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Alien--Kitty β The God of Seagulls
Published: 2006-11-14 05:17:13 +0000 UTC; Views: 571; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 3
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Description
WindIt blows through the earth
Across seas
Through leaves
In the trees
It makes them whisper
They do not speak
They sing
They chant
They rant
They manipulate the world around them
Placing ideas in heads
Changing motives
Distorting time
And space
Words
Histories
Entire pasts erased
Written anew
But there is always the wind
It changes
But is not manipulated
It sees all
Feels all
Knows all
It sees nothing
Feels nothing
Knows nothing
It teaches the leaves to whisper
Sing
Chant
Change
Destroy
Create
It does not cease its subtle song
Soft Zephyr
Strong Boreas
Silent Eurus
Violent Notus
All one
Wind
It comes when it is called
If you know how to call it
If you can speak
Sing
Chant
Flow
Fly
BE
All at once
There are few left
Few the Wind can call its friend
Few who know the song
Who remember the old days
The truth of the old days
The way things really were
Heroes are not all good
Villains are not all bad
What is good?
What is evil?
The world has been divided
And the wind is the line
There are few who can fight
While standing on the fence
On the wind
But those who do
They shall always have a voice
And a loyal friend
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Comments: 43
The wind does not
come when I call
I follow it
running the wind
but I can do
no more
The wind abandons me in
that crucial moment
always before
my heart can sing
I'd do anything for it
but I cannot
Dreams again
I dream of the wind
and know the taste of freedom
but I can't get in
I may chase the wind
but it won't come
when I call
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There is nothing, they say.
And they leave before turning on the light.
The house burns
Alas! they cry, The flames are too big, they burn so high!
We can not fight it with a water pail, for if we do we are sure to fail.
And so they do not try
the hose.
The people fight
Alas! they cry, they want to fight,
there can be no peace or we will die.
so they do not try
negotiations
its cold
Alas! they cry, there is no thermostat there outside.
And so they sit and stare and whine.
But they do not wear
their sweaters.
Its hot
Alas! they cry, I have called the wind
and it is not mine
but they do not touch
a fan
A poem
Alas! they cry, It does not rhyme
not worth my time
and they do not see
the meaning
The moral of my poem is this:
Closed minds breed fair weather.
He who orders the wind
brings on himself
a hurricane
the wind is free and does not come when it's called
But
as with all things
it will help
when asked nicely
by one with an open mind
some of the time
nothing is never all one can do
If one tries
then one can do
somthing
P.S. Beith not thyself offended
by these poems, openended
P.P.S
Your reply:
Writen in thy solemn style
Its worth within doth stretch a mile
Postith it, without revile?
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I have searched the empty room
It was not empty, and still
It did not contain
what I searched for
I fought the unforgiving flame
that ever burns within
but it is nevertheless
unquenchable
I looked for peace to save myself
And there is peace now
But it is never enough
And never will be enough
I found the meaning
within an unrhymed poem
and wrote an unrhymed poem myself
but others do not see the meaning
I opened my mind to the world
and rejoiced in its presence
But it did not fill me
as nothing but wind can
I do not call the wind
merely to banish the heat
oh foolish immortal,
Look at me
I cannot change who I am
Cannot change what form I take
Cannot change where my spirit lies
Cannot change though my heart would break
I ask the free wind
to set me free
I welcome the hurricane
that never will come
the wind will not bear me
anymore than I can bear myself
In this I can do nothing
Though I would do anything
So I must accept
what I cannot
Try to embrace
the prison that holds me captive
Though my soul is weary
and longs for freedom
I must continue
But I will always call the wind
P.S.
Never offended
I remain
And hope that you
are also the same
P.P.S.
To post, I consider
But ever remember
I don't like to set free
Things so close to me
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If you do not find what you are looking for
you are looking in the wrong place.
The spirit within
An unquenchable flame
Never is it drenched
That it does not spring up again in hope
Quick to anger
Slow to forgive
Though the mind does restrain its action
It cannot controll its feelings
Nor its thoughts
Nor its desires
Unconquerable is the flame
That does burn within
To fight it is not an easy task
nor a wse one
for if you win
then you will die
and if you lose
the flame will explode in rage
at those it blames
for its being supressed
Eureka!
