Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
dedpoetPoems
And filled it with your fatal presences, The best a Texas Hill Country Morning when the bluebonnets wept While our bodies entwined A sparrows song, Your eyes enveloped the light Of first day and I swear I could See through Heaven's eyes, When we shattered the noctirnal And stroked the suns burn Merely with unified cravings, The deer crossed an unspeakable Verse under the parting night, I collapse in fatal gratitude Taking willingly The thorn of your memory; Stuck intimately with the rising sun And born of the wound Was filled a cup Encompassing the four things Love: Pain which your lips Promised never to cause me : Passion which endured as much as time Swallows the years and closes the Mouth of the things we remember: Memory which sustains my soul and erodes my body: Loyalty to the deceit that in some Place when we were as perfect frames In Time's womb Eternal and everlasting Where I pray as a Pagan To return where no one can, Still my cup empties with gratitude And overflows tears I cannot Contain within the spherical Shell of your precision, Cut deeply; And with a despairing gratefulness my cup runneth over.
0
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
Surely I Emptied My Cup...
And filled it with your fatal presences, The best a Texas Hill Country Morning when the bluebonnets wept While our bodies entwined A sparrows song, Your eyes enveloped the light Of first day and I swear I could See through Heaven's eyes, When we shattered the noctirnal And stroked the suns burn Merely with unified cravings, The deer crossed an unspeakable Verse under the parting night, I collapse in fatal gratitude Taking willingly The thorn of your memory; Stuck intimately with the rising sun And born of the wound Was filled a cup Encompassing the four things Love: Pain which your lips Promised never to cause me : Passion which endured as much as time Swallows the years and closes the Mouth of the things we remember: Memory which sustains my soul and erodes my body: Loyalty to the deceit that in some Place when we were as perfect frames In Time's womb Eternal and everlasting Where I pray as a Pagan To return where no one can, Still my cup empties with gratitude And overflows tears I cannot Contain within the spherical Shell of your precision, Cut deeply; And with a despairing gratefulness my cup runneth over.
dedpoet
Written by
dedpoet
38/M
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 7:36 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem