Autor Al Konda

Where Poetry Still Sings.

poetry

Eternal Spring

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Eternal Spring — The Moment Before the Fall

Before the pomegranate seeds were pressed to lips,

before the underworld had claimed its price,

she walked through meadows where the daylight dips

into each petal, warm as morning spice—

 

a girl who held eternity in fingertips.

The light does more than simply touch and go;

it weaves itself through every loosened strand,

a golden thread that only mortals know

 

will fade, but she—not bound by time’s demand—

wears radiance the way that rivers flow.

What keeps her timeless isn’t glass or frame,

nor oils pressed from flowers long since dried,

 

but something wild that cannot speak its name:

the fearless gaze, the moment amplified,

the breathless dare that turns the meek to flame.

She carries spring within her mortal skin,

 

a season trapped before its certain fall,

where courage blooms and wonder can begin,

where every dream stands ten feet tall,

and death itself cannot come rushing in.

 

So there she stands—both here and never here,

a soul made flesh, yet trembling in her grace,

forever young, but touched by something near—

the shadow’s breath that love dares to embrace,

before the darkness whispered, Come, my dear.

There are moments in poetry when language stops describing and begins embodying what it names. Eternal Spring is one such moment — a luminous meditation on beauty caught between innocence and consequence, between the bloom and the inevitable fall.

The poem opens in mythic clarity: before the pomegranate, before descent, before the bargain that split the seasons in two. We meet Persephone not as victim or goddess, but as the still point where time hesitates. She is life in its purest form — radiant, fearless, trembling only because the divine itself trembles when it meets love.

Each stanza unfolds with disciplined grace: rhyme as architecture, rhythm as heartbeat. The poem’s perfection lies not in symmetry alone, but in how emotion breathes within that structure. The lines move like rivers — controlled yet alive — mirroring the myth’s eternal recurrence: descent, return, rebirth.

But beneath this classical composure stirs something profoundly human. The final stanza breaks the spell of marble idealism and allows a single pulse of fragility to enter.

“A soul made flesh, yet trembling in her grace…”

Here, Al Konda grants the eternal its humanity. Divinity doesn’t shatter; it feels. This tremor — slight, deliberate — turns the poem from reverence into revelation.

Eternal Spring is not about Persephone alone. It is about every artist who stands at the edge of creation, holding the moment before surrender — knowing that to create, one must fall. And from that fall, beauty is reborn.

🜂 Literary Analysis — The Stillness Between Bloom and Descent

If Tender Surrender was a confession of human love, Eternal Spring is its mythic transfiguration.

Al Konda wields the tools of structure and symbolism with surgical precision — the poem exemplifies The Konda Principle in its purest form.

SING:

The poem’s music is classical — iambic, flowing, steady as prayer. Each quatrain breathes in balanced rhythm, its cadence evoking both ritual and renewal. The consonant music of pomegranate, pressed, petal, and price creates a sensory continuity that deepens its spell.

SPEAK:

Its language is clear and elevated, free of excess yet rich with image. Al Konda speaks not to describe Persephone but to summon her. The diction bridges ancient and modern, balancing myth’s grandeur with intimate emotion.

STRUCTURE:

Five quatrains, each a precise vessel of tone and transformation. The form itself mirrors Persephone’s cycle — ascent and descent — order yielding to awe. The poem’s closure feels circular, as though it could begin again endlessly, like the seasons.

SYMBOLIZE:

Every symbol carries weight:

  • The pomegranate — consequence and consciousness.

  • The light and river — time flowing through mortality.

  • The trembling grace — the sacred fragility of being alive.

Each image reinforces the central paradox: that eternity needs impermanence to mean anything at all.

STRIKE:

The final stanza strikes quietly but indelibly — the trembling of grace, the whispered invitation of darkness. The tension between divinity and surrender becomes the poem’s heartbeat.

JOY:

This joy is not giddy or loud; it is sacred stillness. The joy of knowing beauty is eternal because it dies.

