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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


There are poets whose work, without exaggeration, belongs to the treasures of human thought and rightly is a world heritage. In our electronic library you will find a wide variety of poetry.
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Read books online » Poetry » The cry of the phoenix by T.D (freenovel24 TXT) 📖

Book online «The cry of the phoenix by T.D (freenovel24 TXT) 📖». Author T.D



Introduction you might not need,
But a brief one follows,
Since a story is what I am going to tell,
Of a soul who lived in a nutshell.

One of the shortest morphemes,
Such a brief combination of phonemes,
And yet such unimaginable powers
Bestowed in its essence,
An everlasting nuisance,
A phoenix or a dove,
Or simply LOVE.

A tale of a vigorous joy
And a potent power to destroy,
Is engraved in this cowardly heart of mine,
Where ignorance once blossomed
As a wild plant growing on its own.

The soul is eager to experience the divine allurement of the sweetest self-indulgence,
The reason is eager to comply with the whims of the soul’s puissance,
The body is eager to sniffle and buckle the nonexistent straw of hope,
And the whole being is drifting into the obscure illusion
Created by a masochistically- disposed mind lulled in a delusion!

The inexperienced fiery soul
Consistently reaching for the glowing rainbow,
Is longing for a single touch, brief and mellow,
A single touch,
As light and factual as the hope that blossoms in the heart.

The heart seeks a dream with an inexorable consistency,
While the restless spirit flutters with a brilliant ardency.
The watchful eye of the solicitor is ever cautious,
Not to omit even the palest ray of hope that might reach the craving will.

And can you imagine the divine happiness of a swelling heart,
The exuberance of the trembling soul,
Or the fullness of the fiery spirit,
When the rainbow is inexplicably planted a feet away from you,
The DREAM planted a foot away from you as pure as a morning dew!

No one can fully appreciate the rapturous whisper of a soul,
The silent ejaculation inspired by a deep gratitude,
Or the glorious gleam emanating from the body,
Except those who have experienced the thirst for the melody,
Sang by the irresistible beckoning voice of a mermaid
Not being in the least afraid.

And then,
In the climax of the excitement,
You reach for the pureness of the highest allurement,
But all your efforts are in vain,
It is a dream you cannot obtain,
There are barriers you cannot outgain!

And your spirit is roused again,
A rebellious power you are not able to restrain!
A thunderous voice of a newborn-beast rips his way out of your body,
Willing to wrestle its way through the steely obstacle,
Willing to witness a miracle!
The body is not able to penetrate,
And all you can do is frustrate,
Over and over again,
Trying to hold the strength in place,
The one you are powerless to regain!

And then, as the your strength slips away from your own tenure,
And as you peep the end of the adventure,
The rainbow irrevocably glides far away from you,
And in only a second many miles stand between you and the rainbow,
Billions of steps you don’t have the strength for,
Crush against your fragile frame,
And it’s the end of the game.

The watchful eye of the solicitor is no longer watchful,
Nor is the spirit restless or joyful.
The sight of the rainbow is painful,
And the world is spiteful.
The realization slowly infiltrates your blood,
Poisoning the pureness of the spirit as an unstoppable flood,
And other emotions are now planted inside the cells of your flesh!
Disappointment flows instead of blood,
Poisoning the sensibleness of the reason as an unstoppable flood,
And resentment plants the seed of hatred!
What a bitter taste do these newly-born emotions have!
How they make you despise yourself,
When you realize you chose to believe in a fairytale,
When you realize you sought a ghost so nonexistent and pale,
When you realize there is no such perfection as the one you imagined,
When you realize there is no something as pure as the one your fantasy coined!

And just as the regretful mood takes over you,
You face the fact that no phoenix will cruise through the colorful gate in the sky,
The fact that nothing is eternal and your acts were dorky,
The fact that you were biased and your moves were perky.

And as you stay in the middle of nowhere,
Hopeless and wishing to be elsewhere,
The hope procures a dove
And you gaze above,
With a wondrous look on your face,
And just as you’re trying to decipher its meaning,
Another discovery breaks the surface!
You realize that what you dream about is real,
That what you craved is not surreal!
You just realize that you were too demanding,
But what you seek is real,
Just as the dove that circles you and your renewed zeal!
And the dove lets out an extravagant cry of a supreme intensity,
Deafening, blinding and drowning all the senses with its nebulosity,
It makes you awe the beauty of the dream,
The dream that is no longer a dream,
No longer a rainbow with an intangible gleam,
But a palpable bird with majestic voice,
A dove with the voice of a phoenix!

A melody, so luscious and adorable,
As tangible as the existence of the dove,
And yet so unearthly powerful to cause a stir of the most profound nature,
The melody of the dove with the voice of a phoenix is.
A magic which is no illusion,
Not a trick or delusion.
It is real as the warmth of the sun whose rays give a birth to the rainbow,
To the tempting illusion,
The worst self-destructing delusion,
That could never be trapped in the hand of a mortal.
The warmth is what I should have sought
Instead of the allurement of imprisoning the rainbow in my clutch.

And then,
The dove rose high above my head,
Feathery and soft it stared ahead,
Disappearing into the distance
To comfort another lost soul.

The soul is no longer restless,
Nor is the body as vigilant as before!
A strange calmness and sereneness settles inside me,
Something new stirs the essence of my being,
And I drift!
I drift like in the beginning of my conquest,
I drift though with an unfelt uniqueness,
Inspired by the glow of the discovery!
And I march back to reality with bravery,
Ready to face all the imperfection of the material world I tried to ignore
Into to world I was shown how to percept and adore.
One can never be fully prepared for the unpredictable,
But having faith in the healing powers of the cry of the phoenix,
Is the one weapon your brain needs to infix,
In order to face the world out of the nutshell,
And this is the end of the story I wanted to tell.


Imprint

Publication Date: 02-14-2011

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