Saturday, December 27, 2008

The Diver


~inspired by that which is unattainable~



I plunge,


Into cerulean depths,


I open my eyes,


To effervescence,


Which slowly fade away,


Revealing beauty,


Unworthy of words,


I am enticed,


I sink deeper,


Amidst floating pearls,


Which ascend to a blur,


I indulge,


Forgetting I am human,


I want to live forever,


In a world,


Far from man’s touch,


I hold my breath,


And live in paradise a little longer.


-by Isaac H. George

The Masked Man

(Copyrighted)

Friday, December 26, 2008

Kill Me At Dawn


~inspired by a fairytale romance~



Kiss me at sunset,


As the sun drowns in sea,


Glistering waves,


Washing up upon sandy shores,


So my heart sinks,


As my lips crash upon yours.


 

Walk me at twilight,


Through the hollow woods,


As the sun’s fading glow,


Hides beyond bristling oak leaves,


You hold my hand tight,


Amidst the eerie hush,


A silent promise,


To never let me go.


 

Seduce me at dusk,


As the night grows dark,


We find ourselves alone,


But together,


Stories of you and me,


Beyond this place,


Erased from judgment,


For all that matters,


Is here and now,


As the bonfire burns through night’s scrutiny,


Lonely hearts rekindled in passion,


Trumping all condemnation.


 

Whisper at midnight,


My name,


So gently,


Like a prayer to the angels,


As you have me in your arms,


Your angled body,


Pressing up against mine,


More than just the body is stripped bare,


The soul is left vulnerable,


As our sights meet,


I believe in all that I see,


Forever,


In the eyes of a boy.

 


Kill me at dawn,


For I do not want to wake up,


To the sound of disparaging voices,


To disapproving notions,


Of us,


Where reality fits an iron glove,


Showing no mercy,


Kill me,


So that I may live forever,


In sweet dreams,


And happy endings.


-By Isaac H. George

The Masked Man

(Copyrighted)

Thursday, December 18, 2008

The Photographer

~inspired by the tireless efforts of a father, gone unnoticed~


See this photo in my hand?

Tell me,

What do your eyes observe?

An illustration of what seems to be a stunning sunset?

It blankets the dark far off seas,

And tapestries the skies with delicate and intricate hues,

Lavender and gold shades dance across the cloudy skies?

And in its midst,

Effervescent faces,

My family,

My wife,

My son.

My daughter,

Playing in the sand,

As golden rays gently light off their faces,

A vision of frolic and fun?

Picture perfect?

But where am I?

Look closer,

I'm right there,

By the right hand corner,

What at first seems to be a smudge,

A handicap to the bigger picture,

In reality,

Is my thumb,

Its presence hinders the perfection of it all.


This picture,

Immortalizes my tale,

My memoirs,

Etched in a mere Polaroid.


Time spent beyond the door,

Hours sacrificed,

Precious moments forfeited,

To lay bread on the table,

Noble you say?

Au contraire my friend,

It is often misinterpreted as indifference.


Know that my absence is out of love,

Not of hate,

My withdrawal- out of affection,

Not spite.


As i gaze upon this photograph,

I see me,

My life,

My story,

The autobiography,

Penned by the man behind the camera.

-by Isaac H. George
The Masked Man
(Copyrighted)

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Parachutes

~ inspired by the hearts audacity in the face of uncertainty~


I am falling,

Fast,

Into the depths of my own insecurity.


I am falling,

Headfirst,

Into the warps of irresolution.


I am falling,

Surely,

Into the clutches of volatile emotions.


I am falling,

Unexpectedly,

Into the boggle of temptation.


I am falling,

Ever so fast,

I am falling,

Head first,

I am falling,

Ever so surely,

I am falling,

Unexpectedly,

And yet,

I do not fret,

For the awaiting conclusion,

Entices dearly,

And the uncertain ending,

To the untold fairytale,

To the silenced nightmare,

Emerges as anticipation,

Often smothering innate lucidity,

Right?

Wrong?

Remains irrelevant.

To the conscience,

Of the infatuated heart.


I am falling,

Relishing every ticking second.

-by Isaac H. George
The Masked Man
(Copyrighted)

Crossroads

~inspired by the person who stops to think~

Familiar faces,
Familiar sounds,
Familiar feelings,
Meet at a crossroad.

Endless journeys,
Countless hours,
Indefinite voyages,
Meet at a crossroad.

The ticking of the minute-hand,
Whose resonant sounds every so often,
Magnify,
The unendurable drag,
Which time burdens with,
Halts at a crossroad.

The beating of the worried heart,
Engulfed in insecurity,
Caged by the body's sanity,
Drives through rapid transitions,
Denial-Confusion-Rage,
Ceases at a crossroad.

The conveyance of the mind,
Steering out of control,
The surge of adrenaline,
Pumping through veins,
The feeling of rushed freedom,
Of sudden relief,
Of unexpected liberty,
Delays at a crossroad.

Familiar faces,
Familiar sounds,
Familiar feelings,
Meet at a crossroad.

For a brief moment,
Feelings fade,
Thoughts vanish,
Notions faint,
The soul is stripped bare,
Vulnerable,
Where at crossroads we meet,
Crucial decisions,
To head forth?
To look back?
All before it flashes green.

-by Isaac H. George
The Masked Man
(Copyrighted)

Hearts to a Dance Floor / The Thirty Step Waltz


~inspired by the faint heart in love’s scrutiny~



Sequined you,


Studded me,


Hanging starlight,


Lover’s vigor,


Freed from self-entrapment,


Hands on mine,


Bodies reeled in,


Stark floor,


Walls that whisper,


Disparaging undertones,


To the rhythm of the waltz,


We step,


You fret,


Shying taps,


Hand cups chin,


Eyes locked on yours,


Wills broken,


By scornful glares,


Lips meet ears,


Don’t stop,


Waltz me,


Worry not,


If love stands true,


Words could never measure,


Love intimidated,


Truth is failed,


You step away,


To the fading beat,


Love takes no pity,


On the lonesome heart.


-by Isaac H. George

The Masked Man

(Copyrighted)

I Did Not Cry At Your Grave

~ inspired by the falsehood of friendship~




I did not cry at your grave,

I merely stood and stared,

As gloom hung over,

Like drooping petals,

Which sprout from roots parched,

Starved by the intensity of your soiled earth.


I did not cry at your grave,

I merely watched in comprehension,

The illusive tears of blood,

Thicker than water,

Yet just as transparent.


I did not cry at your grave,

I merely engaged in utter indifference,

In the somber gala,

Which culminates us thieves,

Clanking our gold-rimmed goblets,

To the echoing requiem,

Signifying the untimely death,

To an untimely life.



I did not cry at your grave,

I merely giggled at the prospect,

Like water to the boil,

I pitch in tactless irreverence,

At the stepper’s demise,

Now being trampled by unnoticing passer-bys,

Of whom had your feet upon their heads,

As yours bled for the crowing of laurels,

So you shall be buried in them.


I did not cry at your grave,

I merely walked away from the crowd,

The congregation of fools,

Jacks of masquerade,

Disguised in frowned ecstasy,

Marionettes in the grand charade,

Of the death of a true friend.

-by Isaac H. George
The Masked Man
(copyrighted)

Behind my mask...