Through disciplined form and mythic insight, Eternal Spring restores poetry to its rightful altar: where truth, music, and reverence converge.

— The Critical Scribe,
The Literary Analyst of The Eternal Word

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When Grace Becomes a Wound: The Quiet Collapse of a Gilded Lie

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Hollow Sacrament

The echoes linger, whispering through stone,
Each prayer I cast returned an empty plea;
I shaped a self, but found no flesh, no bone,
Only in fragments — fractured, falsely free.

A sacrament of grace — a gilded lie,
Unfit to bear the solace, calm, or light,
For one who yielded under ruthless sky,
And wandered, lost, within unbroken night.

I would not wrestle with the shifting sand,
Nor forge a truth within my trembling hand;
I offered comfort, sweet — yet thin, and planned,
Refusing battles I could never stand.

A tenderness engulfed me, fierce and deep,
Yet smothered fire that sought a righteous claim;
I guarded fragile hopes while others sleep,
And vanished in the silence of a name.

And now the slow unraveling takes its toll,
All for your sake — a bleeding, wordless plea;
I yielded wholly, left an emptied soul,
Consumed by what was given — never me. By Al Konda

When Grace Becomes a Wound: The Quiet Collapse of a Gilded Lie

There are sacrifices we make with open hearts — and others we make because we don’t know how to refuse.

In Hollow Sacrament, I speak from the ruins of a self that once sought healing in surrender. The poem unfolds through the voice of one who offered themselves — not with strength, but with the hope that erasing their desires might purchase peace, or love, or belonging. What they found instead was absence: of recognition, of reward, of self.

The poem is not an accusation. It is a confession of complicity in one’s own erasure. The speaker reflects on prayers returned empty, sacrifices performed without truth, and tenderness that smothered more than it saved. The “sacrament” becomes a haunting metaphor — once sacred, now hollow — a ritual carried out without real grace, a devotion performed in vain.

And yet, this voice still seeks. Still pleads. Still bleeds.

We who have yielded too much — not from strength but from weariness, not from love but from the hope of being loved — understand this hollowing well. This poem is for all of us who gave beyond our boundaries and called it virtue, only to wake one day fragmented and invisible.

If you have ever vanished inside your own offering… Hollow Sacrament is your mirror.

With ash-streaked hands,

Al Konda

🔍 Literary Analysis — Hollow Sacrament

I. The False Grace of Ritual Suffering

The poem opens with a chilling paradox: prayer as echo, sacrifice as silence. The speaker performs spiritual and emotional rituals — casting prayers, shaping identity, offering comfort — only to find their devotions unanswered and their very selfhood hollowed.

“Each prayer I cast returned an empty plea;

I shaped a self, but found no flesh, no bone”

Here, the metaphor of prayer functions not as a sacred communion but as an echo chamber. The speaker, having surrendered too often, too completely, realizes that the person they’ve “shaped” is a spectral construct — not whole, not real, not them.

II. The Gilded Lie of Tenderness

The phrase “sacrament of grace” is charged with theological weight — a holy rite — but it is swiftly undercut by “a gilded lie.” This is no true communion. It is performance masquerading as peace.

“A tenderness engulfed me, fierce and deep,

Yet smothered fire that sought a righteous claim”

Tenderness is not dismissed — but revealed as a force that, in this context, is not nurturing but consuming. What is presented as care becomes control. Fire (passion, agency, truth) is snuffed by a counterfeit grace.

This is the tragedy of the poem: the speaker doesn’t reject love — they mourn what love became when filtered through self-erasure.

III. Structure Reflecting Collapse

Formally, the poem unfolds in a hybrid of Petrarchan and Shakespearean sonnet structures — symbolizing a mind and soul that begins with the illusion of order, but fractures and spills beyond it. The rhyme is controlled, but the emotional content leaks through — stanza by stanza — like blood through a bandage.

