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
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.
A tree once golden now dies, her bones now marrowless. Her blood holds only goodbyes, Behold! life in its narrowness.
Light Show Over The Lake; Part Ii
Above the earth, below the sky, I can hear the joyful cry, They hug and love under my light, as I display my colours bright.
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.
Is This Regret?
I try to put it out, but it rises like the sea. I'm full of doubt; Is this all I'll ever be?
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.
Passively Tearing Me Asunder
As I love the summer's breeze, so too do I love you. And as it lifts my eyes to the Azure of the Heavens,
Its been so long since we last met, the forest floor has become our home, How can we live when our blood's been let, and is just another chapter in Love's tome?
The Hearer Who Wasn'T Heard
There was once a time when you need an ear, countless times that you'vve needed release; Was I not the one who decided to hear? And eventually you found peace.
O fire-tongued faery, serene and mute, how your elements have consumèd my heart, leading me, bending me without dispute; with thine evil yet comely art!
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?
Ode To The Hollow Bastion Within
Take part of the darkest of fruits and see me lose my mind. My spirit has found repose in Angst's bosom. Will no one save me from the bludgeoning of this life?
The Rush Of A Lie
Ancient mountains swept with snow, where a dropp of water begins to flow, is the birthplace of a small stream, and something I would never dream.
A Second Salem
I can only sit here in the dark, crying because I missed the mark; locked and too lazy to reach for the key, as cold and numb as one could be.
A single autumn leaf blows, leading me like a beatific fool upon the path of the Forgotten Ones.
I mutter prayers for eternal slumber as I mindlessly wander about the decaying road, led by this pale light.
I reach the Gate of Emptiness and Desertion, and as I pass through, a Forest of Fluorescent White Trees assaults me with painful memories of my thralldom unto the crestfallen spirit that has oft been led to misery.
I have been filled with nothingness; The Man That Never Was.