Ponder

I sit there and ponder,
eyes as damp as can be.
I sit there and ponder,
as tears roll over my cheeks.

I write for the daunting shadows and love- oh, so fine.
I write for the scorching stars that never cease to shine.
I write for the fear of remembrance and every lost dime.

So, I pick this mighty pen up- as on and on it goes;
words that ached my heart so long- out they flow.

Yet irony reigns, for one thing shall forever remain-
the numbness, the void, the many fears destroyed.

I sit there and ponder,
seeking the chalice of divinity.
I sit there and ponder,
about all that could’ve been…

© achillesheelpoetry, 2021

Aphrodyphus

…Back in the olden times, when merchants and mercenaries reigned-
They held in their hands, the reins of naval trade...

There lived a King in ancient Greece,
Aphrodyphus was his name.

He was named after the Goddess of Beauty, except he was one that could not be tamed.

For so vain and beautiful was he-

Although beauty he might possess, his eyes shew contempt;
His soul- cold and ugly, in revelation did he let.

All those that inhabited the mighty land-
they praised him so,
for they fancied it beauty- that they behold.

Basking in the gleaming glory of his twenty and five, he vowed to all his wives.

But all his marriages were broke!

Alas, the beauty that the eyes sought did not shine inside;
inspite of all the vanity that made Aphrodyphus blind.

Beauty is as beauty does.

© achillesheelpoetry, 2021


Disclaimer:

The allusion to Aphrodite (the Greek Goddess of Beauty) is not intended to demean or offend any particular person or system of beliefs.
The reader must understand that the purpose of this post is purely ‘poetry’ and nothing else. Therefore, you are requested to read/interpret the poem impartially and sans any prejudice.

I Am, A Word

I am, a word…

I.     I’m witness to phantoms and
       ghasts;
       I’m the key to every young damsel’s
       heart.
       Wars have been waged, heroes
       have been slayed…


II.    A word whence etched leaves a
       mark-
       the pedestal on which the mighty
       stand.
       Thrown into despair is the gentry,
       owing to the sculptor’s flair.

III.  I know not where bards find me,
       and evince in their possession.
       I know not how a sage’s sermon    
       puts one in perplexion.
       I stand by time, and see the reels-
       the many façades, blemished.
       I stand by time, and see the reels-
       how one unto other does bless.

IV.  Till dusk do I weep,
      and weep my throat sore.
      On and on goes the rigmarole,
      until a word is grey and old.

V.   For, if in all eternity, I’ve learnt my
      lessons well-
      The pen that wages wars thus
      stands mightier than the sword.
      May thy mighty pen be blessed with
      many poems;
      A few lovely, a few reminiscent and
      a few in search of hope.

© achillesheelpoetry, 2021