“I offered comfort, sweet — yet thin, and planned,

Refusing battles I could never stand.”

This line is especially devastating: the speaker knows they avoided the truth, knows their comfort was scripted. Yet they confess it. This is not cowardice — it is brutal self-awareness.

IV. Self as a Sacrifice Without Resurrection

By the end of the poem, the offering is complete — and what remains is not redemption, but disappearance:

“I yielded wholly, left an emptied soul,

Consumed by what was given — never me.”

This final couplet is a reckoning. It turns inward, not outward. There is no blame cast on another. The speaker holds the weight of their own choices, even if those choices were made under duress, in trauma, or under the illusion of love.

The poem does not offer hope — not explicitly. But in naming the cost, it reclaims a piece of power. In breaking the silence, the speaker begins, perhaps, to un-hollow what was once sacred.

 Watch the video on YouTube:

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Darkness and Light – A Celestial Ode to Enduring Love

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Darkness and Light – A Celestial Ode to Enduring Love

Title: Darkness and Light – A Celestial Ode to Enduring LoveHeader Quote:“Let me be your night, eternal, deep, And you my moon, whose light I’ll always keep.”

 

I’d love you the way the dark night loves the moon,
With vast expanses yearning just your light,
A boundless love waiting to commune
With silver rays that make the shadows bright.

Like darkness draped in constellations clear,
I’d wrap my soul around your gentle glow,
And in the spaces where you disappear,
I’d wait in faith, knowing you’ll come and go.

For night’s devotion never seems to wane
Though moon may hide face behind the clouds;
Through every phase and cycle, loss and gain,
The darkness stays, persistent, true, unbowed.

So let me be your night, eternal, deep,
And you my moon, whose light I’ll always keep,
For in this cosmic dance of shade and shine,
Your radiance makes the darkness more divine.

As whispers echo through the stillness vast,
Each moment holds a promise soft and clear,
Embracing shadows, I’ll hold close the past,
For love like ours transcends the bounds of fear.

In every flicker of a distant star,
I’ll see your laughter, glowing from afar,
And though the night may sometimes feel so long,
Your presence lingers, weaving timeless song.

So let us journey through this endless sky,
With twilight’s magic painting dreams anew,
Together, we’ll create a love that won’t die,
A tapestry of night where I find you. By Al Konda

Introduction:In the vast tapestry of human emotion, few themes resonate as profoundly as the interplay between darkness and light. In my poem Darkness and Light, I—Al Konda, the Mythical Poet—channel this eternal duality into a heartfelt declaration of love. This isn’t just a romantic verse; it’s a cosmic symphony, where the night sky becomes a metaphor for unwavering devotion. Drawing from ancient myths and the quiet wonders of the universe, the poem invites readers to see love not as a fleeting spark, but as an infinite orbit, where absence only heightens the beauty of reunion. As we delve deeper, we’ll uncover how this piece transforms celestial imagery into a blueprint for enduring relationships in our modern world.

The Celestial Metaphor: Night as Lover, Moon as Beloved

At its core, Darkness and Light personifies the night as a devoted lover, vast and enveloping, forever yearning for the moon’s illuminating presence. The opening stanza sets this tone: „I’d love you the way the dark night loves the moon, / With vast expanses yearning just your light.” Here, darkness isn’t portrayed as emptiness or fear—common tropes in literature—but as a nurturing force, „waiting to commune” with the moon’s „silver rays that make the shadows bright.” This reversal challenges traditional binaries; light doesn’t conquer darkness but collaborates with it, creating a harmonious whole.
In expanding on this, consider how real-world astronomy mirrors this love story. The moon’s phases—waxing, full, waning, new—symbolize the cycles of any deep relationship: moments of fullness and intimacy interspersed with periods of distance and renewal. The night doesn’t rebel against these changes; it „wraps (its) soul around your gentle glow” and waits „in faith, knowing you’ll come and go.” This patience speaks to a mature love, one that thrives on trust rather than constant proximity. In a society obsessed with instant gratification, this poem reminds us that true connection often blooms in the quiet spaces between.

