light
That middle of the Belt
His only comfort
On this moonlit night.
No greater truth to be had,
No sweet caress received,
He wanders this sea
Love-blinded and mad.

He rails against his peers
His neighbors, his God.
He rails to the sea,
Till he turns his gaze upon
The very firmament, his only
Companion, Orion.
And you oh, friend?
For what good have you been?
Silent, brooding you mark
The sky with your hunt,
And what failure you have seen.

Broken, tired and cleansed,
He stands upon his rock,
A man freed from torment--
From society's lense.
Only here, only alone
Does his mind grow quiet
His demons grow silent
Only here, he finds home.
Completely purged, he stands.
Here he is lord, master
Broken of heart and mind
On barren rock and burning sands.


The opening quote is meant in stark irony to what i consider the reality of love and my experience with it. That is not open to interpretation because it was placed deliberately

[WhoaitsZ]

not bad, i like.

[Angel]

Wow!
I try so hard not to use such a trite word but sometimes it says so much in it's simplicity...Wow!
Thank you for sharing a splendid piece of work.

[Eowyn_Vala]

Wow! I really liked reading this. Your work is very impressive.

[rat]

Thanks for the great feedback I had that up for a while on my ejournal, but the journal had fallen into disuse, and the poem was buried four months back into the journal itself, so it took some digging.

The sad thing is how much I truly dislike the vast majority of the poetry to which I've been exposed. I write very strongly, and have the capacity to create substantial pieces of prose and poetry both, however I find that I generally dislike writing. That's about the only poem I have that's even in draft form, and nothing truly completed. It took me several long nights with a pencil and paper (indeed, I even used archaic utensils to create the original) and axed an entire stanza at one point to keep the length manageable. I may start writing poetry again, possibly heading towards a more purely metaphysical arena with my work. Any comments on style or content would be very appreciated

[*Nikki*]

I truely enjoyed and "felt" the meaning in those words.

You are a real talent.