Before the thaw, my feet will be rooted
Into this nation’s primordial freeze
My muscles and bones will be acquainted with malaise
The sun’s altruism will be refuted

Before the thaw, I will struggle to find consciousness
The frost will leak through the bedroom window
And don the facade of a blanket
The door will prove to be bottomless

Possibilities will seem unachievable
The brain will itch for what it can not have
Buses will limp through congestion
And the blizzards may feast on the feeble

You may want to write of your misery
But your automation will halt in cataclysm
Because someone held a door open
For the gust that billows bitterly

Gastric emissions will become tangible
As smouldering wastes contrast against the sky with rancour
The wispy whites, marginalized into *****
And the world remains infallible

I will lack the tools of incision
To enact my life’s revisions
I will weep for my unguided millions
While I saunter into oblivion

After the thaw, I will smile
My expatriate soul will run in the whimsical wind
Of the morning dayspring that will march unto me
I will stand over a kingdom of honey-filled tiles

After the thaw, the arks will converge
Into the straits of the Bermudian Sea and the
Elusive Caspian Forest, where I will learn to love again
While bidding farewell to winter’s dirge

In the waking world, I will ***** a limestone castle
Where entropy will rule and the mind’s domain
Is left susceptible to perennial reverence
The sea, coloured true, nesting a fairgrounds vessel

In this Great Revision, gargantuan skyways
Will show the world how exiguous we are
That we must not wait for exodus to come
Should we fear to waste away
Into icebergs

If tender hearts unfolded wings,
what breeze would light our choices.
We'd fall on high into the sky,
and watch as day rejoices.

No scaly soul, or fears unrolled,
or claws which tend our fears.
No age old fire, burning mind so dire,
to grow us aged before our years.

So fly on high, my earthly friend,
unto the moon and back.
Climb towers broad, and breeze which flowed
and watch our evils crack.

Our darkness fades,  whilst in the glades
of evening we do wander.
We see the walls, the wholesome falls,
and stop to let our minds ponder.

If we were a dragon, oh just imagine,
what boundaries we could climb.
But it's all such a waste, for inside our dreams,
our fantasy belongs only in rhyme.

There in FarBliss,
the land fed by dreams
where nothing poofs amiss,
there are sauntering ThinkSees:

-the children of ValleySeeps
who sip, sip, sip grins
from the sad, sad, sad streams
they call TearsTearsWeSeizeSeize.

In River ByeYou, they snare SighWoeWoo
and like to bathe in the sea LonelyBlue.
How they climb the hazy Mount NothingTrue,
to pray the dour deity NothingButYou!

When they play,
they chase FireFlies
on the wings of ButterRhymes;
they skim the gleaming ImagePools,
under the bright moon LadyMoves,
then plunge into the lost lake LetLoose.

Their day-flight’s a FeatheryFrenzy
on a gull’s SillySyllableSpree;
to catch the lofty eagle HearMe,
they test the terrible talons TearMe.

They labor behind the FathomFalls,
spinning FrothyMusic from TumblingBoughs
mulling melancholy in MoonlessGroves;

or, spin HeartStrings for all groans and grins,
dip them deep in dye in dongs and dings,
darning dreams by star-sipping streams,
struming the strings Nothing'sAsItSeems.

When the digy-dongy nights come
and you hear HeartyLonelyChime,
seize the sizzle of the time
and let it loose in your rhyme;

‘cause like Time, FireFlies.

©️Hirondelle (01/12/2018)

It is this my extreme desire, in the urgency of my fantasies, with the grey of your lustful madness, there is a need in me to possess in your body completely, millimeter to millimeter and in every existing and non-existent reality, also, for I am an extremely ****** demon, metaphor of your desire and passion, which becomes a cluster of words, is my declaration of love and my invitation to *** for I am your multiple Venus, your Gypsy ******, your Eva strumpet, your wild female, My Angel and demon..., you I am the desire, temptation, and rendition in you, that that is only for me, you exchange the perverse and lustful guest of your women's forms, with the pagan ashes and dreams of my tormented Skin...., oh, my God, have mercy on me!, is it lust or madness? Or are both at the same time?, maybe, I don't know!, your little girl a thousand beings chained in my body; there is a strange scent of Jasmine and juggling in my rooms; here in this tartar, which is my room, In the ether of these walls; there is a perfume, that of your divine presence, for; being i taciturn, you come to me, as I go to my dreams, between realities and worldly fantasies, in that dream of my faded wickedness, I am Profane and pagan!, for a moment I am with a hidden scapular, praying maybe with the longing to possess me, but; there is cruelty, since the image of you in brain hugs me and this way leads me to accept my captivity ; in this uncertain hour of my living, since it reminds me and commemorates my desire of you, as an urgent need of my flesh; there in the twilight of the night, you dress of offerings for me, forget about the debts you have With God, I compassionate and full of lust, fight against your divine body, without more and without being your enemy, I offer the moisture of your skin, in this broken and scratched sunset, for; I give you the privilege of quench the Hunger of my pleasures, while I steal yours, about the wrapping of your forms full of mazes, at this moment that we are you and I United, since I know, that like you, others have brought accumulated fevers, angels lit and demons Hidden, I know that you crave the bite of my kiss, the punishment of me, and my forgiveness to punish your dwelling with my insatiable lust....

Billions of light years,
In night’s fantasy converge;
Cosmic illusion!

Bright Wanderer,

Your heart beats to the tune
of a strange, strange song.
The world thinks you a devil;
ugly child, belonging in the night.

Horned thing, who are you?

A wanderer, a hermit,
fearful and small.
A wonderful fool
who cries when they fall.

Take your stick.
Tie your shoe.
The path to the forest will never close.

The trees are alive
sticks become swords.
Grasp it firmly, dear, fool with horns.

For great evil awaits you,
terrible things lie ahead
and only you can defeat them
only you can extinguish it.

Bring company, child
and speak much
for when you are with friends,
words turn into rhymes.

Sing with them,
whoever they may be,
and when the sun falls,
may you lull the them to sleep

with your strange, strange song.