Old English Poem

  Diving into the Wreck I descend, a quiet ache in my chest, A weight that pulls, a longing in the depths. Through the surface, where the light fades, Into the dark, where silence invades. The water cold, the pressure high, I leave the world above behind, Into the unknown, I stretch my hand, To find the truth buried in the sand. I dive deeper still, where shadows twist, Where echoes of the past persist. The wreck lies ahead, half-hidden, half-fallen, A monument to memories, forgotten, yet calling. The wreck, a skeleton of dreams once bright, Now lost beneath the endless night. What stories lie in the hollowed hull? What secrets swirl in the depths so full? I reach out, my fingers graze the stone, A touch that feels both ancient and alone. The ship that once sailed with pride and grace, Now rests in this forgotten place. The water stirs with ghosts unseen, Of lives once vibrant, now serene. The wreck is more than twisted steel, It holds the dreams we long to ...

  This Be The Verse This be the verse, the first and last, That tells the truth from future to past. A story of hearts both strong and weak, In every word, the soul will speak. It starts with joy, it ends with pain, The endless cycle, the quiet refrain. We’re born to laugh, to weep, to fight, To seek the wrong and chase the right. I’ve seen the world through open eyes, I’ve touched the earth, I’ve reached the skies. And though the years may take their toll, I remain steadfast, a questioning soul. The hands that built, the hands that broke, The hearts that healed, the words they spoke. In every face, in every glance, Lies a story, a chance, a dance. I’ve walked the roads that others paved, I’ve stood upon the graves they’ve made. In every shadow, there’s a light, In every fear, a chance to fight. This be the verse, the song we sing, The refrain that echoes with every spring. Through seasons change, through winds that blow, We find ourselves where we must go. ...

  Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird I A blackbird perched upon the wire, Its wings spread wide, a flame of fire. It looks beyond the world in flight, Into the darkened heart of night. II The blackbird sings, a mournful sound, Its notes reverberate, echoing around. In the silence of the early dawn, It calls to the world, to the breaking morn. III The shadows stretch across the ground, The blackbird watches without a sound. In the quiet, it stands still, A sentinel against the world’s will. IV A flash of black against the sky, A solitary figure soaring high. It rides the wind, the unseen force, Guided by instinct, free by course. V The blackbird rests upon the earth, Its golden eyes searching for worth. In the underbrush, it finds its peace, A quiet world where troubles cease. VI It dances through the morning rain, Its feathers slick, yet not in vain. The droplets fall, the world is still, The blackbird's song, a balm, a thrill. VII In the evenin...

  Song of Myself I am the wind that whispers through the trees, A wanderer, free as the ocean's breeze. In the deepest night, and in the brightest morn, I stand alone, but am never forlorn. I am the river that carves through the land, The mountains that rise at the touch of my hand. I am the star that twinkles above, The embodiment of all things I love. I am the poem, I am the song, The rhythm of life where I belong. I sing to the world, I sing to the sky, For all that is living, I lift high. In the flesh, I am whole, I am soul, Woven together, making me whole. I do not seek answers, for I am the key, To unlock the mysteries that are me. I am the silence that echoes loud, The dreamer who dares to stand proud. In the quiet, I am a song unsung, In the noise, I am the bell that’s rung. I am the dust, I am the bloom, The darkness, the light, the endless room. I am the whisper and the loud cry, The fleeting moments, as they pass by. I am the laugh, I am the tear...

  Prologue In the depths of night, where shadows creep, A howl rises from the soul’s deep sleep. Not of sorrow, nor of pain, But of a spirit that will not wane. It calls to the stars, it calls to the land, A cry for freedom, a desperate stand. The howl is not just a sound, a cry, But the voice of the wild, reaching the sky. Chapter 1: The Call of the Wild A young man named Leo, restless and wild, Felt a stirring within, untamed and defiled. In the city of stone, the world of steel, He longed for something more, something real. He walked through crowds with head held low, Tired of the noise, the endless flow. The world around him seemed so small, And he yearned for a voice, a clarion call. In the quiet of night, when all was still, He heard a sound that gave him a chill. A howl, long and deep, full of desire, A burning wish, a soul on fire. Chapter 2: The Journey Begins Leo left the city, left the cold streets, Following the sound on restless feet. Through f...