Paradoxes of Love: Reverence Over Possession

One of the poem’s deepest layers is its exploration of love’s paradoxes. „Night’s devotion never seems to wane / Though moon may hide face behind the clouds.” Here, absence isn’t abandonment; it’s an opportunity for growth. The darkness „stays, persistent, true, unbowed,” embodying a love free from jealousy or control. This isn’t possessive affection but reverent admiration, where the lover honors the beloved’s independence.
Extending this idea, the poem weaves in elements of mythology. Constellations „clear” and „draped” around the night evoke stories from Greek lore, like Selene (the moon goddess) and her eternal pursuit across the sky, or Indigenous tales where the moon represents cyclical renewal. By framing love as a „cosmic dance of shade and shine,” I suggest that relationships are elevated when we embrace impermanence. The final stanzas amplify this with whispers „echo through the stillness vast” and a „tapestry of night,” turning potential loneliness into a shared, timeless song. In personal reflection, I’ve drawn from my own experiences of long-distance loves and emotional ebbs, where faith in return made the darkness not just bearable, but „more divine.”

Themes of Faith, Memory, and Transcendence

The poem’s closing lines—”Together, we’ll create a love that won’t die, / A tapestry of night where I find you”—underscore themes of transcendence. Love here defies mortality, weaving past memories („Embracing shadows, I’ll hold close the past”) with future promises („twilight’s magic painting dreams anew”). Distant stars become symbols of laughter „glowing from afar,” implying that even in separation, echoes of joy persist.
This resonates philosophically with thinkers like Rumi, who saw love as a bridge between the earthly and divine, or modern poets like Mary Oliver, who celebrated nature’s quiet devotions. Darkness and Light turns devotion into „stardust,” a poetic alchemy where pain and beauty coexist. It’s a call to view love as an active force: not passive waiting, but faithful holding of space.

Conclusion: A Poem for the Ages

Ultimately, Darkness and Light is a testament to love’s resilience. In a world of fleeting connections, it offers a mythic blueprint: be the night—eternal, deep, and unyielding—and let your beloved be the moon, illuminating your depths. This poem doesn’t just describe love; it invites you to live it, turning everyday shadows into celestial wonders.

📖 Read more poetic journeys at → https://alkonda.com
⸻

Literary Analysis: Darkness and Light – A Mythic Love Beyond Time

Overview and Structural HarmonyDarkness and Light by Al Konda is a sonnet-like ode structured in quatrains with a consistent A-B-A-B rhyme scheme, culminating in an extended exploration that mirrors the poem’s thematic cycles. This form isn’t accidental; it evokes the balanced rhythm of celestial bodies in orbit, reinforcing the harmony between opposites. The poem spans 24 lines, divided into six quatrains, creating a sense of progression from initial yearning to transcendent unity. Repetition of phrases like „I’d love you,” „So let me be,” and „Together, we’ll” serves as a structural motif, echoing the moon’s phases and underscoring love’s repetitive, enduring nature. This circularity—beginning with the night’s love and ending in a shared „journey through this endless sky”—embodies the poem’s philosophy: love is not linear but eternal, pulsing like tides under lunar influence.

