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Horse of Ruin, Lady of Leisure
She brought me station
where I was without center
and called down creation
when I was completely out of my elment
all the while she spent those late nights
stoking my fire to find embers,
I find it relevant to say
that as fast as she came, she went
I feel we all have time to chase
the dreams that stay chaseless
and in the eyes of disbelief, we move
and take steps that time still finds distasteful,
I completely collapse from this
only to shovel myself for tomorrow
I was one way
until I was another,
and she saw me question everything I knew
sitting confident in her own conviction
getting destroyed on Old English,
That time stays burned on the screen
as other moments roll vibrant,
reel to reel
ripe blossomed violence
we crush in routine
In the fog of malaise,
(some call their life)
We ride that horse of ruin
through children's birthday parties
as a constant reminder, unending
that time's damage is unpleasant
now blow out the candles, young ghost
and get ready for the present
Nice Line
"...time's damage is unpleasant"
Lady A
Although I do not quite
Although I do not quite understand the first line---perhaps I am just misreading it---I think this poem is very beautiful, and the last couple of lines are a real gut-wrencher. Fantastic!
Starward
Words Man
Yeah I try to find interesting ways to use words that maybe have no business being in the context that is there and it makes the word "Station" seem a little different here. When I think of the word it makes me think of a place of security, or a place to patrol, a place to provide a systems check for the routine maintenance a object needs. Given the context here I was without that in the mental sense of the word and not so much physical. I just tried to find a nonlinear A to B for my thoughts and wanted something different. Thanks for reaching out!
"Where do you go when nowhere feels like home?"-FBMF
Thank you for the
Thank you for the explication, and, now, reading the poem again, I find the line makes perfect sense. That reminds me of some of the poems of my favorite 20th century poet, Wallace Stevens: some of his line do not make sense on a first reading, which is not the poet's fault, but the reasers. Then, on a second read, or third, or so on, the line falls into place, like the keystone settling into an arch, with the mason's mark visible to those who knw how to look for it.
Starward