Here are some of my poems.
In this folder, the poems are sorted from newest to oldest in the order that I wrote them.
Chrysopolis by Korbinia, literature
Literature
Chrysopolis
Meandering on shattered rays Of frozen, fallen stars, A fractal of a world astray, Its entrance left ajar, I could not help but turn away And turn my gaze afar, Seeking slits of darker days Less vivid and bizarre. That little shadow shivering alone Has taken up our duty to atone. What golden spirals, shining spires Impose upon my mind Are quick deflected and expire; A blight upon my kind. ‘Tis all reflected by a fire, So deeply thus entwined That any spite, desire, or ire May surely smite me blind. That little shadow has a human soul, But irony denies it what I stole. Upon the edge of the Abyss I glance back at the sky, Such grace as it gyrates amiss And every light a lie. I cannot help but reminisce, Though hardly feeling why The summit is not final bliss Whether to fall or fly. That little shadow keeps its truer sight, Though it is blinded by my endless night.
Reach for the sun, Please purge the cold. Longing for liquid warmth To trickle down my rigid arms Encasing them in gold. Look for the rain, The land is dry. Those teardrops from the sky Might cleanse my own dull, shriveled eyes That they can vent my cries. Call for the wind, So deathly still. Its whispers and its dance Could move a corpse to look askance And strive to find its will. Sleep for the void, No need for light. The darkness slithers on And wraps its tendrils ‘round the dawn To blot the world from sight. ——For this room, What is this place? Pale and silent, eerie grace. Cleft asunder, thoughts are shattered Where the light is drained and scattered Mind abandoned, flayed and tattered I cannot avoid the walls On every side to break my fall. (This is not the void. I miss the shade of womb and tomb.) Live for-ever—!
The trees are bare, the sky is gray: Another faded winter’s day. Suspended air hangs still as glass Around the bleached-green frosted grass, Now shielded from decay. Without a gasp of gushing gale Unstopping flow with its exhale Without a single shard of light From sun or moon come day or night, To prick the turbid veil. Dream, dream of snow to blanket them Serene and colourless and numb, Thus the world lies stilled of breath, Pristinely frozen as in death, And all the world succumbs. So sweetly do the feathers fall As if they weren’t there at all… They guard the world with soft white lies And wreath it in a lullaby And i seem so, so small.
Firstly, a pall that sluices through one’s veins Turns one’s visage horrific, wan, and fair, Then life-blood, with emotion, swiftly drains Plasticity; one stiffens everywhere. Secondly, things will begin to writhe within And live and nest and feast in one’s unrest, And fester softly underneath one’s skin Each one a modest yet unwelcome guest.
What is a ghost? One who is dead? But not all corpses yield a shade; Too many drowns the world in dread. Like their flesh, most souls must fade. What then? Who lingers here, and why? Revenge, resentment, whims of fate Do little more than signify Plain, common things like love and hate. What is their shape? What gives them form? As emblems of the grief or fear Of you, the living, stirring storms In sanity when they appear— What for? What use in haunting dreams? Surely the dead have not a care For worldly matters; their state seems Too tranquil to be thus aware. What else? How many queries still? The answers are as ghosts as well. No life nor light… No way nor will… Except the void within the shell… What— what am I!? Please. What am I? Not even breath To sing or sigh… How cold where death Has touched my mind… What is a ghost…? One who has died? A lie, a lie, a lie. I am a lie . G o o d b y e
The sea was calm today. Like a quiet, dwindling heartbeat, The sea was calm today. Like a slow waltz stuck on repeat The sea was calm today. The sea was calm today. Like sea-nymphs were ringing a knell, The sea was calm today. Like dull tolling of a church-bell The sea was calm today. The sea was calm today. Like the bone-white, waning moonlight, The sea was calm today. Like a raven’s rhythm mid-flight The sea was calm today. The sea was calm today. Like always, high tide or low tide. The sea was calm today. Like it was on the day I died. The sea was calm today. I cannot recall how I died. It was too long ago. I forget the path to the sea. It is too far away. But in my every memory There is one thing I know: As I was standing by the tide The sea was calm that day. The sea is calm today…
To see what it was like to die (such fancies oft hold me in thrall), I left with nary a “goodbye”. Though only through the clouded eye of spectators, I hoped withal to see what it was like to die. And so, giving no reason why I would not hail each note nor call, I left with nary a “goodbye”. Those who knew what I would try may mock the fool who had the gall to see what it was like to die while living. But I did not lie and falsely claim that I would fall: I left with nary a “goodbye”. When my end is truly nigh, I shall not hesitate at all to see what it is like to die— then I shall leave with a “goodbye”.
Since I, in fact, have many more Allotted years in store, Though I may choose to spend them all In one expensive fall, It may seem haughty to assume Where I shall craft my tomb, But I assure you: my lifespan Shall not exceed my plan. Now listen well to garish verse And wait to see the hearse That drags my bones and makes them dance On paths of fate and chance.
"Respect" In our brief lives, each passing foe And all we destroy wantonly Inspire our ire, but even so Deserve unbiased sympathy. Some people let hate cloud their minds And repetition dull their hearts; Opposing forces, to their kind, Serve purely to be rend apart. Some years ago, there was a man Who Fortune’s favours somehow lost, Yet, still he persevered, and planned A trying quest, despite the cost. The teasing sea, the fickle sea Both soothed and harrowed him in turn, Then sent her own child finally To quell the zeal that in them burned. Although the old man came to grief, Nigh forfeiting his life to best His game unearthly, his beliefs Ne’er faltered once all through his quest. For that storm-blue creature bold Excited in him camaraderie Of two spirits, triumphs left untold And played out on the pensive sea. At long last, victory appeared, Concluding the two heroes’ pain, And home he sailed, his mood austere For pity o’er a brother slain. "Indomitable" … I am indomitable. I
Once I lived without a care With happy, pretty lies, Worlds of fancy made with air Attempting to disguise— The truth beyond the painted glass That shielded my young eyes. Then came the day that I would pass The gateway for the wise, And put away my golden dreams To make way for the prize: Another life—“How strange it seems, And useless!” I surmise. But— “No,” they say, “you are a fool; Still your childish cries. Our knowledge mandates every rule As yours to memorize.” But I shall never bow to they Who hasten my demise, By scouring me so dull and gray Until my spirit dies! Fly, fly! Fly away! Back to where my childhood days Were spent with what I cherished, The little miracles I saw in every Inexplicable perfect eddy in the speckled stream Or the wind leading a kaleidoscope of leaves in a furious dance Or an emerald-winged bronze-eyed lacewing gracing the realm of mortals Or just running, running freely, with the phantoms of our mind that we befriended Upon the vast and empty