Biography of Soren Valentine
I have written poetry for as long as I can remember. At first, poetry was just a hobby I suppose.It lacked real meaning to me until about five or six years ago. As one transitions from the innocent years of childhood to the anxiety-filled teenage years (and beyond) , I've found that one really needs an outlet, a way to express one's emotions. For me, poetry (as I often say) is therapeutic. It makes up a part of my being; it is one of my passions. Granted, I am no fabulous writer (indeed, far from it) but regardless of whether or not my poetry is 'good' I continue to write because others seem to enjoy it (they could, of course, be lying to me, in which case I would be greatly disappointed because I prefer a honest opinion) . My goal is to encourage my readers (naturally) but honestly, I have a more selfish goal: To save myself.
Enough of my ranting and digressions. Enjoy! I hope it isn't too bad. ;)
Soren Valentine Poems
An Old Tree
An old tree stands by the edge of a cliff, awaiting, awaiting the waters to lift. The waves he cherishes like God's gift, but through weeds and mountains he must first sift.
A tree once golden now dies, her bones now marrowless. Her blood holds only goodbyes, Behold! life in its narrowness.
On The Syren-Shore
These clouds ominous, hath in my eyes become lustrous, as the lightning flashes and the earth it dashes
You are my comfort, yet you are killing me. Your eyes are moons to which part of my heart belongs. Your voice fills me with happiness, yet it plunges me into an abyssal ghyll. It raises me like a mountain, yet it melts me like metal in the fires beneath the earth.
O Darkness of mine, Why do they maltreat you? O Sorrow so kind, What is it you do?
The Ripping Skies
We often gaze at the heavens above, hoping, hoping that they're falling in love, When the Ripper his illusions doth weave, for in reality our heavens do cleave.
October's Red Leaf
This little leaf I hold in my hand, for fear it should escape into the air and take my joy, my memories and leaving me greying in despair.
Too Bad, It's Just An Illusion
Stars. Dost thou truthfully think they exist? Oh please. They are an illusion, just like the rest of this pathetic world. In the end, all fades into grey nothingness.
You're always so somber, complaining about life and bringing me down. I'm sick of the blame you put on Him when all He has down is fix It. But that was two years ago... Now I find you still stumbling around in Unlight, but guess what?
Ennui And Fright
I would rather be somewhere else, wandering the world at night, than be here by myself, living in constant ennui and fright.
The day is coming when the sun will become exhausted and in her agony she will stop shining. Darkness will sail across the sky and fill the earth.
Wandering a sylvan paradise we would relish in our colorful world. We were so happy; us the forest would entice. Soaking up the cloud's lust,
Song Of The Unsung Girl
I'm falling head over heels. I'm screaming at the top of my lungs inside. How can I live through this ordeal? My heart has more than cried.
When Light Is Cast Away
Long has the fallen wandered, through doors with no return. To the edge of Darkness' glory, to glimmering seas of blood.
You are my comfort, yet you are killing me.
Your eyes are moons to which part of my heart belongs.
Your voice fills me with happiness, yet it plunges me into an abyssal ghyll. It raises me like a mountain, yet it melts me like metal in the fires beneath the earth.
You make me weak, yet you strengthen me in a way you could not imagine.
The stars light your beautiful face and the moon brings out what I truly love.
That face is burned into my dreams, haunting me every night.
You take the