One Art In a small room, with dim-lit light, A woman sat, her face worn tight. With pen in hand, she wrote her plea, A verse of loss, a silent sea. She had learned the art of letting go, Yet the weight of loss she still didn’t know. Her heart was heavy, her soul torn apart, But still, she wrote, for it was “one art.” Chapter 1: The First Loss Her name was Clara, a poet of grace, Whose words would bloom in the darkest space. But one day, she lost the one she adored, And with it, a part of her was destroyed. The first loss came swift, like a thief in the night, Stealing her joy, extinguishing light. Her lover, her partner, her closest friend, Gone without warning, no chance to mend. She sat in silence, her world turned gray, The poetry she once loved now seemed far away. But she remembered the words she once knew, To lose is an art, an art to pursue. Chapter 2: The Practice of Letting Go Clara wrote each day, trying to find, The way to untangle the grief in her m...

  Prologue Deep in the forest, where the shadows lie, A tiger prowls beneath the sky. Golden stripes, a silent roar, A beast of myth, a tale of lore. The villagers whisper, hearts in fright, About the tiger that owns the night. But within its eyes, a secret burns, A story of life, as the world turns. Chapter 1: The Hunter's Call The hunter came with bow and blade, Into the jungle’s endless shade. His aim was sharp, his heart was fierce, Yet the tiger’s gaze his soul could pierce. Through tangled vines and twilight’s glare, They danced in silence, predator’s stare. The hunter thought, “I’ll claim this beast, And bring my village a mighty feast.” But the tiger circled, patient, wise, A gleam of fire in its golden eyes. As if to say, “You seek to take, But from this jungle, none escape.” Chapter 2: The Villager's Fear In the village, tales grew wild, Of the tiger’s wrath, untamed and riled. “Keep to the paths,” the elders warned, “For the tiger watches, s...

  Prologue The village nestled beneath the cliffs, Where winds howled fierce and tales would shift. A place where time both crawled and flew, And men faced choices stark and true. In the shadow of their final breath, They defied the looming touch of death. "Do not go gentle," they’d declare, For life was fire, not despair. Chapter 1: The Old Sailor By the harbor stood Captain Roan, His body frail, his strength near gone. Once he tamed the wildest seas, Now he leaned on gnarled trees. The waves called out, a siren's song, “Your time is over; you don’t belong.” But Roan, with eyes like stormy skies, Growled his reply, defying lies: “Do not go gentle, oh raging sea, Your tides have not the strength to bury me. I’ll face your wrath, I’ll stand and fight, And rage against the dying light.” Chapter 2: The Widow In a cottage draped in ivy’s grip, Lived Greta, her world a sinking ship. Her love long gone to war’s cruel game, But her heart still burned, a...

  We Real Cool: A New Poem Story Prologue Underneath the flickering streetlights of the city, in the forgotten corners where shadows stretched and stories never reached the ears of the bustling world, there lived a group of seven. They called themselves "The Chosen Few." Not for any grand reason, but because they believed in their own coolness, their own defiance of a world that never seemed to want them. The Pool Hall Oath They stood by the cracked door of the Golden Spot, A dive pool hall where dreams were bought. Cue sticks clutched like swords in hand, They carved rebellion in concrete sand. "We real cool," they often said, Living fast, unafraid of dread. Not tied to clocks or schoolyard chains, They danced with life in fleeting lanes. Chapter 1: Jazz in the Bones The jukebox sang of saxophones' cry, Their rhythm made time seem to fly. June was the leader, sharp as a blade, Her laughter a melody never to fade. Her brother, Cole, a poet in di...

