The Demise of the White Isle
2006.
An isle of white
It’s slopes and foliage fully gowned
Be cursed my failing sight
Did it vanish?
So came and went leaving no remains around.
Though it is not the white of winter I speak
Not the shimmer of mountain peak
Days and days it pulsed through the ground cold
I come now to a conclusion
Calling in peers now becoming old
As i still blind myself
It’s bright reflection, from the sun
So bright the pinch behind my eyes I shut tight
The glare turns my face away from light
Yet the white did not under warm ray melt away
Hopeless that it could be done
Return pure angel from whence you came
Leave this dark ocean behind you
Hang on with the wind, your throne of fame
Fall from this sea, be silent and be through
Approaching in a distance
Lay the first of many a hell
The red of our lands shell
Lay beneath mumbling until it becomes a shout
Spewing forth, from its mouth frail
Against the pressure of the addiction to the cold white.
Earth crying of its contractions
Blinding red meets blinding light
Breathing in fiery resistance
Of tragedy yet i tell
It waited within the ground
Both predator and ghost
It begins to smolder and sound
The parasite betrays its host
The melting of stone and rock
Pouring out towards the south.
The ash it fell like snow
it is my skin that rose
Suffocating this wretched white isle
It had not a chance against such a foe
An isle once white with ice
Now covered in ash and burning high.
A betrayal of the land on land
A gift of rock to water and cliff
Erosion to one day bear sand
Snags of earth falling away in a shift
So slowly came it to die
I should not have started my death so soon.
The island melts beneath the sea
Nothing but fire floats over the moon
My life erasing slowly so my head has time to agree.
C.R.Stanger
So young. 2006. Terrible to me.. full of metaphors one could not guess at unless you knew from me.. talking of a snowy island taken over and vanishing from volcanic explosion... but there was always a deeper meaning... I do not like how I write at that age but I found so many old poems from Highschool and now I’ll put them all up anyway. There’s quite a few. They won’t be new. Course my style should say that. All the edges are singed I’m surprised they survived so it’s best to put them safe somewhere.
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