Cries the miner
I have found it!
and so he takes the small lump of gold
from the fertile ground
And leaves
never to return
And as she spun
she thought and pondered
among may thoughts and ponderances
but while she thought
the time passed
and the problems moved on
changing into new forms
so she shrugged
and spun on her way
Immortal I am not
and I would not wish it so.
Foolish mortal....
Thou dost not know
what power thou hast
Would thee change what thou art?
none can do this
for when one has chaged their soul
no longer are thjey who they were
the former self hath died
Thinkith that thy form not change?
I find this to be very strange.
In bike or bus or tank or plane
doth thou not
see the change?
You ask but never
listen to the answer
It matters not
if it be yes or no
For it falls on deaf ears
Who can one show the way
If one does not follow?
Foolish mortal
scorn not that which thou needs
whem it does not reject you
but rather accepts with open arms
Canst thou not see
what thou art?
Canst thy shouts not cross the chasm
between halves of soul?
Your pleas fall upon your own deaf ears.
The prison cannot hold thee
anymore than tangled strings
there is always
a way out
even if you do not see it
What is not given freely can be bought
What cannot be bought can be found
What cannot be found can be made
What cannot be made can be gained by improving what one has
What cannot be improved upon is nothing
And so all things are within one's reach
P.S.
Like a rock am I
Dense and slow to change
but never offended.
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My spirit seeks
to change what I am
and fails
miserably
As the bike and bus and plane
choke my heart to sadness
I dream again and again
But it helps not.
A mockery
thatβs all they will ever be
All I will ever see
but for dreams
I fight it not
for I could not
when I am the flame
and the flame is I
And we both yearn
spin and turn
to touch the sky
To the wind
I forfeit
because there is no other option
The pain of losing will always be with me
So I must embrace it as part of me
For it is me
And I would not change that
Even though it hurts
You dreamed I escaped this prison of mine
You say I should stay safely inside
And I will for as long as I may
Although it is hard
So hard
When my spirit cries for freedom
And I know I cannot have it
So long as I remain inside
But I know not
What waits outside
If wind or dreams or nothing lies there
And I cannot leave
Without leaving as well
The ones I care about
Which I will never choose to do
But I also will never
Allow this hasty prison
Or strings, be they ever so tangled
To restrain my mind
Or my dreams
For then my flame should be just as gone
As if I walked out of this prison of mine
Independence
Freedom
I must choose
Between the two
Between accepting help
And accepting despair
When I wished to do neither
I chose.
I chose, although it is difficult
For someone whoβs never told
Even when I know
I will not be rejected
What power have I?
More and less
then you or I know
so guess
Immortal I say not
That you would die
But that you live
Mortal, no more so than I
The one thing out of reach
Is the one thing
I wish for most
For it is not given
by those I could ask
Not bought with anything I could give
Not found in a place I could look
Not able to be made by me
Not possible to gain by improvement
on what I already have
So perhaps you are right
Perhaps it is nothing
Nothing is unreachable
Nothing is impossible
Nothing lasts forever
Noone longs for nothing
And always will.
I shout across the chasm
But I cannot tell the response
From my own echo
And perhaps the echo is the response
If I hear not the answer
Forgive me
For I would know it
If I do not follow
Forgive me
For I see not the way out
If I understand not the problem
Forgive me
For I wish to solve it anyway
If I know not my own power
Forgive me
For I have no undistorted mirror
If I have missed that which is the most important
Forgive me
I do the best I can, but I can do no more
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The bee dreams
of flight
Of yellow flowers of delight
Of soaring through the blue blue sky
Of thinking for itself by and by
No
it hears the world cry
impossible this is
thy body so large
and thy wings so small
never ever shall thy fly
But the bee
does not listen
At last you see
but you are not the flame
you do not quickly rage
you do not wish
to lead the world
thou art the wind
quick of heart and mind and foot
seen not though you desperately try
wishing always for the sky
thou art the wind
Think'st thou
to have one but not the other?
Independance
Freedom
They do not often separate
Thy choice is not between those two
though there is still a choice
and it is most difficult to make.
Although, for you
I think it already has been.