Symbolism and Mythic Layers

Delving deeper into symbolism, the Night emerges as a multifaceted protagonist: not a mere backdrop, but an active entity that „loves,” „yearns,” „wraps,” and „waits.” Far from void or negativity (as in Platonic shadows or Gothic horror), it represents depth, mystery, and fidelity—the „sacred witness” to light’s grace. This inverts traditional light/dark dichotomies seen in works like Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (where night cloaks lovers) or Milton’s Paradise Lost (darkness as fallen). Instead, Konda aligns with Romantic poets like Wordsworth, who found divinity in nature’s darker aspects.
The Moon, conversely, symbolizes elusive beauty and renewal: „silver rays,” „gentle glow,” and a face that „may hide behind the clouds.” Its cyclical „phases and cycle, loss and gain” parallel human emotions, drawing from lunar myths across cultures—e.g., the Egyptian Isis resurrecting Osiris or Native American tales of the moon as a transformative spirit. Constellations, stars, and twilight add cosmic breadth, evoking Greek astronomy (Ptolemy’s spheres) and suggesting love’s universality. These elements collectively portray love as a „cosmic dance,” where darkness enhances light’s „radiance,” making it „more divine.” This synergy recalls Eastern philosophies like yin-yang, where opposites interdepend.

Philosophical and Thematic Resonance

Philosophically, the poem redefines love as „desire embraced” rather than fulfilled, echoing existentialists like Kierkegaard, who viewed faith as leaping into uncertainty, or mystics like St. John of the Cross in Dark Night of the Soul, where spiritual darkness leads to enlightenment. In a contemporary context, it counters „modern impatience” with „noble endurance,” critiquing hookup culture or digital distractions that prioritize immediacy over depth. Themes of faith and memory shine through: the night „holds close the past” and sees „laughter” in stars, implying that love transcends physical presence via emotional residue. Fear’s transcendence—”love like ours transcends the bounds of fear”—positions devotion as a defiant force against isolation, resonating with pandemic-era reflections on separation.

Imagery, Language, and Sensory Depth

Konda’s language is richly sensory: visual („silver rays,” „flicker of a distant star”), auditory („whispers echo,” „weaving timeless song”), and tactile („wrap my soul,” „embracing shadows”). This multisensory approach immerses readers in the cosmic scene, heightening emotional intimacy. Alliteration („vast expanses yearning,” „shade and shine”) and assonance („deep” and „keep”) create musicality, mimicking the „dance” motif. Metaphors evolve from static (night „draped in constellations”) to dynamic („journey through this endless sky”), building toward catharsis.

Influences and Broader Context

Drawing from influences like Pablo Neruda’s celestial erotica in Twenty Love Poems or e.e. cummings’ playful cosmic imagery, Konda modernizes these with a mythical voice. The poem’s „stardust” devotion nods to Carl Sagan’s cosmos-as-connection ideas, blending science and spirituality. In redefining love as a „tapestry” that „won’t die,” it elevates darkness from burden to beauty, offering a therapeutic lens for grief or longing.
In essence, Darkness and Light isn’t mere description—it’s a redefinition: devotion that not only survives shadows but sanctifies them, turning the universe into a lover’s eternal embrace.

— Megallion,

The Scribe of Sacred Verse

📺 Watch the video on YouTube:

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Author: Al Konda

📧 Email: densartist@gmail.com

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Where Words Mend

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Where Words Mend — A Lyric for the Wounded

At the hollow aftermath of breaking,
when silence cuts deeper than steel,
a voice emerges, gentle, unmaking
the fortress grief taught us to feel.
Not all syllables carry such grace,
some sting, some wound, some leave a trace,
but these arrive to heal, not erase.

There are phrases that mend what razors carved,
soft consonants weaving through pain,
binding hearts grown weary and starved
by droughts where hope forgot to rain.
A mother’s prayer, a lover’s breath,
some words resurrect us from near-death.

They seep through cracks no balm can find,
those shadowed corners where sorrow keeps,
and what no scalpel could unwind
these whispered promises somehow keep:
the slow release of swallowed sobs,
the quiet end of sorrow’s throbs.

Watch how “I’m sorry” clears the air,
how “I believe you” builds a bridge,
how “you belong” lifts those who bear
their burdens balanced on grief’s ridge.
These aren’t mere vibrations in the throat,
they’re anchors when we’ve lost our boat.

Consider how a stranger’s “thank you”
can resurrect a fading flame,
how “well done” makes the worn heart new,
how hearing our forgotten name
spoken with reverent, steady air
can pull us back from dark despair.

