Rife with hate, and ripe with disdain
Full of love, yet smelling of pain
Within my heart only thou shalt remain;
until t'is sun dies and it all starts raining again.
And betwixt me, in my white chamber
Only upon thy smile I canst heartily ponder
Ah, having seen thee not since cold Sunday
As if I didst recall thee not morn yesterday.
I knowest I should carest not for thee;
for I thought not of thou and I.
But to my heart I no more lie;
it is not thou and I but we.
Ah, but why hath thou disappeared again, my love?
I who is sure thou art my half,
and even in t'ese all guilty, ye' gullible miseries dwell-
like a blind and dumb nut in a proud shell.
What am I to thee, after all t'is sorrow?
And th' pertinent pain I'th put to stand out and glow
In th' mind t'at I would somehow becomest thy rose
and lighten thee aft'r thy breezy frost
But thou wert not, thou wert not t'ere!
I am someone who should not care
How canst then I shove 'way t'ese tears?
Oh, all t'ese feelings are here-painted grimly blue and weird,
just like yon scarlet gloom our anguish hath feared.
Ah! Wherefore art thou, wherefore art thou, my skylark?
Let it just be th' moon who is to shine and spark
Glow and be as mad in its circles dark
As I leanest 'gainst thee in yon west park,
thoughts free from all nearby childish hassles
and dream, dream into th' realms of our loving puzzles.
Oh, but thou wert t'ere not, thou careth for me not!
Now all my long sentences maketh but t'is poem's story short
Yet again, after all I've finally realised t'at I loveth thee,
and for thou knoweth-amongst all t'ese abrupt madnesses
'Tis thy voice I still hopelessly long for, and thy caresses
art but t'at I secretly yearn, and shalt forever die for.
Oh, my thee! And triumphs of mine shalt lie in thee;
for from death to death I shalt only celebrate victory,
as long as thou dwelleth in me, and I in thy story.
Ah! And stiffen my soul once more-with thy kisses,
whilst stare into me with t'ose thick golden lashes.
Hidest our longings behind th' bushes-
and t'is sacred gift of our love,
as rain falls and redness flashes.
Tempt me into thy votive spell;
and please no longer say goodbye.
Giveth my heart joy and please me well;
put thy lips on mine 'till I die.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Rife with hate, and ripe with disdain
Full of love, yet smelling of pain
Within my heart only thou shalt remain;
until t'is sun dies and it all starts raining again.
And betwixt me, in my white chamber
Only upon thy smile I canst heartily ponder
Ah, having seen thee not since cold Sunday
As if I didst recall thee not morn yesterday.
I knowest I should carest not for thee;
for I thought not of thou and I.
But to my heart I no more lie;
it is not thou and I but we.
Ah, but why hath thou disappeared again, my love?
I who is sure thou art my half,
and even in t'ese all guilty, ye' gullible miseries dwell-
like a blind and dumb nut in a proud shell.
What am I to thee, after all t'is sorrow?
And th' pertinent pain I'th put to stand out and glow
In th' mind t'at I would somehow becomest thy rose
and lighten thee aft'r thy breezy frost
But thou wert not, thou wert not t'ere!
I am someone who should not care
How canst then I shove 'way t'ese tears?
Oh, all t'ese feelings are here-painted grimly blue and weird,
just like yon scarlet gloom our anguish hath feared.
Ah! Wherefore art thou, wherefore art thou, my skylark?
Let it just be th' moon who is to shine and spark
Glow and be as mad in its circles dark
As I leanest 'gainst thee in yon west park,
thoughts free from all nearby childish hassles
and dream, dream into th' realms of our loving puzzles.
Oh, but thou wert t'ere not, thou careth for me not!
Now all my long sentences maketh but t'is poem's story short
Yet again, after all I've finally realised t'at I loveth thee,
and for thou knoweth-amongst all t'ese abrupt madnesses
'Tis thy voice I still hopelessly long for, and thy caresses
art but t'at I secretly yearn, and shalt forever die for.
Oh, my thee! And triumphs of mine shalt lie in thee;
for from death to death I shalt only celebrate victory,
as long as thou dwelleth in me, and I in thy story.
Ah! And stiffen my soul once more-with thy kisses,
whilst stare into me with t'ose thick golden lashes.
Hidest our longings behind th' bushes-
and t'is sacred gift of our love,
as rain falls and redness flashes.
Tempt me into thy votive spell;
and please no longer say goodbye.
Giveth my heart joy and please me well;
put thy lips on mine 'till I die.