But I do not think freedom is out of your reach.
Twas not the prision from which you escaped.
Do not think
that it cannot be escpaped
but I think not in that manner
To fall is not to fly.
I do not think you should stay inside
but you should not leave
in a bag.
If tou wishist
my humble guess
it is this
Thou canst always find
what thou doth seek
though it is never easy.
It is not nothing.
You are not no one.
Many things are impossible
but all can be achieved nonetheless
freedom can be found
though it is impossible
for after all
impossible is nothing.
Thou art the wind
thy responce is an echo of thy plea
and the wind doth always wish to be free
I have not not
the answer you seek
nor the way out
nor the problem you face
nor knowledge of your power
nor what to you is the most important
These things are yours
For thou art the wind
though I would help you
and so I try
I would forgive you
But the forgivness is not mine to give
For you have done no wrong.
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Wind on fire am I
Fingers of flame
reaching for sky
Indomitable yet insubstantial
Always there yet ever changing
But in essence, ever the same
Fire runs in my veins
Urging me onward
Changing dark to light
Cold to heat
Substance to beauty
But the wind sings in my heart
Channeling the heat
Controlling the flame
Turning beauty to art
Longing for freedom
The bee flies
For it moves the wind
Shoving air upward on each backstroke
Only to recapture itβs own momentum
And soar
Just because the world
Does not understand
Does not mean it was ever impossible
So I also must try
To control the wind
Untangle the strings
And use them to fly
But I falter
Fumble
Cannot see the way
Even when I have known it before
So I weep
Because I can try no more
But I am wind on flame
To stop is to die
For wind and flame
Without move
Without change
Is nothing
And I will not die
Willingly
Even if it meant
I would be free
I chose
Between independence, when it meant despair
And freedom, when it meant accepting help
The decision is made
The decision is mine
For wind cannot give up freedom
And fire could never accept despair
The choice was mine to make
But not mine to pose
For help must be offered
Before anyone can accept
For this, I thank you
So forgive me
Although I have done
no wrong
Wind and Fire am I
Interlacing, interwoven
In my own distorted
And oft wrong view
I see this and wonder
What of you?
You see the wind
You know the flame
What are you?
Do you see yourself the same?
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I am not the wind
Though I speak before I think
Not the fire
Though I burn myself to ashes
Not the earth
though I am dense and slow to change
not the seas
Though I rain on my surroundings
not the light
though I cannot see in darkness
Not the darkness
though I shy away from light
I am nothing
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No thing are you,
But a soul
Blinded by darkness
And scared of the light
Reaching for hope
But tasting despair
In the long, black night
Your veiw of youself has been twisted
Changed by the darkness around
Through no fault of your own
For everyone tries to find meaning
Even in the dark
Where there is none
Darkness can trick the mind
Into believing
what has never been true
Into finding flaw and making blame
When there there is little
anywhere to be seen
For the darkness cares not for sight
But wishes all to be blind
Like itself
The darkness cares not for the light
But tries to convince
That light does not exist
And when it has suceeded
And is believed
when it says there is no escape
And tricks minds into believing
That dark is good and right
Then it has won
This fire hates the dark
Would burn it to peices
if it could
And free all the souls
trapped in its grip
and lost in the darkness
This wind wishes all things free
It knows some pain of darkness
It has been lost before
But it sees the light in others
even when lost amid the dark
and noone else notices
In you I see
The flame
though it is lost in the dark
For you try, unwilling to give in
And create new thoughts and ideas
In you I see
The wind
though it is trapped against walls
For you think, even if you speak first
And understand what you are not told
In you I see
The water
Though it is far away from seas and tides
For in you there is wisdom
and the ability to go on
In you I see
The earth
Though unrooted by failure
For you have the urge to help, promote growth,
And the will to stay or change
I know it is hard for you to see this
For you are still hidden in dark
But all these things together are life
And you are alive
I see these in you.
