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trevor-morse
American Channeled Edgar Allan Poe while stationed at Langley AFB, VA ( 2001-2003). Since then I have been published in the U.S. and Great Britain. My poetry celebrates the virtue and passion of the Harlot and explores the wickedness and mystery surrounding life.
As stars reflect the knowledge of the sacred, The boiling seas of the cosmos churn acrid. Upon the nurturance of Venus' passionate quivering calls exclaimed, The essence of God's wrath so lovingly made tame. As the chariots of love, upon the courtships of epic virtue, possess, Our goddess sisters, import the specialty of rule, for which the governs obsess. As Boreas' trumpet sounds a euphoric ecstatic bliss, Rosicrucian passion bells hither, to a faint swaying and hiss. As the murmuring embers of the divine, left receded, Hour of humanities past, no time of present, so subtley defeated. As upon death, a mummy spreads its rein, Crucibles of knowledge, all for not, in vain. The seduction of fertility and the mysteries left to relish, Though made bitter upon showers of mourn, to embellish. The disillusionment of our fathers’ petty immortal opportunity made solemn, The wisest of men, why, amongst the true, made golem. Take precedence, then and now, when upon your throne of pride, As the winds of wrath call upon, our savior’s passion tried. In due notion a precedence of time, without respect, A fulfillment of God's love, our souls to resurrect. As dragons drew the chariots of night with profound duration, A coward’s sword in hand, his skewer's elation. As stars reflect the knowledge of the sacred, Humanities, why… derision for dole, left shaken. As prophets emit, as seen thus… When stars do let fall the Sun, Pray thee, a heavenly Venus.
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Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 2:56 AM UTC
Of Venus
Thy lips of espresso gold, Convey to me, Your desperado untold. Thine eyes for your own, Merriest of forbidden Pleasures, To hold. Your supple smile upon Thine own, Reveal. Amidst only To conjure, To conceal. Parlay, if I may, To implore The keenest sense Of your fulfillment, I adore. Gently now, our merriment. . . Embarking upon salutation. No more our desire, Of infatuation?
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Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
Espresso Gold