About The Blog

Arthor Journer is my pen name.
"Arthor" comprises "art" + "Author" while "Journer" defines the journey that I was on and continue to travel.
In this blog is the emotional byproduct of this journey.

"Rites of Art" is the title because it is my "writes" of passage.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Still Born

These emotions have been a seed for many years
Fed by sun clothed by the earth watered by seasons of tears
Alone in the darkness visited only by worms or occasional bug
But void of light unfamiliar to the joy of love
There were no tunes of laughter or rhythmic soothing melodies
Everything still smothered unable to see of breathe
A cage or a coffin constructed of dirt to contain this kernel
Sentenced to be silenced dead and dying here eternal
Yet one day a leaf will be shed for the forlorn
Of seeds that hopelessly lay and perhaps grow but are still born
These dreams have been stored away locked in vases
Covered by activities and thoughts that had hid their faces
Forgotten memories on paper or somewhere in a weighted mind
A buried treasure if anyone ever was to mysteriously find
There was no celebration or elation when the dreams once filled the sky
For now they lie dormant and are invisible to both heart and eye
An urn filled with the remains of what once was
Only an echo of the past colors of life and love
Yet one day breath will come back to avenge the mourn
Of dreams a seed planted in the ashes and are still born
These thoughts that my soul tastes are stored in vaults
Their original sweetness replaced by sourness and salts
Ridiculed writings scribbled on the borders of my spirit
Such delightful melodies in the air if one would but hear it
There were no awards or medals to wear on my deflated chest
No couch or bed on which my weary heart could rest
Just steel cages that shielded them from rain from above
But also isolated them from ears of light and love
Yet one day they will be released free from their scorn
Of thoughts seeds planted in the darkness are still born

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