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BeatrixGreenPoems
I'm surrounded by people that sneer the real love, that they don't know. The kind of true love, everlasting and that makes us ridiculously slaves... Thralls of everything... Of ideals, of prospects, of delusions and even of figures... And  blessed all of them, that don't know the boundless nooks of this thick and thorough petroleum... Clinging and sublime... Love, Affection, Fondness... What are you? Why you're such? Perhaps I know the answers and my questions aren't these. I would say instead, What lurks in the intensity of those green and luminescent emeralds... Those wonderful windows that I can't observe for long... I *purloin the seconds to the tense*, for allow that I stray sinlessly and unconsciously in those vast voids that are nevertheless so brimful... They're packed. Two explosions of... Of... Of...? Of amazement, not. Of sheer perfection... An unconscious and fatal excellence, though for only one person. Alas... As can be incredible our being. Overly manifold and over mere to the same time... Made of whole and of nothing... But it's late and if I start to talk about that... Well, tomorrow I will be too weary to can succumb afresh to the green elixir of the love whereby I live.
0
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
Alas...
I'm surrounded by people that sneer the real love, that they don't know. The kind of true love, everlasting and that makes us ridiculously slaves... Thralls of everything... Of ideals, of prospects, of delusions and even of figures... And  blessed all of them, that don't know the boundless nooks of this thick and thorough petroleum... Clinging and sublime... Love, Affection, Fondness... What are you? Why you're such? Perhaps I know the answers and my questions aren't these. I would say instead, What lurks in the intensity of those green and luminescent emeralds... Those wonderful windows that I can't observe for long... I *purloin the seconds to the tense*, for allow that I stray sinlessly and unconsciously in those vast voids that are nevertheless so brimful... They're packed. Two explosions of... Of... Of...? Of amazement, not. Of sheer perfection... An unconscious and fatal excellence, though for only one person. Alas... As can be incredible our being. Overly manifold and over mere to the same time... Made of whole and of nothing... But it's late and if I start to talk about that... Well, tomorrow I will be too weary to can succumb afresh to the green elixir of the love whereby I live.
BeatrixGreen
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BeatrixGreen
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
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