Portrait of a Blue Sun

By ICHABODFINCH

Portrait of a Blue Sun is a collection of poems; a lobour of love spanning tumultuous teenage  and the rocky young adult years. It colours the dreary and uncertain feelings of love, melancholy and hope. It is a witty and rich bouquet of words that invite the reader into the thought process and emotional teritory. 

With a witty and rich assembly of words, the collection serves as a literary compass, guiding readers through the author's thought process and emotional territory. The poems offer a unique perspective on the uncertainties of youth, transforming them into a canvas of introspection and growth. It's a labor of love that captures the essence of those turbulent years, where emotions run high, and every feeling is a brushstroke on the canvas of self-discovery.

This collection isn't just about reading; it's about experiencing the author's journey firsthand, feeling the highs and lows, and finding solace in the shared struggles and triumphs of coming of age. "Portrait of a Blue Sun" is an invitation to explore the vivid hues of life, even in its most uncertain moments, and emerge on the other side with a deeper understanding of the beauty inherent in the chaos of growing up.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ICHABODFINCH
• Release date: Feb 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224412266

ICHABODFINCH

Ichabod Finch, a contemplative INTJ and devout Christian, emerges as a modern bard infusing her writing with the delicate interplay of melancholy and hope. With a love for crafting poignant poetry inspired by life's intricacies, Ichabod is a hopeful romantic who explores the transformative power of love and faith in the human experience. As a dedicated people-watcher, he draws inspiration from the diverse tapestry of personalities surrounding him. Currently engrossed in creating a psychological thriller, Ichabod's strategic mind and analytical prowess unravel the threads of fear, intrigue, and resilience, inviting readers into the labyrinth of the human psyche. With a pen dipped in the ink of melancholy, Ichabod Finch weaves tales that captivate and challenge, leaving an indelible mark on those who journey through the depths of his imaginative world.

Book preview

TABLE OF CONTENT

PART I: Trinkets from my rainbow mind

Ye are gods

Dead paper is a relief to my mind

Sons of the light, dance for me

Consecrated unto eternity

Toy graveyard

Freak of nature

Hygge

Colour blind

People watching

Weeping beauty

What will become of me when I rise

Treasured quills and mouldy runes

In an alternate universe

Odd one out

I can write

Dreams

Haunting house

The tall tale of a melancholic phlegmatic

Remember me

PART II: Love and the melancholy circus

The little lone bird

My Best Friend

For those I miss

After love

Iloveyou with no spaces

For love lost

Edelweiss behind my ear

My Best Summer

PART III: Tablets to inspire

You worked hard today

Inner child

For her...

The waiting

You are a man now

The body

People with scars

PART IV: Divinity has found home in you

Not religious

Whose report will you believe?

I breathe still

Peace to the city

Keys to the kingdom

Blood Bought Bride

PROLOGUE

I find myself in the midst of the faceless mass, floating through the fog and down that familiar path of normalcy. I really do hate floating with the crowd. Where is the history? Where is the meaning?  I will forsake the Broadway. So, I’d hereby like to thank a supposedly normal society for being but normal and exposing its weakness through its mere existence. I have seen a glimpse of the light, through the holes and wholes of your winding weave of normalcy. The seams were crooked, I’m not sorry I saw through them.

~~~~~~

Here lie my emotions and thoughts

Broken and made bare

So I can exalt God above them all.

~~~~~

And he saith unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

2 Corinthians 12:9 (KJV)

PART I: TRINKETS FROM MY RAINBOW MIND

YE ARE GODS

Before time began, before the oceans raged in their depths, even before the earth tore itself apart and bled fire and brimstone, a phantom lingered beyond the hem of reality. Delicate and otherworldly.

It flittered here and there with no body and no mind, yet it embodied eons. A piece of eternity drenched in the deepest, thickest hues of love and knowledge. Even before the worlds were created, it whispered over the shadows of destinies yet to unfurl. Over the cries and laughter, over the wails and tears, over vain passions and emotions, it saw it all. These were dreams waiting to be a reality.

They will soon slip over into flesh and blood and bones. They will soon be materialized... Immortalized in the cruel loop of time. But oh no, they were so beautiful here, where she could see them in their glory. Where she could see the end to their wails and tears. Here they were perfect, all knowing... powerful.

It was a pity. A divine sadness, that they had to be transcended into flesh and bones where they become caricatures of their divine calling. The elements will show them no mercy. They will be beaten by hail and rain and the earth will swallow them whole. They will become weary and blurry eyed. Some may be fooled by the circus lights the consuming darkness jingles above them.... others will self-destruct. She wept for the gods who will die like men. She wept for divine beings who will be reduced to servants of time and money. Beautiful and enchanting heavenly beings who will throw their pearls to the swine.

Yet before all hell broke loose, before the word was uttered for everything to be, here they lay, whole and perfect .... invincible.

Wasn’t it unnecessary? To speak mortal life into eternal beings? To make them live like a competition, a sick race to see who can find the red strings and root themselves back to divinity so that they can live again as they used to, when they finally wither from their frail mortality?

Can’t she stay like this with them? And forget the mortal realm. Can’t we be kings and gods forever here? Beautiful and enchanting in divine glory?

What was life anyway?

What was breath anyway?

That glorious spectacles had to be crushed and bottled into flesh and bones?

DEAD PAPER IS A RELIEF TO MY MIND

The good sun kissed the ragged bark of the tree and fed it and loved it. The vines grew and stretched and coiled around the tree; bruising its self yet yearning for a tighter grip, by all means it had to embrace the tree. And so they grew together and loved with no shame. Butterflies batting their glorious wings abashed.

But the feller came and the sun forsook them. They were ripped apart