Тимонг Лайтбрингер - Записки недопросветленного. Поэзия

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Тимонг Лайтбрингер - Записки недопросветленного. Поэзия
Название: Записки недопросветленного. Поэзия
Издательство: неизвестно
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Дата добавления: 6 февраль 2019
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Записки недопросветленного. Поэзия - читать бесплатно онлайн , автор Тимонг Лайтбрингер

Поговори со мной

Speak with me when it is time -
I will tell you what is prime,
I will tell you what is right,
I shall purify your sight.

Speak with me when no one listens
Though your courage truly glistens,
Speak with me when no one hears -
I will be eternal ears,

I will be eternal eyes -
Those of universal size,
I may open many doors
And to show you where each goes,

I may help you find the way
Where you'll never be the prey,
Where you won't be rubbish shelf …
Where you will become yourself.

Where your deeds are all the right,
Where your conscience feels alright,
Where your never know the fear,
Where inspiration is so near...

But speak with me, speak at long last,
And please, get rid of this disgust
And never fear what they think,
I am your only and last link,

I am your only and last chance,
I am what's being called "six sense",
I am the vision in the light,
I am a sunray in the night.

So speak with me with me when times are hard
For I am your eternal guard
Who's granted vision to decide
What's good and bad, what's light and night.

So speak ! I'll tell you of your life
Whether you should emerge or dive,
But if your thoughts and deeds were foul
Then I will speak myself - your soul...


What does one strife for, if not success ?
Constantly pressured, each day in stress ?
What do I care ? Listen or not -
Poem's successful, still being hot.

For politician it's measured in voices,
And for musician it's all in the noises.

For the reporter - it's in sensations,
And for astronomer - in observations.

As for the priest - it's measured in souls,
And for each medic it's counted in bowels.

For common mystic it's in divinations.
What of the killer ? In annihilations.

For simple writer it's in the novels,
For complex digger it's in the shovels.

For undertaker this one's in corpse,
For the oculist this one's in orbs.

It's in new places for endless strollers
And for all merchants all in the dollars.

And for the army it's in the wars ...
Now do you see where successful one goes ?

And for the planet it's in the us.
Want be successful ? See where this goes ?

Or will prefer not to race for success,
Driving as madman, always in stress ?
Spirit success now is being so rare ...
Poem's successful ... what do I care ?


We all are given rare gift -
The time will pass, the planes will shift,
But for as long as we have dreams
To live through time we have the means.

The dream may free, the dream may kill,
The dream may heal and make one ill,
The dream may bless, the dream may curse,
It's paradise - and the abyss.

The dream is not the thing to share,
And pure dreams are truly rare,
So many dim, yet some as flare …
But one will never lay them bare.

The dream is like the guiding light,
Yet its existence makes a plight,
And when one dreams of other's love
His own feelings bent to muff.

The dream is powerful somehow ...
I, too, once dreamed of pure love,
But when it turned to be a bluffer -
The time has come for one to suffer.

There is no time for second thought,
That dream is doomed to die and rot,
Through withered lands I'm passing by ...
The dream is foe, not ally.

For when one hide in endless dreams
Theirs bitter nature feed his sins -
When their poison flow through vein
One only strengthen own pain.

But once the pain is forsaken,
And pieces of shattered dream are taken,
I will create new one and sate ...
Is that is how the dream degrade ?

Those ones who cannot dream of sky
Will never have the will to fly,
And they are bent to comfort's sins
For they know not such things as dreams.

I will still keep my dream of other,
If not for me - than for another.


When one is set in own path
He will escape all crowd's mass,
And will be ready for the fight
With own demons of the blight.

He will prevail after all,
But pay a costly, dire toll,
That toll will be his former life ...
He shall destroy it in the strife.

The flame of heart may break one's night,
The flame of heart destroys the blight,
The flame of heart is endless fire,
The flame of heart is your desire.

My word is blade and song is shield,
And I'm still fighting on the field
In some eternal, endless war ...
That fight is fierce - but what for ?

I cannot flee, I cannot run,
My armor glistens under sun,
And blood now feeds the earth below ...
I am, like others, one in row.

My throat is dry, my thoughts all spin,
And hope to end the fight is thin,
It won't extinguish by itself -
For I am fighting with myself.

My mind is helmet for the head,
My heart is armor in the red,
And as the drops of blood now burn
That heart is ready for its turn.

My heart is afire, engulfed in flame,
My heart is afire - and yet just the same,
My heart is afire wherever I go,
My heart is afire - and let it be so.


I was dreaming for this night,
I was walking in the light,
I was healed in my hope,
Given strength to fight and cope.

I was told then of my way -
But of that I dare not say,
I was told of choice and thus
I have given my oath.

