Beauty

All posts tagged Beauty

Changes

Published October 21, 2014 by atirahjewel

We’ve come to a turning point,

A place where we are made to move on

From where we are now.

A wonderful new opportunity,

To grow, to evolve,

From whatever it is we now are.

And yet,

I wish we didn’t have to leave this place.

I wish we could stay here and live,

Like we have lived for so long.

That whatever change is approaching,

Is but a dream I am dreaming.

Because here, time exists at a standstill;

Not ever really moving or changing.

Here is a place draped in feelings,

And with memories existing in

Every scent, every corner, every glance.

Because of these that have always been,

I am able to recreate my

Most recent years and thoughts.

To make myself feel the same as I once did,

As I sat in the same place I do now,

Giving the unhealthy illusion no time has really passed at all.

I am trapped inside an asylum of mind,

And no matter how much I focus on making new,

Old memories lurk against every wall,

And are attempting to be relived,

Because here, nothing is ever different,

Here, nothing is moved.

Here, I am able to remain that little girl I once was,

In love with the idea that nothing ever has to change.

And that is exactly why,

In these moments passing,

And in the future to come,

Nothing can be allowed to remain the same.

 

Copyright © 2014
by Atirah Jewel

Perhaps A Fantasy

Published June 10, 2014 by atirahjewel

This feels too controlled.
Completely in control,
While indefinitely knowing I am not.
But the feeling
Of this pen on this parchment,
Of the thoughts formed,
Of the music that plays,
All known to myself.
Words I will remember in the morning
As having written down
Before my thoughts
Strayed to more desperate things.

How can Time and Space
Be split,
Manipulated, so to speak,
So I may enjoy it as it had
Led me to believe I would?
Underneath that rotten façade of beauty
Comes the real face of being.
A man-made existence of time
Distributes itself under the spell of the Gods.
How can I feel the weight of control
In my hands
When it is a falsified existence
To dignify and comfort man?

To what degree must I suffer
Before recognising and realising,
The hideous truth
Of my own potential
To posses and bend time and space
And matter that makes up the Universe,
Multi-verse even, perhaps.
Soon my script will be unreadable
To even me,
It’s maker and creator.
For the hand betrays the mind,
And in turn, the pen betrays the hand.
In truth, meaning,
The hand, in all senses,
Betrays its own primal desire,
To disobey.

One moment,
Time is here,
Offering the same offer
It had offered once before.
In the remembrance, I plead.
Sentenced to the last of my sane days,
On my knees
Pleading with the man perceived time
To grant me any favour of power
To manipulate it so as to
Create for me,
A doorway
To travel desperately through
And live in a place completely
Before my time.
Where I had been born,
And killed,
And born from again
In the wrong sentence.

Now, after a quick glance at
Surroundings of unknown origins,
I forget
Every desire but one;
The one of Love.
A Love more pure
Then I’d ever dreamed before.
The only dream tears have been shed for,
And I have begged to live.
A version of me,
Before this version of me,
Living engulfed in music
And responsibility.
Drowning in instruments,
Blissfully dying under the sounds
Of voices, carrying me through the air
As if I was floating.

A hug, a kiss,
A bond of love shared
Between my soul and my soul.
Build a dream of Life in a manner
That I’ve never dreamed,
But instead envisioned.
Cut me in half,
Cut me into small pieces,
And I still won’t weep as much,
My heart still won’t bleed as much
As did when I was startled
By the cruel realisation
That my dream was nothing
Of a dream to be,
But instead, perhaps a fantasy.
One of ideal places and people,
Skills and thoughts and friendships and doubts
Ever doomed under the cloud
Of failure.

Death would be a mercy,
Welcomed and invited in,
As compared to the thought
Of living my life in a time
After my time.
A place I shouldn’t live in
In the manner I live in it;
Instead of in the way I am truly meant
To live and fatedly meant to die.
Pushed underwater and held by
Dreams of the beyond-world dimension
That await me so I can be
Further blessed with the Love I
Once soberly dreamt of,
And now highly plead for.
Into the Darkness, I’ll close my eyes,
And open my mind and heart to
The unforeseen, impossible possibilities of
This world and the next.

Copyright © 2014 by
Atirah Jewel

Isabella

Published May 9, 2014 by atirahjewel

In a plagued Heaven,
Perhaps I can exist without
Constant thought of Death
Looming over my mind,
With no other reason
But to threaten my Sanity.
Alas, in this palace-like place,
I am caught even more in the web
Placed under the spell of Death’s beauteous charms.
Falling, tumbling, soaring,
Living in my own personal, tainted Heaven,
Forced to accept the sweetness
Of Death’s Mercy,
Though I weep for
Being prey to a Mercy
That should not exist,
Not like I exist
For in the weak existence
I am subjected to live.
It does not truly exist
On the Grand scale of things.
No,
Not like the existence of the Sun,
The Moon,
The Earth;
Whose own place in the realm
Of Life and Honesty
I begin so greatly to question.
Why should I believe
In a place
Where Hatred and Truth combine
And aimlessly murder the life
Once awarded to the Father,
The Son,
And the Mother,
Perhaps her more so than the rest.
Isabella, the face of Beauty,
Forgiven from her.
The face of the ocean
And the birthing force of
All that is Mighty and Holy.
Isabella, she fades,
Fades into the black eternity
That she is so cruelly betrothed to.
See her, dancing.
Feel her, falling.
All of the twists and turns
She encounters along the way
To find her inner sanctity,
Her own Heaven
Plagued heavy with Shame,
Fear and Guilt.
Once more we fall apart
From where we once lived,
From who we once knew.