God is not of these elements
Nor the Devil
For they are not of this world
Though they wish to affect it
They truly are nothing
Not simply no thing
But nothing as well
as you are not
For you are not God
Or the Devil
Or another unearthly being
made of thought
But yourself
A human as I am
As we all are
Doing our best to survive
Despite the darkness
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I supose, then, that I am less than nothing
A voice that no one hears
a dream that no one sees
and no one cares to remember
An idea that no one thinks
no one likes
no one has
Like a burnt out candle
in a world of darkness
a thing that did not belong
and never can understand what now surrounds it
an empty void in a world of life
which draws in color and vibancy from its surroundings
but is itself less than nothing
once somthing arrives it is gone.
I am the man with 1,000 masks
who cannot remember his own face
and so he does not have one
the layers of cloaks and masks
hoods and shadows
hide a secret
for inside there is nothing
nothing at all
nothing but a dwindling flame of defiance
a shrieking wind
an ocean of tears
a world left barren by war
a point of bright light
so small but pure white
and a pool of small shadows
all encompasing, but gray
A thing best left unseen
lest it explode
or collapse
or finally die out
as the ocean of tears reaches the wick of the flame
and then there would truely be nothing
Nothing but a hollow world of darkness
and a softly sobbing wind
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I told you before
And I tell you again
though you did not agree
I am no one, as I have been
and so I shall ever be.
No one hears,
No one sees,
No one cares to remember
No one thinks,
No one likes,
No one has the idea
No one would look through 1,000 masks
And see what lies beneath
For it was never nothing though
Secrets masks will keep
No one would light the flame again
Driving out darkness that does not belong
Shedding more light to frighten the shadows
Turning quiet whispers to song
No one would accept the ocean of tears
And accept the still shrieking wind
Letting them cleanse the war torn land
Until all was peacefull and quiet again
I am no one
So I have said
And so I say again
No one may I be, but
I am still your friend
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And you as well, of course
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Wow.. I never thought I'd have a conversation in poems.. 
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yes, very awesome. I'm sorry I ruined it, but there wasn't anything I could say.
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You didn't ruin it; there wasn't much farther we could go with it anyways.
It's so funny to sit in english class and listen to Mrs. Hays try to tell us how to understand a poem, and find the deeper meaning and all that, after doing something like this.
I'd be half tempted to show it to her, especially since some of it's really good poetry, except for content...
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Actually, go ahead. Mrs. Hayes is...
If I were going to tell an adult she would be the one. I kinda half trust her, cause she's...different...I don't know it's..
You can show it to her if you want. I kinda want to find out what she'd do XD
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I'd sorta like to know as well, but..
I'd probably have to print it, first of all.. Well, that wouldn't be too hard, I guess. I could transfer into a word document to reformat and fix spelling mistakes and suchlike.
But if you don't want her to know that you wrote half of it, and I don't really want her to know about my bit, I'm not sure how that would work out.
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yeah I guess.
Although now that I go back and read it it doesn't seem to obvious what either of our problems are.
Of course she's an english teacher so she might figure it out anyways.
Don't show it to her if you don't want to.
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Well...
hmm.
I'll put it into a word document and see what I think.
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ok^^
I'd leave out the 
She might already know considering she sees us in her class so muich and she walked byu when we were behind the portables together, but still. Embarressing
And this too, cause It'd be weird to reaqd about people decided whether or not to tell you somthing.
Just the poetry conversation would be best.
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you think we should show it to anyone else?
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I don't know.
Hmmm......
Should we post it?
I don't reallty know if I want to though....
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Yeah...
I could do it on Noone's-tears; it's the sort of thing I post there.
I think I'm going to tell Heather about the account, so she'd see it, as well as other random deviants. Or we could show people the same copy we show Ms Hays.
What do you think?
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I think we show Mrs. Hayes and post a copy on :iconno-onestears: but don't show people the copy we show Mrs. Hayes.
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All right.
I'll get it printed out and post on Noones-tears.
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of course; I was planning that anyway.
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WOw, the whole thing is 18 pages long.
I'm not sure how to label the poems. I'm just sticking a line between each one for now, but I sorta feel like maybe I should do more so you can tell who's speaking and such.
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XD
and they say kids these days don't ever do any writing.
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XD we do, just not where they can see it.
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I think just a line is fine, the poems don't really need names, it's all part of a conversation, I guess.
If you include The God Of Seagulls that one should get a name though cause it has one and is kinda seperate.
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Although please don't tell her who the other person is.
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