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1911

A Morning in Bed

I Love in You

I

I Love in You

I love in you the courage of spring to halt the impetus of winter. I love in you the garden where you invite my soul as a guest of honor among the bluebells. I love in you the persistence of the fire to convert every apostate. I love in you the faith of a single mother to provide the love of the missing parent. I love in you the power of your kiss to heal and to sicken. I love in you my arid heart thriving yet again in your oasis. I love in you our fragile universe contained in the moment and the eternity.

Old Clothes

O

Old Clothes

True love lives under layers of childhood debris. Discarded by the eager, it smothers in black bags so the house would be clean. It begs for dignity in alleyways people avoid. On the edge of perception, it cowers under dirty rags and shells of sunflower seeds. It limps besides you through avenues of unknown cities. Then sits at your table in restaurants of lone diners and pretentious vitrage walls. It leads you by the hand through ruined paper halls. It disrobes your soul under the black and stinging rain, so you soak with the petals. It follows your wet sillage when you stumble through the door to settle in your armchair. You turn on you

Magnolias

M

Magnolias

Music is first - splitting the primordial with a mellifluous sword. The hearbeats of newborns coat her blade as she strikes at foes attacking her litter. Then, amid storms and stones, she sings them lullabies as they cling on her teat. Trees are second - sweet and somber magnolias sprouting in a sea of concrete. Palms of cracked skin trace the ridges of their bark. Frail flowers the color of mother's milk spill all their sordid secrets for the ears of bystanders. Kisses are third - Her purple lips a remedy for broken eyes and wet cheeks. Then, she whispers gently to placate their silent anger. Their hands creak like the doorstep whenever

57

A Somber Concert on a Summer's Eve

A

A Somber Concert on a Summer's Eve

The mistress of the wolf spreads her pale fingers caressing us into the night; smearing her blueberries on all of our faces; daubing our eyes wide shut with that bruised blue hue as we sit still in an arc - like typebars of a typewriter bathed in indigo tint. And flocks of tired slarlings weave a glinting pall over the stage in front, where the story unfolds amidst sea salt and musical notes. His guitar strings fornicate with her dark locks behind me; birthing morsels of memories ready to be devoured by the willing and the hungry. I still my hunger on illusions, rum vapours and cigarette smoke, as her phantom palms intertwine with the ridge

True Lust is Lust Unrequited

T

True Lust is Lust Unrequited

In a momentary lapse of reason the horseman's marbled sword crushes on the languid broad street, breaking its walls and letting all the lustre letters flow. All the worn out places, all the forlorn faces and I, we balter in the iridiscent swamp, dreaming away in this miasma towards a masterpiece: "In a remote bar of desires, a mechanical heart is rusting on the pillows scattered on the floor; basking in its lust for the ubiquitous spark. For the halcyon-bird nested in the flowers on the high wall, beneath a roof of bed linens, abreast the fireflies in cages and above the rage of souls."

Under the Dome

U

Under the Dome

Eyes fall around like auburn leafs burdened by raindrops. And I ride their tails, following the silage for comfort and release. For the bed of limbs intertwined and sewn with maple boughs. For your cloak, wrought of breaths, where I hide and covet for the sun; for the light brought forth in our colloquy of braces. For it to fill the brim eloquently with pristinity; washing over the ruins, wrying ornate walls and marbled floors, and a throne for our realm, so we lay under the sacred dome. For our hubris to echo through elysian halls, where your regal scent creeps in the mosaics, so I bathe in its solace and it mends me in rebirth.

She is Gaia

S

She is Gaia

As I walk amok amongst rusted bicycles, uncycled since the last child withered into slavery. As with a sadness I savour the scribbles on the walls of artists' trapped souls in broken-faced images. As I trot away amidst the rotting grass, the dead leaves and dirty ground, and the carcasses atop the hay. As I watch the sky sink into gray obscurity in a shroud of flies, her fleeting glimpse stains the frames as a spring breeze; stirring sense into the stillness.
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A Morning in Bed

I Love in You

I

I Love in You

I love in you the courage of spring to halt the impetus of winter. I love in you the garden where you invite my soul as a guest of honor among the bluebells. I love in you the persistence of the fire to convert every apostate. I love in you the faith of a single mother to provide the love of the missing parent. I love in you the power of your kiss to heal and to sicken. I love in you my arid heart thriving yet again in your oasis. I love in you our fragile universe contained in the moment and the eternity.

