Poetry Series: “Empty” and “Floral Beauty” by Isaac Dinotno

Fringe Arts — Published November 18, 2018

Floral Beauty

It’s on the tip of my tongue;
The solar rays subsiding;
A flower’s bloom is subtle yet bold
We’ve been enticed beyond this threshold.

In such a game, I plea for objection
My thoughts fail to resonate
The body is the weeping of a parting soul,
Life cannot last
The objective is clear
But the heart smolders into indifferent charcoal.

The mysticism behind the eyes
A soft gaze which conceals synthesis;
Entering a secret room in the back of my mind
Emotion, intellect, the spirit;
Are not intrinsically tied,
Until after the setting where the flower unwinds.

Desire strikes, planting its roots
Keep growing, my army is gone;
A trillion cells form this person
An amazing machine which bestows much surprise
Fight my demons; they have nothing to do,
A collection of memories wait, I am certain.

A blade of ideas cuts deep into thoughts
Ephemeral experience bleeds out
With whom I haven’t met, I cannot part
Death slowly encroaches into my arms;
This flower can satisfy,
The bleeding art.

Empty

There isn’t any meaning

It floats here inside, the burning I’m feeling.
Paths into the shadows, my mind always takes,
Will emotion never truly appear?
A burning sensation is floating here.

Perched upon the razor’s edge,
I waltz towards this cold cliff’s ledge.
Before my Self, a warm canyon beckons,
I fall, and to reason I deafen.

In search of color, I find but darkness which conceals,
It always spells doom, for the one who feels!
This time is different, I tell my Self and you,
Sifting through darkness, I hope to find your hue.

If not, I may tell my Self there can’t be meaning,
To stop the horrors of what I am seeing,
To quash the rot, which erupts from my heart,
I select my purpose, and try to start.

Towards peace, future knowledge will push me,
Swimming through murky waters, into a beautiful sea.
Termites of truth, gnaw at my bones,
After I fall, I won’t be alone.

I created the meaning