Pardie, mine is thine, parfay in
Mine siesta; I hadst a sweven of
Tender refine. We art perantique
To the temporal, sacrosanct we
Art, divinity's temple's. Patration
Hath been acknowledged, by the
Guardian's of the extrasolar, as doth
Me and thine beauty amour', lieth in
The eye's of ourn beholder.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated

i.

Afire is mine aura as I soar over thine spirit to get a peek.
I seeith being, living, animation, the light ive alway's sought,
The abode I shalt alway's keep, afore didst I weep, and I couldst not sleep, mine anguish once didst creep; as Poe with his raven.

ii.

Though now do I rejoice, for thee I shalt shout in conquering the celestial's, I shalt reverberate in thine mind, mine voice; leaving flashes of comforting butterfly song's moist. None need for other women, none question's for choice, for thou art mine one and only.

iii.

Amour' evident, not phony, bower me rosas ng diyos: in thine core I feeleth *****. None more brine from ourn sight's, just water of life flowing, none dismay or might's, none distress or downward flight's, just gliding together, two bird's of a feather.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication ( filipino rosas)

ɨ.

Aʟɮɛɨt ʍɨռɛ ɮʀɛatɦs aʀt ʄaɖɨռɢ
Stɨʟʟ ʍɨռɛ ʟɨʄɛ, tօ ʍɨռɛ աɨʄɛ;
Tօ ɦɛʀ I'ʍ ɖɛɖɨċatɨռɢ.

ɨɨ.

Aʟɮɛɨt tɦɛ Sʊռsɦɨռɛ's ʟɛaʋɨռɢ
Mɨռɛ sօʊʟ ɨs ɮʀɨɢɦt;
Aռɖ tɦʀօʊɢɦ tɦɛ ռɨɢɦt, I'ʟʟ ɮɛ sɨռɢɨռɢ aʍօʊʀ' ʀɛքɛatɨռɢ.

ɨɨɨ.

Aʟɮɛɨt sօօռ I sɦaʟt sʊċċʊʍɮ
Rɛstɛtɦ tɦɨռɛ ɦɛaɖ, I aʍ ռօt ɖɛaɖ;
Fօʀɛʋɛʀ I ʟɨʋɛtɦ ɨռsɨɖɛ tɦɛɛ
Mɨռɛ ċɦօsɛռ օռɛ.

I tɦaռҡɛtɦ tɦɛɛ
Fօʀ tɦɨռɛ ʟօʏaʟtʏ;
Aռɖ aʟʟ օʄ tɦɨռɛ
Caʀɛ.

Jʊst ɮɛċaʊsɛ
Aʄtɛʀ ʍɨռɛ ɖɛatɦ
I աօռ't ɮɛ sɛɛռ;
Dօtɦ ռօt ʍɛaռ ʍɨռɛ sքɨʀɨt աօռ't ɮɛ ɦɛʀɛ.



©Bʀaռɖօռ ռaɢʟɛʏ
©Lօռɛsօʍɛ քօɛts քօɛtʀʏ
©Eaʀʟ Jaռɛ Naɢʟɛʏ ɖɛɖɨċatɨօռ-Fɨʟɨքɨռօ rose

A rain shatters the silent peace of the dark blue Yamuna... flowing
guilelessly on its own accord by the eroded banks of time...
with waters that rise and fall, and move along in silent obedience.
In the melancholuous rain, drown the voices of those that have
sinned
voices of wet Lovers that echoed through time...
greener pastures and parched blues....
men who left their footprints in the soft sands of an immense depth ..& emerged with a part of the river,
that today carries their sins...
what kind of affection is this O'Yamuna..
abathed in the sins of our time, yet you flow so guilelessly..

This poem has been submitted for possible publication.  It will be reposted as soon as possible upon final determination.  Please feel free to peruse my poesy at your leisure.

Thank you so much,
PrttyBrd

O, be my prayer to the gods, Venus
Strong waters of Stygian grey, they swell
At my feet, whilst I stand yours, Aeneas.
Olympus saw our hearts, both in a spell
But mortal flesh grows weak in senescence  
It knew we should never be, for you are
Too perfect. I took this, such deliverance
From hopeless time, myself at your alter.
For if man were to couple with the gods
‘Haps, then earthly loves would not fade so fast
Take a gentle godhand, this man applauds
Aeneas is now a name for the past
She cries, Jove-blessed, ‘gainst my youth diurnal
Where a golden sky is ours eternal.

I am a skydiver
a cloud walker
A time traveler
in a bodiless soul
Feeling dared
to live the dream
Feeling strong
to move mountains ahead
Feeling brave
just to keep you safe
I might be broken you know
but I am forever yours