Excerpt from Poems Without a Home by Darren Storer
Thus to speak
My thoughts aloud
So to be heard
Above the crowd
For such is life…
And some things haunt me;
Less fearful though
Than those that flee
Appearing so Capriciously.
Needs must I,
And in good faith,
Seek the words
To speak of Wraith
That sits upon
The edge of vision
Dark of intent
Within its prison;
For when its Voice
So reaches me
It does so
Far too joyously
A word first
I have, in many respects, led a life of eccentricity. The abilities I have as a psychic medium are expressed through visions which have coloured my life and accordingly the poetry in this book reflects the varied ascent and descent in my life. Some of the words here illustrate visions and dreams and the emotion that arrived with them, and some record memories of people as they come to mind.
Many experiences in this life are not by choice but are thrust upon us by the Gods. And there is a darkness in all of us, whether it is a disease of the soul or merely incidental, but in the end we all are progeny of our environment.
If you are one of those who also walk the shadowed vales between the worlds you may recognize some of what is presented here. If, on the other hand, you are not amongst that number, mayhap you will look upon the rest of us a little more kindly.
To you, my friend, I offer my thanks for taking this journey with me.
After the Storm
When,
There I stood
And looked back
Into the mist
That,
Turning black
Filled with lights
And roaring thunder
That split the worlds
Asunder
A figure then
did appear
From that storm
And it drew near
And speaking softly
did it say
“I am you”
and walked away.
There where I stood
Not looking back
I walked into
That mist now black
For having faced my Self
And seen I knew that I
Had never been
Sub Rosa
“Beneath the rose.” Sub Rosa, from the Latin, a phrase used to denote secrets or more properly, secret meetings. ‘Beneath the rose hides a door, and a dark passage beyond.’ The desire to be hidden comes to me more frequently than perhaps it should, as I get older.
Can there be an escape,
A way out?
Perchance to silence
All the Voices
Storming through my Mind?
Will I find my rest at last?
Mayhaps ‘tis desperation,
Or some darker thought exists
Randomly appearing
To assail this Soul
Under the Rose,
Under the Rose where
My rest is denied.
By the light
of cloud-clad moon
I sat alone
in darkened room
Pondering thoughts of madness
That brought not the air of sadness
And slipped into
another world
Where it seems
my soul unfurled
Dreams did come
like well-aimed arrows
Silver shafts
from in the shadows
Piercing through
my very being
How strange it is,
this gift of seeing
I hoped to rest
But not to sleep
I hoped for pleasures
I could reach
I hoped for answers
I could teach
And even promises
That you might keep
Here,
in my unlit room
I hoped to question
what was taught
I hoped to reason
With my thoughts
I hoped for dreams
To be wrought
Into Truths
For which we’ve fought
Here
in my unlit room
The lesson that surpasses all others when setting forth into these realms and dominions, is to learn acceptance. To doubt one’s own abilities, or even sanity, is one thing; to doubt the reality of that which is Other is a madness in itself.
I feel less lonely
When the sun goes down
When the Autumn leaves
Turn golden brown
When the breeze in the night
Is sent to speak with me
For there the Others come
To walk with me
My shadows they
Protect my light
And perform such miracles
They feel are right
Curiously,
I’m not aware
Of any reason
Why they’re there
Since whenever they do
Spring to mind
They are always,
One step behind
It comes as a whisper
In that tainted hour
But not on bended knee
With a promise that once was made to you
Which you will never see
And why would you ever think
You’d need to pray for me?
For I am not you
And you cannot be me
Even in that whisper
That is a whisper
On the breeze
It comes as a whisper
Each and every hour
Finding ways to please
Seeking ways to devour
All that you believe.
What if all the promises
Tempt you to agree?
And I see where you’re going
This sight it can deceive
It comes as a whisper
Just a whisper
On the breeze
It comes as a whisper
Like some poison flower
Seeing what you see
Looking to force confessions
And laughing while you bleed
What if all the days you live
Are only just a dream
And every nightmare rolls on in
Like a stormy sea?
It comes as a whisper
Just a whisper
In a dream
Twas an hour so
Dark and lonely
When spectre came
And did quite calmly
Sit on a chair
Across from me
A sight that few
Might care to see
It pointed to
A photograph Of a child
Who walked a path
In winter’s light
Lined by trees
Where bridge of white
Held all the keys
Yet beneath the rose
Did meaning stay
For spectre left
And did not say
Dawn’s star came
And then the sun
With both chairs empty
And mirror gone
Beware the White Rabbit
When he attends
And the red herring
That he extends
For the harm he will deal
Rarely mends
As down into confusion
Your soul he sends
You can obtain a copy of Poems Without a Home on Amazon.com and contact Darren Storer on Facebook.com.
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