We walk the line, both soft and bold, With hearts too young, and dreams too old. We dare the night, we greet the dawn, With voices raised and eyes withdrawn. We stand apart, yet stand so near, Chasing the thrill, ignoring fear. With every step, a world unfolds, A story told, though never bold. We laugh at rules and break them still, Chasing the wind, we bend at will. A swing of the wrist, a glance, a grin, We play the game, but never win. We know the streets, the alleyways, The songs of life, the endless maze. With eyes too wide and hands too small, We rise, we fall, we stand, we crawl. We dream of places far away, Of brighter lights, of skies of gray. We think we know, yet still we seek, The truth within the lies we speak. We steal a glance, we steal a kiss, We find a love, but something’s missed. We chase the night, we beg the day, But always find we're led astray. We speak in rhymes and cryptic tones, A language lost, yet always known. We twist the wo...

When the path before you twists and turns, And every step is one you earn, When doubt whispers soft in your ear, Yet you keep walking without fear. When storms arise, and skies turn gray, But you stand firm, won’t drift away, When others falter, lose their ground, Yet in your heart, resolve is found. When you can dream but not be blind, To life’s sharp edges, to humankind, When hopes arise but never bind, Your reason strong, your heart aligned. When you can face both loss and gain, And treat them equal, joy and pain, When fleeting praise won't make you soar, Nor harsh critique sink you to the floor. When you can build, with steady hands, A castle strong on shifting sands, And should it fall, as castles do, Rebuild with strength, begin anew. When you can keep your head held high, While questions linger, asking why, When answers come but bring no peace, Yet still you strive, you never cease. When you can speak, but speak with care, And hear the silence hang...

April comes, but no flowers bloom, Only dust upon the winds resume. In the waste land, the earth lies bare, A silent hymn fills the arid air. Beneath the ashen skies, they tread, Shadows of the living, dreams long dead. The rivers dried, their beds now stone, A forgotten realm where seeds aren't sown. The sun hangs low, a weary eye, Its golden gaze too faint to try. The wind is sharp, it cuts the skin, A whispering ghost of what has been. The city crumbles, its towers lean, Brick and bone in shades obscene. The streets once lively, now a maze, A labyrinth of forgotten days. "Who will come?" a voice does cry, "To bring the rain, to heal the sky?" A figure stirs, cloaked in despair, Their footsteps echo, loud and rare. Through the desolate world they roam, Searching for what feels like home. A book of verses in their hand, Each word a key to understand. The past lies buried, deep and cold, A tale of glory, of hearts made bold. The songs...

In the land where the river bends, Where the mountains meet the skies, There stood a palace, grand and vast, A vision born of whispered sighs. Mirzabad, the city crowned, Its towers high, the walls unbound. A kingdom built upon a dream, Where time and space do not redeem. The air was thick with incense sweet, A scent of flowers at the feet, And by the river, swift and deep, The waters roared as if to weep. From the hills to the plains below, The land was lush with verdant glow. And in the shadows, deep and wide, The secrets of the earth did hide. The moon above, a silver disk, Did pierce the sky with light so brisk. Its glow upon the palace spire Set the night alight with fire. Within the walls, the vision grew, A place of dreams, both old and new. A thousand voices whispered tales, Of forgotten gods and ancient spells. The emperor, clad in gold and jade, Sat high upon his jeweled shade. His eyes were deep, his mind a maze, And in his gaze, the world did ha...

Twas early morn, the mist did creep, And shadows long began to leap. The forest stirred, with whispers low, As tales began to softly flow. In the depths where wild things roam, A monster waits, far from home. The Jambrosh, fierce, with eyes aglow, It slithered, hissed, and moved below. It had no wings, no claws or teeth, But in its gaze, a darkness wreath. Its shape was veiled in smoke and fog, A creature born from dream and bog. The villagers would often say, "Beware the dark, stay far away!" For none who ventured dared return, And whispered tales did twist and turn. But one young lad, with heart so bold, Decided he would be so bold, To seek the beast, with sword in hand, And find the creature in the land. He packed his bag, with bread and cheese, And set out through the swaying trees. His eyes were sharp, his mind was set, To face the Jambrosh and forget. Through the twists and turns, he ventured deep, Where shadows twisted, and night did creep. ...

