Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
My eyes crack open
and my flesh is still hard
from the dream I was having
and your name falls from my mouth
like a prayer made of silk and sin
and my dead heart beats
once and twice
and bleeds at the cracks
and there's an echo in the abyss
where your love once raged
with the fury of a burning sky
painted with the colors of lust
dipped in the golden honey
made out of a stars blood
and an oceans  tear
and I can still feel the warmth
of the fire left behind
from every kiss
you every tattooed and bit
into the soul of my skin
and my whole body
is a burning effigy left hanging
on the cruel smile of the moon
that won't let me forget
how god ****** beautiful
your eyes use to glow
when you used to whisper my name
in slow syllables and long moans
as our bodies ******
on beds and floorboards
and carpets and couches
and over counters and coffe tables
and our hearts made love
far beyond the grace of heaven
and burned our names
in the secret corners of the universe
even the devil dare not go
and now all that is left
that I can do is pretend to love
and pray that forever
won't last as long
as you once promised
because without the sound
of your voice
or the touch of your love
I am nothing but a ghost
with a dead heart
waiting for his
broken fairy tale to end
Hey, cute girl
I would say you
Secrets of my mind
Be here, stay close.

Oh, mania boy
I don't like you
Go away and find-
Someone else.

Hey, sweet babe
I'd walk with you
I believe you're kind
Slow down, please!

Uh, cheeky ***
I won't talk to you
See, am I not in a bind?
When I have a boyfriend.

Sigh, you're just thirteen
  Hey crazy boy, you are too
Eh, I'm sorry, bye then
  It's okay, go, have schooling...
Dance swiftly, my briar rose,
for in autumns lament you shall not seek repose

Cry bitterly,  my willow tree,
for the silver haired maid is long lost at sea

Sing serenely, my morning stars,
for the poetic moon is no longer ours

*
... Hear my whispers in the dark ...
The infinite unsettling void
Is the point and place
Where her poetry begins -
Arises--where it is derived.

The infinite relentless void
Allows time and space
For her never-ending poetry
To be conceived;
This is how her soul
Is satisfied!

The Infinite lonely void,
Houses emotions -
With graceful words
They are interweaved,

Continually,
The void drives
Her poems to emerge -  
Allowing her soul
To feel momentarily,
Somewhat,
Relieved!

By Lady R.F (C)2017
 Oct 2017 phil roberts
Pagan Paul
.
A gemshorn and a mandolin
strike up counterpoint melodies,
as a harp and viola
caress the notes of a minuet.
Soft waves of music creep
around the joy of the Hall,
cuddling the fibres of granite stone
with a warming fire for all.

And she steps to the fore,
slippers of silk gliding so slow,
eyes as blue as robins eggs,
smile sweet as a full moons glow.
Hair laced with summer flowers,
a long dress of velvet green,
and the shawm she is ready to play
held lightly by fingers so keen.

Her tongue moistens shyly,
as the reed approaches her lips,
with fingers dancing over holes,
and deftly into a trance she slips.
Descending chords in choral hue,
drip colours into an aching heart,
the sweetest of mediaeval muses,
playing well her minstrels part.



© Pagan Paul (21/10/17)
.
Shawm, Gemshorn - mediaeval musical instruments.
.
Next page