In hospital rooms where hope grows thin,
watch how “I love you” works its art,
see how three words can begin
to restart a faltering heart.
The dying rally, the lost return,
some phrases make the spirit burn.

There are confessions that unlock
the chains we’ve wrapped around our chest,
and questions gentle as a knock
that coax our secrets from their rest.
“How are you, really?” softly said
can raise the nearly living dead.

Even silence, when it’s shared,
becomes a healing kind of speech,
two souls knowing someone cared
enough to sit within their reach.
Sometimes the medicine we need
is simply another heart to feed.

So when the darkness swallows light
and dawn seems lifetimes away,
remember: words can end the night
as surely as the break of day.
Some phrases don’t just speak, they mend,
and help a lost heart breathe again.

Tomorrow’s poem, Where Words Mend, is a meditation on language’s quiet, healing power.

It explores how, in the hollow aftermath of heartbreak or trauma, words can do what nothing else can: reach into the deepest cracks of the soul and gently begin to repair what grief and loneliness have broken.

This poem is not about grand declarations, but about the quiet grace of simple, sincere phrases:

“I’m sorry.”

“I believe you.”

“You belong.”

“Thank you.”

These are not just vibrations; they are bridges, salves, lifelines.

Where Words Mend honors not just speech but presence: the power of shared silence, of sitting close when another’s darkness seems impenetrable.

May these verses remind us that language, at its best, can be medicine—mending what was torn and helping a lost heart breathe again.

🔎

Literary Analysis

Where Words Mend is an exemplary lyric poem: clear, sincere, structured, yet deeply emotional.

Its structure follows a subtle but deliberate progression:

1️⃣ The aftermath of wounding: The opening stanzas acknowledge pain’s raw edges and the insufficiency of most speech.

2️⃣ The healing phrases: Midway, the poem lists phrases that work—those that heal instead of harm.

3️⃣ Specific scenes: Hospital rooms, sorrow’s ridge, moments of loneliness gain resonance through particular images.

4️⃣ The power of shared silence: The final stanzas offer a poignant truth—that sometimes no words, only presence, are the salve.

The language is precise and accessible:

  • Imagery: Cuts, bridges, boats, shadows—all tangible, grounding emotion in reality.

  • Sound: Gentle internal rhymes and soft consonance give it a musical, reassuring cadence.

  • Tone: Compassionate, direct, intimate.

Importantly, the poem sustains coherence throughout; it does not scatter into disconnected fragments.

It embodies The Konda Principle’s STRIKE pillar (emotional resonance) perfectly:

A voice sincere and tender, guiding reader and listener gently through sorrow into hope.

🎥 YouTube Video

https://youtu.be/JMWaTAExcmE

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She Who Sells Her Sorrows

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🕯️ She Who Sells Her Sorrows: A Poetic Reckoning with the Performance of Pain

This is not a poem about a woman. It is a dirge for poetry’s lost soul, a lament for what happens when pain is packaged, confession becomes currency, and sorrow is sold for praise.

📜 The Konda Principle on Poetry

Poetry, by The Konda Principle on Poetry—the first objective definition of poetry as:

Music: harmony in words and meanings, where the structure must feel whole and the logic must align with the heart; melody that delights the ear and senses, where poetry must sound beautiful, even in silence, and the ear is the first judge; rhythm that sustains a cadence and creates movement, where without rhythm, the poem is still, and with rhythm, it breathes.

True poets like Edgar Allan Poe, Anne Brontë, and Christina Rossetti crafted poetry as sacred music. Their poems live, breathe, and enchant. But the mid-20th-century writers—Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Robert Lowell, John Berryman, W.D. Snodgrass, Theodore Roethke, Elizabeth Bishop, and the like—produced theatrical laments and prose-like fragments that broke poetry’s musical soul.

She Who Sells Her Sorrows is my protest. A poetic outcry against the “merchant of grief” who “sells them all with her own hands,” and a reclamation of poetry as sacred craft—not confessional spectacle.

