mystical poetry thread

[Mark Foote]

Raftery

Me Rafteiri, the poet, full of hope and love
with eyes without light, silence without pain,
going down my journey with the light of my heart,
faint and weary at the end of my way;
now see me facing the Wall
playing music for empty pockets'.

("Antoine Ó Raifteirí (also Antoine Ó Reachtabhra, or Anthony Raftery; 30 March 1779 – 25 December 1835)[1] was an Irish language poet who is often called the last of the wandering bards." --Wikipedia)

 

[S:C]

In shadows where thoughts collide,  
the ink spills forth, a restless tide.  
Unruly whispers, tangled and raw,  
echo the chaos, a silent law.  

Each stroke a stumble, a dance unplanned,  
like wandering steps on shifting sand.  
Yet in the mess, a truth may gleam,  
from the depths of the mind, a fractured dream.  

So let the words spill, let them roam,  
for in the wild, we find our home.  
Through the clumsy, the awkward, the flawed,  
we carve our path, and in that, we're awed.  

 

(spontaneous poetry by ChatGPT created to @Nungalis last haiku.)

 

& bye for now.