To keep spirit and behold
Ways of life I was then told,
To find kindness in the world
And to help it to uphold.

My oath was small in size,
Hard in deed and never wise :
Hold the faith in the new race,
Move aside from outer pace,

Find the wisdom in the pain,
Drop the thoughts of selfish gain,
Search for light in endless dark,
Keep the silence when all bark,

Keep the faith when all is lost,
Being modest like a ghost,
Being endless like the life,
Sharp in tongue just like Swiss knife,

Warm in heart just like the sun,
Young as child having fun,
Wise as hundred years man …
That was part of oath then.

Live to fight my own sins,
Through repentance finding means,
Not for glory, not for gain -
But to end some other's pain,
But to bring the light of hope
And give strength to fight and cope.

I can stop, I can say "nay",
I can move away from way,
But as long as I keep faith
I will never fall from grace.

I have given it - and thus
I must now fulfill oath.
If I will - I cannot see …
All in all, it's up to me.


The webs of past are thick to hack,
And maze of life is cold and dark,
There are no torches on its walls ...
You wander by without goals.

Ancestors’ bones all lie below ...
You'll end like them, of this you know.
What is the meaning of your road ?
You are destined to die and rot.

The slime on walls became your food -
It is edible, but no good,
The veil of darkness is your cloak,
And heart resembles walls of rock.

The pits on floor possess no threat -
To fall in them you will be glad,
And with this maze you've formed band …
But you're still standing where you stand.

The walls of past are thick to hack,
But you will have to make a brack
And to destroy them once for all ...
For this is only worthy goal.

My words may help you on this path ...
I am not first, I am not last,
For your new life I am the lawyer,
But some still see me as destroyer.

And when it's cold, and when it's dark,
I may become short-living spark ...
From time to time, when need is dire,
I shall become a Purifier.

I'll burn to dust those foul webs,
I'll kill all spiders with sword's stabs,
I shall become a distant light
Who guides to exit, shining bright.

And when the maze is left behind,
Screw up your eyes to not be blind,
For rising sun you'll see on fore ...
And from this time I'll be no more.


It is so difficult to say
If one can follow own way,
If he can face what lies ahead,
If he will live - or live as dead.

You've faced choice the thousand times,
You've known what is called "the primes",
But did you have eternal will
To pass trough tortures, living still ?

When times are hard for thou to act
Thou will submit and will react,
When times are difficult to speak
That coward silence thou shall seek.

When being charged with the guilt
There is no choice for thou but wilt,
And when betrayed by a friend
Thou will be stunned where thou stand.

When all the rest will turn away
You'll make yourself your own pray,
And when the light of hope will fade -
The prime of torture is now made.

And if there is no place to hide
You'll still elude the danger's sight,
And when nowhere you can run
You will be dead, you shall be done.

No one will come to nameless grave -
From time we're born we aren't safe,
But did thou have thy inborn will
To live that live - and pay its bill ?

It is thy choice that must be done -
Will thou have strength or will thou run,
But did thou have thy inner will
To pass through it - and live on still ?

When thou will stand between the choice
Shut up thy mind, hear heart’s voice,
For when all dangers make thy stout -
At last thou’ve found thy way out...


Возможен лишь один Исток,
К нему однажды всяк пророк
Свой взор духовный устремлял
И план небесный созерцал.

Я не такой, как все они -
В свои млады телесны дни
Уже не молод духом я ...
Хоть мне и ведома заря,

Хоть знаю суть я вдохновенья,
И хоть вперед, без сожаленья
Спешу к Рожденью много лет,
Но не пророк, увы, я, нет.

Я лишь беззвучный проводник ...
Когда-то свет в меня проник,
И так беспечно с этих пор
Я приношу вам манну с гор,

И много лет с тех давних пор
Веду я с небом разговор,
Огня божественный поток
Дает мне сил для новых строк.

Я разобью свою тюрьму,
Огня крещенье я приму,
Чтоб был раскрыт небесный дар
Я наношу по ней удар.

Я разобью никчемны прутья !
Тюрьмы своей ведь понял суть я.
Я разнесу ее в клочки,
Огнем пылали чтоб зрачки.

О, я не автор этих строк -
Какой мне в этом был бы прок,
Какой мне смысл от всего ?
Я проводник лишь для Него.

Я безымянный проводник ...
От вас на время скрыл я лик,
И в глубине ночной тиши
Пишу я только для души.

Внутри себя возжечь чтоб свет
Проводника принят обет,
Еще не мало минет лет ...
Но я не автор строк, о нет.

Чтоб выпить жизни чистой сок,
Чтоб вдохновенья жил весь ток,
Приму огня души поток ...
Нет, не я автор этих строк.

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