Beside the barn, the wheelbarrow waits, Its red body resting, as time hesitates. The morning fog clings to the air, And in the stillness, there's a story there. The grass is wet with dew, so fine, Each blade a whisper, a silent line. The wheelbarrow, worn and cracked, A humble vessel, quietly intact. Its handle smooth from years of toil, Its wooden frame, weathered by soil. Yet in its stillness, there’s a grace, A peaceful place in time and space. The rooster crows, the dawn breaks through, The world awakens with a hue. Yet here it sits, the wheelbarrow red, While life spins on, the sun ahead. It holds no grandeur, no lofty claim, Yet there’s a beauty in its name. For in its stillness, we can see The simple truth of what must be. The farmer’s hands, rough and worn, Gently place the seeds they’ve borne. Each seed, a promise, small and bright, Planted deep in the morning light. The wheelbarrow waits, a silent friend, Its journey bound with earth to lend. I...

The world is dark, the sky is torn, A storm of shadows, hearts forlorn. The winds, they howl, the earth does moan, For something stirs, its voice unknown. The centuries pass, the ages fade, Yet in the quiet, hearts are laid— A seed of doubt, a spark of fear, A whisper soft, too sharp to hear. And now it comes, the waking cry, The thunder’s call, the tear in sky. The heavens split, the gates unbar, The second coming, near and far. What shape it takes, we cannot know, A figure bright or shadowed low. A beast, a king, a voice divine, The world awaits, an end to time. The streets are empty, whispers loud, The skies are dark, the thunder proud. The stars collide, their light runs thin, And something stirs, beneath our skin. We’ve built our cities, strong and grand, We’ve crowned ourselves, we’ve made our stand. But now the ground begins to shake, And all we’ve built begins to break. The heavens crack, the air turns cold, The story written, yet untold. The prophets...

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, When skies are bright and winds are soft and clear? But no, thou art more fair in every way, More constant than the fleeting days of year. The summer sun, though warm, can burn too bright, And fleeting clouds may dim its golden glow. But thee, my love, art steadfast in thy light, A beacon that will never cease to show. Thy face doth shine like morning’s gentle dawn, A glow that sweeps away the darkest night. Like flowers in the field, thy beauty’s drawn, A bloom that stays, untainted by the light. When summer fades and leaves begin to fall, When days grow short and nights grow long and cold, Thy radiance shall linger, standing tall, A fire that burns, eternal, never old. For thou art more than nature’s fleeting bloom, More gentle than the winds that softly blow. Thy love, like stars, shall never meet their doom, A light that shines through time’s unending flow. The summer’s warmth may tu...

And Still I Rise I’ve walked through shadows, deep and long, With weary steps, my heart so strong. The path was hard, the road so steep, But still, I rise, though I may weep. They whispered doubts, they cast their stones, Told me my worth was less than bones. But I held fast, my spirit bright, For I knew, within, I held the light. I stood through storms, and faced the rain, With every tear, I felt the pain. Yet in my chest, a fire burned, A strength within that I had earned. I’ve known the weight of every scar, The broken pieces from afar. But still, I rise, despite the fall, With every breath, I stand up tall. They tried to shackle me in chains, To silence voices, to break my reign. But I broke free with wings of fire, And soared above, higher and higher. I’ve seen the world through twisted eyes, Where hope was lost beneath the skies. But even then, I found my way, And turned the night into the day. The chains they placed upon my soul, Could never bind me, ...

The Ruins of Ozymandias Upon the sand, where winds once roared, There stood a king, a mighty lord. His empire vast, his name a cry, A ruler who would never die. Ozymandias, they called his name, The king whose vision knew no shame. He built his throne with strength and pride, And gazed upon the world, wide-eyed. His statues rose, their faces grand, Carved from stone with a steady hand. The works of art, the walls so high, A kingdom reaching to the sky. "I am the king, the one supreme, The conqueror of every dream," He said, his voice a thundered call, As kings before him would fall. He ruled with iron, fierce and bold, A hand that never would grow cold. The world beneath his feet did kneel, For none could break his mighty seal. The people cheered, the cities thrived, As Ozymandias had strived. His name was writ in gold and stone, A ruler who stood all alone. But now, a desert’s endless stretch, A barren land, no eyes to fetch, Where once stood glo...