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Come let's flap our wings and tails,
Entwined, we'll raise our love-sails.
Sail away to a rose scented clime,
Yonder beyond restrictions of time.

Come let's sail where we'll never asunder,
But always in great fields of wonder,
Wondering the true magic of love,
Like a proud eagle aloft in skies above.

O come, you'll be my Queen, and I thy King;
To you, sweet melodies I'll always sing,
All day long through the ebony night,
Till in the wake of the golden dawn light.

A good morning to you, my dream queen!
Rise and cast thy beams upon the green.
#Ode #love #queen #dawn
Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
That lie is just a crime
It’s meant to fixate
To inflate
The curious mind
The literate kind
Words in a verse
The gold in the purse
Of a creative person

Poetry has to rhyme
No it doesn’t
Your wrong this time
Its meant to uplift
To drift
Into a person thoughts
A charm of sorts
Letters in a line
All beautiful and fine
To read everyday
All flowers spring from the bud,
And waves from bellows of the ocean,
Thunder springs from the cloud,
And ataraxy from a zephyr's motion.

Day springs from the ebony night,
And night from fading beams of day,
From fire springs flames of light,
And many a time crockery from clay.

The mountains spring from the earth,
And from pleasant bowers a haven,
Fountains of love unto joy give birth,
And stars from the shores of heaven.

All vapor springs from the water,
And rain from the far melting skies,
From the sun springs a golden glitter,
And pulchritude from my lover's eyes.

©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California. 9/5th/2019.
Unto she who'll never read it.
The ephemeral beauty of a bloom.
Is cherished because it’s gone too soon.

Petals weaken and colours must fade.
Falling to earth whence it was made.

Light shines upon thee though tears fall like rain.
Find peace for blossoms in heaven forever remain.
My dear Icarus,
Have you brought tales of gold for me?
You-- the master of self,
The one who held his own thread and shears.
Don't share of how hard you beat your wings
But how the air beat against your brow.
Don't echo your father's faded cries
But sing the songs of the Aegean sea--
Sing them only for me!

My sweet Icarus,
Is the world as grand as the travelers say?
Are crumbling maps and hand-spun tales nothing to compare?
I've read of Sicily, where your father rests his mourning head.
I've traced its rivers as they curved against my torn papyrus.
Sicily, the land of Aetna.
Oh, to watch the land shake at the beckoning of her call
(Oh, to fly free of these labyrinth walls)!

My darling Icarus,
Tell me-- is life better above the blanket of Grecian blue?
Is it better than what the Fates designed?
Is it better than what I hold today
(please, let it be more than today)?

My beloved Icarus,
Will you give me your wings--
The mingling of feather, wax, and dreams.
Will you give me your wings and
Your will to yearn higher and higher

So that I too can reach the city of gold.
May 24, 2016 + March 3, 2017
She always loved the purple rose
The hardest rose to find
I said they were always just like her
Truly one of a kind

Every year when her birthday came
I gave her a purple rose
But when she died I couldn't find
The flower she always chose

I looked the earth both high and low
But the rose was no where in sight
They said the flower had disappeared
Stricken with some kind of blight

The first time I went to visit her grave
With flowers in my hand
I saw a sight that I'll never forget
Something I don't understand

Her grave was covered with roses
Growing right out of the ground
The only place on the face of the earth
Where purple roses are found

She always loved the purple rose
The hardest rose to find
I said they were always just like her
Truly one of a kind
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