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A missing poster with ten words only
"Looking for someone who also doesn't want to be lonely"
Because of you
my head held high
because of you
I learned how to
I hail thee in sweet salutations
That serenade thy soul
Fathom you in divinations
That conjure and enthrall
Through medium of Music
Your mesmerising Beauty sings
Like a bonny Rainbow
An infinity in rings
And so I cried for Love, it's Love I cried,
In fathoms like an ocean pure and wide,
And who on Earth can, lucky, say they find,
The juicy pulp of Love, its fertile rind,
What laurels are there beautiful enough,
To crown Love's skies, paint them like Van Gogh,
It's as if a mystery to, sultry, spy,
Into truth of her priceless charity,
And so I ride Love's chariot, in to day,
And see saints and angels going on their way,
Weaving Love like golden, magic threads,
Between us going soft with gentle treads,
And who of us can say they've fathomed more,
Than Love, irresistible to adore,
Love a pure and rarest of all oceans,
For Love is life and life a sweet devotion,
And so I cried for Love, no treasure vain,
For passion's flower blossoms for Love's rain,
Who would forgo her tribulations, pains,
For Love without suffering fakes, it feigns,
To be a truism when it's known by all,
That to be lift by love one must first take tumble, fall,
Till Love's light shines, a beatitude hath us rapt in thrall,
Her dearth does the righteous mind appall,
But luscious Love does ever find its way,
To Hearts all charred and scarred by their dismay,
With her music in their hearts the saints uproar,
It's impossible to tell who's singing more,
Her Psalms and pieties to soul devote,
A blessed one never by Love smote,
For being the most ravishing of babes,
Not dark could sully him, nor ravages of age.
It proved too difficult to bear the pain,
Of Heart weathered by attack of lovelorn rain,
Ferried to a destination cruel,
That does the righteous mind offend, appall,
Betwixt the loves I probing, searching go,
Dreaming, rocking, swinging to and fro,
Turning rocks, upending flowers for hallowed sight,
Of Loves raw ruby adorned in beauteous light,
But searching was the stupid thing to do,
For it was inside my heart that gift from Love sweet grew,
Who can call it treasure that one finds,
It's indelible, an activity refined,
That kindles in the fiery, impassioned mind,
And sings borne aloft on zephyrs for kindred kind,
Still, from him, with tears I fragile went,
The hour of my passion duly spent,
An admonished and assailed little scribe,
Writing dutifully to gift the reading tribe,
With tales and treatises of loves lament,
Bereft of touch of gift that heaven sent,
His paeans snared a poet, caught my boot,
As I ran through fields of joy in gay cahoot,
But he caught me only to slay,
The prize, and hold her captive to the day,
And smite her with a smear that she doth stalk,
For him, angel sullied by lie he talks,
Except it's true I chase the light that flies,
After angels as they go singing in the skies,
I only ever wanted to be bathed,
In that aura, so after it I tread,
But I gave up, tired of the chase,
And his words suffice only to abase,
And his empty crying of abuse,
From the one that he saw fit to contuse,
I thought I'd never frolic once again,
Beleaguered of the whole ****** thing with men,
But at the moment I had given up,
Heaven sent loves chalice, luscious cup,
Chased by suitor, ravenous as pup,
Could hardly count my fortunes or my luck,
Native of Love's consulate, embassy,
Doth with earnest Heart appeal to me,
And now contrition outweighed by joy and glee,
And I want him the world to see,
Whilst dangled on my proud, devoted arm,
Enamoured of his beauty and his charm,
Doth outweigh the devil's pomp and smarm,
For which this sorry babe came to grievous harm,
But now sweet entreaties I again refine,
To feel and fathom love and soar divine.
 Jan 2017 Madeline Clow
He doesn't see past the horizon of his life
He doesn't indulge in the myth of the hereafter
He doesn't believe he is worthy of such a notion
He doesn't make it a habit to put pen to paper

But with her...

He envisions the future like he's lived it before
He sings of his plans that span several lifetimes
He romanticises his thoughts as soon as they're conceived
He converses in paintings and writes only in rhymes
 Nov 2016 Madeline Clow
Ramin Ara
your purity gives
The sky fine lustre
And your rays
Make the earth glorious
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