Skip to main content

Toward Harmonia

Toward Harmonia
[Or, The Lost Soul of Eris]

Done. I was finished, this chaos too great a weight to bear,
And then the lilt of her voice brought me back, back,
To the surface, to where her pumpernickel skin shined in the
Daylight, ethereal and everywhere, everywhere solace.

The Solstice to my Equinox, I bent low,
“Lend me the power of good, the good you know.”
And at my request, she did not reply,
but that enchantress turned my eyes to look inside.

On the backs of my lids, a movie played out, and out I cried.
My whole life, alive vicariously on the screen,
I was the anathema of my own dream. An interloper here,
I did not want to be there. I did not want to be anywhere, anywhere.

I denounce Eris, and all the paratheo-anametamystikhood,
And fall to the feet of Purpose, a harmony, an order to my days.
Henceforth, I’ll spelunk the caves put there before me, and wonder
Why they were made. Made to live, made to die,

Entropy is in the eye. Behold, behold, I grow old
With her light beside me, these caves in dampness dry.
And when I cast off this shambolic coil, and unravel from my toil,
I will have fulfilled this quintessential quest. Please then, put me

to rest.

--

This Week's Mad Words List:

Lilt
Quintessential
Solace
Equinox
Movie
Ethereal
Pumpernickel
Spelunk
Interloper
Enchantress
Paratheo-Anametamystikhood
Anathema
Vicarious
Done
Shambolic
Entropy

--

This poem emphasizes the human perspective of life being a balance between order and chaos. The speaker has lived a life deeply in chaos up until this point, and ultimately decides to denounce that life for one of purpose and meaning (and with that, morality), recognizing that in the end, he or she will have to return to chaos. Nevertheless, the speaker believes their quest will be a noble effort. It's about the human pursuit of reason and wondering why we are here, of not just being, but seeing more in the mess.

I learned while writing this poem that some words in a random collection guide the message more than others. "Paratheo-Anametamystikhood" is highly specific. But I could have gone the other way, Toward Eris, too.

Thanks to everyone who submitted words and for helping to start off this blog!

Happy National Poetry Month and #MadPoetryTuesday! ^_^

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Bonus Poem: Look Up!

Looking down, I read the priceless pages, Someone else, sweetly, precisely, Had written their drinkable life on. And I drank in the appreciation Of her words, one sentence at a time, A good, fresh white. Sensational, the clouds were Pouring in, filling my cup,  Easing in, with a soft voice that said, "Look up!" My eyes glanced, only peeking At first, toward the sky. Those rain-bringers harnessing My irises with glee. And as if it had been there All along, the whole long while, A sparrow drifted into the Watercolor before me, soaring. It glided on the currents That were my own world, too. And we shared the view, Him up there, I, eyes lifting further now. And then the wind found itself Playing in the cottonwood's hair. And I smiled, thinking About how good it probably felt, Those wind-fingers, sifting through. 

On My Honor

In the vicissitudes of life, I had started to know The downturn from the sky-high. I watched it wax, Wondering if it would wane, or rain, or snow. Instead, it was just cold, like silence. But not the silence Of respect. Nor the silence like standing in a band room in 6th grade, Instruments still, while we heard about Terror on the television, and watched the towers fall. A tragedy, it was something close to that, but less Permanent. There was hope of rising from the grave After three days or a hundred, I’d wait for you To come around. But I wasn’t the symbol to your meaning, I was just the cymbal that brought noise to your busy Mental street. Clash, bang, just atmosphere humming. Notes on a page you barely read, maybe skimmed. Swipe, like, scroll -- just another “friend” making The Honor Roll. On my honor, do I solemnly swear, To care. To carry your memory like a wound, Unforgettable and deep, oh the colors you made beneath my skin. I wanted rainbows for days. But...

Bonus Poem: Peonies in a Paper Bag

Out of the earth, stems cut, And into the glass. A spectacle, a marvel, A reminder of the Outside, placed inside. They dazzled for days And then one by one They drooped, stooped over the Cold, round edge of the Vase, reaching for the door. And she said, "It's time, These must go. They might delight a few more Days, but no! Look at this Single one limping. They must Go." And into that brown bag They were buried, without ceremony Or song, amid napkins and other plastic Horribles. And that's how I found them. Heartbroken, Ruffled like goose feathers, Waiting to be taken out Again. To feel the air, Even if it would be among The dead and uncompostables, let their feathers Rest back into the earth They were clipped from. "Let us wilt in the place We call home," they said. And I just wanted to caress One - its soft, pink goose feathers - And tell it that it was the Most beautiful thing I had Seen all day. The most beautiful refuse,...