Isabella is dead,
Finally, graciously.
Isabella is dead.

Copyright © 2014 by
Atirah Jewel

Please Don’t Cry

Published February 26, 2014 by atirahjewel

You may note the copyright notice on this poem reads ‘2013’ instead of ’14. That’s because I actually wrote this in the Summer of 2013, and it’s been sitting in my drafts ever since. I wasn’t satisfied with it and, to be frank, am still not. I thought and think it was/is typical and bland, no flavour of it’s own whatsoever. But, as is rather apparent on my blog, not every poem can be a hit and poets must suffer a few (or several) misses here and there. It only crowds my drafts so I hope you enjoy. Or don’t, either way, it’s here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are my sun,

You are my sky,

Your glittering beauty should only be found in flowers,

I wish I had the wings to fly you away.

I see you in my dreams,

And such a beautiful dream you are,

One that brings tears to my eyes,

But you,

Please don’t cry.

I was trapped in my dream until I finally awoke to you,

Let me dry your tears,

Let me fly you away,

Hopefully one day we will be together,

One day I will get those wings,

One day we can once more die.

Copyright © 2013 by
Atirah Jewel

Should Death be so sweet…

Published February 20, 2014 by atirahjewel

Should Death be so sweet,
As to come take me away,
To ring my bell, nice and proper,
I should go with this sweet Death,
With an air of exceptional sweetness myself.
And should I go,
Ever so politely,
With this Death so sweet,
I would dress in my finest garb,
And don my Tuesday hat.
I would kiss my wife goodbye for me, darling Death,
And Death would take my hand,
Sing me soft melodies,
Whilst watching the world weep on their shoulder,
And I, bid farewell to this tragic life.
But this, of course, might only happen,
Should sweet Death,
Ring at my door.

Copyright © 2014 by
Atirah Jewel

Dreaming of Happiness

Published November 15, 2013 by atirahjewel

I hurt myself,
Just to hear the screams,
I kill myself,
Just to feel the pain,
Just to taste the blood as I drown myself in it,
Fallen to my knees in agony,
Withered up,
Dying,
All I can think to do it laugh,
Laugh, just so I can cry out more.
I’m obsessed with the idea of pain,
With the idea of death,
With darkness and decay,
The rot of flesh as it decomposes under the sun,
Unknown to any,
A woman,
Shriveled up and bleeding out until the minute of her demise,
A man,
Being the subject of torture as he begs for mercy,
Cold-blooded slaughter,
Unsuspecting victim,
It amuses me so,
Wishing I could be there with them,
Watching them wither and die,
Glimpse death as he takes their hand in his own icy grip,
Pray to be next.
Laughing forever so at these thoughts,
Fallen away to my own world,
Savouring each moment of my death,
Joining the victims of so many,
Pain was the last thing I felt.
Dreaming of happiness.

Copyright © 2013 by
Atirah Jewel

The Tree

Published October 16, 2013 by atirahjewel

T’was such a beautiful day,
I thought unto myself,
So I decided to go for a walk,
To further appreciate the day,
For in this life I had so few,
On my walk,
I happened upon an old tree,
It’s branches had been stripped bare by the season,
Leaving it vulnerable and exposed.
The trunk had been defiled by two set of initials,
Carved deep into the bark,
The pain those imbeciles must’ve caused the tree,
My whole body quivered with anger,
I had to close my eyes to calm my nerves.
When I opened them,
I let their gaze fall elsewhere.
To the bottom of the tree,
To the roots.
The gnarled, knotted, twisted roots,
They protruded from the soil,
As is the dirt that once surrounded them had been torn away,
Leaving them to be exposed as well.
They almost looked like women,
Women who were left bare,
All piled atop one another,
They looked as if they were calling out in agony,
Desperately pleading for their lives,
Waiting for someone to help them.
If you truly listened,
You could hear their screams,
Riding on the howling wind.
How real it all seemed,
How loud they sounded in my mind,
I caught myself imagining they were real women.
Shaking the disturbing image from my mind,
I walked on.
I came across several more interesting trees,
Each having a story of its own to tell,
I saw several birds and streams,
Heard many calls of wild beasts,
But my mind kept wondering back to one place,
Those roots.
Those helpless women.
The image was disturbing, yes,
Yet I could not help but be intrigued,
My feet moved on their own,
And I sprinted back the the tree,
The fascination consumed me.
I looked on and thought,
“These women, if I cut them,
Would they bleed?
Would they cry out in pain,
Or beg for my help and mercy?”
I closed my eyes once more,
When I opened them I stumbled back in horror,
For a brief moment,
They ceased to be made of wood,
They were human, living and breathing,
Pained.
I resolved to come back later,
When everyone else was gone,
So we could be alone.
When later presented itself to me,
I gathered myself and went back,
An axe slumped over my shoulder,
A test for her,
To see if she would scream,
To see if she would fight,
To see if she would bleed.

Copyright © 2013 by
Atirah Jewel