Rebel Never Dies

So this is it?
He’s returned to the stars,
The Starman who fell to Earth,
Then sold the world,
To make sure that there is always life on Mars.

God bless the girl who weeps fountains,
For there is no other to compare to her lost hero.
People on the streets would stop an stare at how
He was always dancing on top of the world,
Dancing out in space.

At times it seemed like
The lad was insane,
But he just dared to change his way
Of caring about himself,
The prettiest Star.

The dream of him
Filled us all with the fascination
Of his animal grace
Which, sure enough,
Takes a part of us, when we’re loving the alien.

We wanted him to stay, we meant to say but didn’t,
Now we’re watching him dash away to his bed of dead roses,
And light becomes darkness
As the world is shaken by reality and falls down,
And the stars look very different today.

Now where shall we live,
Since he left us for a new career in a new town?
This is the heart’s filthy lesson;
Big brother has left us to join the Gang,
Something in us dies.

We are the dead and he is our Candidate in a tin machine,
The future legend of the past,
Oh! How we wished he would stay in our lover’s story,
But he was a little wonder, unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed,
Who was looking for satellites.

Now I know it ain’t easy
To hang onto yourself when your cracked actor freaks out in a moonage daydream,
But just pretend you’re walking home when the wind blows.
Keep growin’ up and keep telling lies,
So you can drive through the panic in Detroit.

Then you can live your occasional dream
With your Star,
That wild-eyed boy from Freecloud,
But then you realise you can’t,
Because he’s gone and it’s got us all in a whirl.

10 days after wishful beginnings, 2 after celebration,
Nothing remains and God only knows
How we’re all jazzin’ for the return of the Thin White Duke.
Sunday, everything has changed,
It’s the beginning of the end.

So where the fuck did Monday go?
It went to Sorrow, Pain and Confusion.
It went to Life and Death
And was taken away by Time,
Who was waiting in the wings.

We’re drowning in the memory of a free festival,
So let’s dance tonight from station to station
In honor of the spaceboy who was our hero forever and ever,
So we can be heroes, even if just for one day.
Never let me down, Major, fill your heart with these changes.

Ashes to ashes,
Look back and don’t look down,
And I say to myself,
“Monday’s gone but I promised
To love you ’till Tuesday.”

Hours pass and
The new Angels of promise
Are taking our hot tramp on a brilliant adventure,
A fantastic voyage,
Riding on a golden horse.

5:15, the Angels have gone.
9:25, thank God I’m still alive
I kneel before the grave of the New Killer Star,
With five years stuck on my eyes,
9:26, my Death waits there.

There’s something in the air,
The sound of teenage wildlife,
As they scream like babies
Because they’re young,
Being thrown into the South horizon.

The secret life of Arabia,
Where our kingdom come,
And our king awaits,
Out of this criminal world,
Into his real cool world.

He lies among the stars that never sleep,
They are never far away
So the last thing you should do
Is dream that he has faded from his throne,
Because it’s only forever, not long at all.

He’ll come, He’ll go.
He will lay belief of modern love on you
When he traps you with those beautiful eyes,
And skin is sweet with his musky oil
But he’s never gone.

Go outside,
Look up there, he’s in heaven.
In heaven, but still here,
Because he’s the Rebel
And Rebel never gets old.

Rebel never dies.
Ain’t that just like him?

Copyright © 2016
by Atirah Jewel

Perhaps A Fantasy

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

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

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

No More

An emptiness grows inside of my heart.

Growing and growing,

Tearing and eating my flesh away.

Blood drips from it’s hands,

Creating a void in my entire being.

I live, I exist,

No more, no more.

I love, I sleep,

Never again, nevermore.

Copyright © 2014 by
Atirah Jewel

Should Death be so sweet…

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

A Lover’s Song

It has been years since I started singing,
This song so long,
The truth of my heart brought to my ears ringing,
Believing in you was where I went wrong.
On the brightest night, the truest of the nights of Summer;
I find the fault of myself,
To have been taken in by your charm and glimmer,
The utter death of me.

Through shadows cast and breezes blown,
And with your awful grin,
Filled brimming with evil intents, I should have known,
That no love for me has ever there been.
Yet, still, the song of Love from these lips are sung,
With the fondest of melodies,
So that your heart might reached and my words not hung
Coldly at the feet of the Ogre.

With a now empty heart, I write of a lover scorned;
By their own lover, truly adored.
Although the child had been ample warned,
That their lover would surely grow bored
At their trivial attempts of a romance true,
Textbook driven, fueled by thoughts
Of imaginary Love was what they tried to pursue,
Ultimately their end.

Copyright © 2014 by
Atirah Jewel

The Tree

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

To Lan

The lines you have written,
Have spoken to me,
Telling me that the beauty in your soul,
Radiates with the light of one thousand suns,
All of the stars that sprinkle the night sky,
Could never even begin to compare,
To the brilliance of your shine.

With this hand, I write to you,
Pondering what words to use,
To speak to you.
How could my silly phrases possibly reach you,
When I lay upon the ground,
And you are stationed above the clouds?

Your words sing Utopian songs to me,
Racing ahead of the rest,
You dance with Beauty,
Yet you lie with Darkness,
You are the mistress to a poet,
A poet I once knew.

Higher rising you are,
On your wings made of gold,
‘Till you sit atop the Sun itself,
Finally letting it bask in your brilliance,
And shining through my darkness,
With your light.

Yours Truly,
Atirah

Copyright © 2013 by
Atirah Jewel

A Love Story

The passionate love story,

Of the Moon and the Sun,

So far apart yet still so in love,

The hot Sun burns with passion for his Moon,

The radiant Moon shines with love for her Sun,

All through the day, all through the night,

They long for each other,

But no matter how hard they try,

They can never grow closer,

Except when the Sun is setting and the Moon is rising,

And for a brief moment, the two lovers share the sky,

Lighting up the sky with the colors of their love making,

Passionate, intense, fulfilling their desire for one another,

But of course, the Sun must go,

Giving the Moon the sky all to herself,

Letting night blanket the sky,

Alone she cries her glittering tears,

She longs for him,

Much like how I long for you,

So here, under the moonlight,

Under the light of a woman suffering in love,

Take me,

Be my Sun, make me your Moon,

Let us make our own love,

Love me until the lovers of the sky are together again,

Hold me until sunrise,

When they make love once more,

Then suffer with the Sun as I suffer with the Moon,

Until the time comes when we can briefly share the sky once more,

And color the world with our love.

Copyright © 2013 by

Atirah Jewel