Old Clothes

O

Old Clothes

True love lives under layers of childhood debris. Discarded by the eager, it smothers in black bags so the house would be clean. It begs for dignity in alleyways people avoid. On the edge of perception, it cowers under dirty rags and shells of sunflower seeds. It limps besides you through avenues of unknown cities. Then sits at your table in restaurants of lone diners and pretentious vitrage walls. It leads you by the hand through ruined paper halls. It disrobes your soul under the black and stinging rain, so you soak with the petals. It follows your wet sillage when you stumble through the door to settle in your armchair. You turn on you

Magnolias

M

Magnolias

Music is first - splitting the primordial with a mellifluous sword. The hearbeats of newborns coat her blade as she strikes at foes attacking her litter. Then, amid storms and stones, she sings them lullabies as they cling on her teat. Trees are second - sweet and somber magnolias sprouting in a sea of concrete. Palms of cracked skin trace the ridges of their bark. Frail flowers the color of mother's milk spill all their sordid secrets for the ears of bystanders. Kisses are third - Her purple lips a remedy for broken eyes and wet cheeks. Then, she whispers gently to placate their silent anger. Their hands creak like the doorstep whenever

A Somber Concert on a Summer's Eve

A

A Somber Concert on a Summer's Eve

The mistress of the wolf spreads her pale fingers caressing us into the night; smearing her blueberries on all of our faces; daubing our eyes wide shut with that bruised blue hue as we sit still in an arc - like typebars of a typewriter bathed in indigo tint. And flocks of tired slarlings weave a glinting pall over the stage in front, where the story unfolds amidst sea salt and musical notes. His guitar strings fornicate with her dark locks behind me; birthing morsels of memories ready to be devoured by the willing and the hungry. I still my hunger on illusions, rum vapours and cigarette smoke, as her phantom palms intertwine with the ridge

True Lust is Lust Unrequited

T

True Lust is Lust Unrequited

In a momentary lapse of reason the horseman's marbled sword crushes on the languid broad street, breaking its walls and letting all the lustre letters flow. All the worn out places, all the forlorn faces and I, we balter in the iridiscent swamp, dreaming away in this miasma towards a masterpiece: "In a remote bar of desires, a mechanical heart is rusting on the pillows scattered on the floor; basking in its lust for the ubiquitous spark. For the halcyon-bird nested in the flowers on the high wall, beneath a roof of bed linens, abreast the fireflies in cages and above the rage of souls."

Under the Dome

U

Under the Dome

Eyes fall around like auburn leafs burdened by raindrops. And I ride their tails, following the silage for comfort and release. For the bed of limbs intertwined and sewn with maple boughs. For your cloak, wrought of breaths, where I hide and covet for the sun; for the light brought forth in our colloquy of braces. For it to fill the brim eloquently with pristinity; washing over the ruins, wrying ornate walls and marbled floors, and a throne for our realm, so we lay under the sacred dome. For our hubris to echo through elysian halls, where your regal scent creeps in the mosaics, so I bathe in its solace and it mends me in rebirth.

She is Gaia

S

She is Gaia

As I walk amok amongst rusted bicycles, uncycled since the last child withered into slavery. As with a sadness I savour the scribbles on the walls of artists' trapped souls in broken-faced images. As I trot away amidst the rotting grass, the dead leaves and dirty ground, and the carcasses atop the hay. As I watch the sky sink into gray obscurity in a shroud of flies, her fleeting glimpse stains the frames as a spring breeze; stirring sense into the stillness.

I Love in You

I

I Love in You

I love in you the courage of spring to halt the impetus of winter. I love in you the garden where you invite my soul as a guest of honor among the bluebells. I love in you the persistence of the fire to convert every apostate. I love in you the faith of a single mother to provide the love of the missing parent. I love in you the power of your kiss to heal and to sicken. I love in you my arid heart thriving yet again in your oasis. I love in you our fragile universe contained in the moment and the eternity.

sudden collapse of the integers

s

sudden collapse of the integers

the day becomes an hour becomes a pomegranate moon, dangling on before and after little oceans, the imperfect domain of memory; vivid colored birds singing Sunday roars of time (and a time after) and the future rises hushed over the edges of a mountain- it was there before we knew it
35Comments

Souls to Save

S

Souls to Save

If there is one thing I've learned about humans It is that I don't really like them. They are contradictory in the extreme and seem incapable of seeing their own faults. But it is for this reason, that believe so many try to 'save' them. Their souls are quite literally damned from birth, because as they grow the seed of evil only blooms. Imagine the average male; self-obsessed and only concerned with mating. The average female uses this only to improve her status. It is as if both are happily partaking in a hedonistic courtship. Unaware that they are destined for utter pain. Somehow, I can't help but feel That between back then and now we'

Blooms

B

Blooms

I like you underneath the name and bones that poke like questions. You sit too close to me, knees remembering the spring and making me ask why you never let my skin make yours a memory. I will find you again, hunched over poetry your eyes holding court over what blooms beneath.

This is the end, ending

T

This is the end, ending

Заспиј ми во подочниците, темни и длабоки како Крајот на Вратите што ме водат каде што не ми заспиваш на гради. 
0Comments
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Follow not the white rabbit down dark and winding cobbled streets for you might find what lurks within and without you.


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Comments 102

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PoetrymannProfessional Writer
Thanks very much for the fave.
Your little poem made me feel something I haven't felt in a long while. You're very much welcome.
Thanks for the watch!:)
Thanks for the :+fav:
Sammur-amat General Artist
Hello there, lovely person! :wave:

You've just been featured in my journal: [link] :heart:

It would mean the world to me if you could favorite the article and maybe even find some pieces worth faving as well? :eager:

Thank you so very much for your time! :la:
Thank you kindly you, lovely person, you. And we'll sure do some favouriting also.