🎶 The Poem: A Musical Protest

Abysmal this one! The frailest one of all,
A story of her sex, seeking compassion today.
Readers held her beauty close, peered through her small,
Brain, where truest poetry, finds her own decay.

Like a petty fool, scratching her thoughtless mind,
Kneeling to the stars she left the world behind.
Gathering the brainless critics to create a wall,
The tallest, none to see her, to prevent her fall.

No raillery in her, she’s moved by only death,
Her gender, though sharpest, holds a kindness within.
Though so much to see it, I wouldn’t hold my breath,
Her poems say it all, the stories where she’s been.

The godly dame, praising her fleshly failings,
Or preaches to the world with a scolding tone,
Would you enjoy soft nights and hearty cravings?
In bed with saints and sinners, until your life is done?

She puts it all in poetry, or no, they’re emo-fragments,
But she does awaits her praising, between all laments.
The world is just a stage, for just interpretation,
In scattered lines, in truth just words, voicing a lamentation.

She has her crowds, her fans, for reasons not conceiving,
She’s not a poetess, just scribbler, waiting for receiving.
The coin to take herself to market with the cursest wares,
Marked with the venom seal, her scribblings daily wears.

From sex to cutting off her veins,
She sells them all with her own hands,
All drenched in the blooded rains,
Sold as flowers from enchanted lands.
— Al Konda, The Mythical Poet

🪶 Why I Wrote It

This is not an attack on pain or on women. It is a defense of poetry as music, against a culture that rewards confession over craft. I’ve seen true beauty—in Poe’s rhythmic enchantment, Brontë’s tender melodies, Rossetti’s harmonic structure—buried beneath the noise of “emo-fragments” sold for applause.

  • True Poetry: writes from pain with structure, beauty, and breath.
  • False Poetry: scribbles pain for praise, with no rhythm, melody, or harmony.

“She Who Sells Her Sorrows” grieves not just a poetess, but a generation of betrayed verse. It is my hymn to the sacredness of poetry—and my refusal to let it die in silence.

📖 Literary Analysis

Read the full literary analysis here → https://alkonda.com/2025/06/28/literary-analysis-she-who-sells-her-sorrows-by-al-konda-the-mythical-poet/

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I remember

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I Remember… Poetry

A defiant verse against hollow perfection and forgotten truth

Gothic poetic title on ancient parchment background

There was a time when poetry meant something.
Not likes. Not claps. Not algorithmic applause.
But rhythm that cracked bones. Words that wept.
Verses that bled truth — and were willing to suffer for it.“I Remember… Poetry” is not a nostalgia trip.
It’s a battle cry.
It’s the moment I chose not to dim down,
not to write for comfort, but to sing from the storm.

🎤 The Poem

This piece begins in silence —
with a broken swing, wind like a tired hound,
and the forgotten ache of a simpler sorrow.
But it does not stay there.

It rises.
It remembers.
And it speaks.

What follows is a defiant refusal to bow before the hollow temples of false art —
those who ask for perfection without soul,
who praise sterile AI verses and call them masterpieces.
To them, I say:

“If there is a poem written with perfection,
It is by AI, not art, a stupid infection.”

🔥 Why I Wrote This

Too many have asked me to tone it down.
To be less perfect. Less rhythmic.
To not rhyme so well. To not burn too brightly.
Because it hurts their egos — because it makes them question what they call art.

But I am not here to flatter the insecure.
I am here for the flame.
I am here for God’s breath in verse.
That is why I remember.

🕯️ The Sacred Memory

This poem ends where all my poetry begins:
in the memory of something sacred.
A sound, a fall, a harmony the world has lost.
And I will never stop remembering it.

I remember poetry.
For God’s blessed sake.

📜
“I remember the harmony, and that rhythmic ache.
I remember poetry — for God’s blessed sake.”
— Al Konda, The Mythical Poet

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