The Art of Compounding Oblivion

Tue, 07/10/2018 - 20:49 -- Lmswarr

At the dawn of a sun drenched summer
Flowing with hope and light
There began a decay inside of me
That injected my veins with the night

Consumed by an eerie sensation
In juxtaposition with time
And trapped within the silence
Through the holy church bell’s chime

I had no path to walk down
No North Star as my guide
So I gazed upon the dying sun
And heard the whispers of the tide

They told me age-old stories
Of the heavens and the earth
And infused me with the understanding
Of what their words were worth

And there the silver moon summoned me
To take a pen in hand
And bring to life the weary sermons
Preached by sea and land

And in that stiff-spined book
Encrusted with rubies and gold
I trapped within the confines of ink
These tales of new and old

I learned to compound oblivion
Into neatly printed words
And carve out that which is true
From times when lines were blurred

It taught me to see infinite colors
In even the darkest of gloom
And to grow hope like sunflowers
In feelings of impending doom

It taught me to give substance
To the vapor in the breeze
And weave heartstring tapestries
Of serenity and ease

It taught me the preciousness
Of every passing moment
And how to ensnare in paper
The wind’s howling lament

It taught me to capture love
In honey-soaked smiles
And feel peace in a world of amber
For just a little while

It taught me to transform my tears
Into prismatic waterfalls
And take the light within my heart
And paint a spectrum on the walls

It taught me to discover life
In where I once thought there was none
And bless me with clarity
In this world under the sun

But most of all it taught me
To expose my very soul
And be fiercely vulnerable
And finally feel whole

Poetry taught me to see wonder
In every second that unfurled
But more than that poetry taught me
How to love the world

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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