The land
from here to then;
stretching into my heart.
The longing of my gypsy past
in me.

A heart has many loves, but
few passions. A few have
love for my heart.
They wait in their harbors
as my ship's sails are
ragged and I am lost
at sea.

Just as quickly Catullus met
his fantasy and despaired,
and a thousand-hundred kisses
became irredeemable.
The fool fell for the folly
of a sparrow; Taibhsear
fell from the wisdom of a
raven.

Through the supple shades of aether, the gains
of memories and past accumulate together on the porch of
my soul. See! See it there? It is my dream, my caricature of harmony!
Smiling there with mercurial posture. A laugh charming to the
touch. Eyes glistening like the waxen waves of the sea.

My existence within this party of Eden, comprised splendidly of you and you and
you, is melodic. Vibrating in and out of perfection. How joyous! Lo! there
is no other way that a man can live. No other way a man can
love. Through the dreams of reality the slippery vapor of
eternity is calling us.

Man's literature surveys the landscape of
life with such care that
the passionate man is merely a
caricature of innumerable minds.
The self-created man is as such
according to the connections of his own
experience to that of the volumes
adorning the world's shelves.
Mine eyes of passion are the reincarnation
of the angel Edmund Dantès; anguish
the respondent ripple of the Creature born in
Ingolstadt. Burns teaches humility
as Boethius the ambitions of Lady Fortune, both
under the whims of fleshly confinement.
To bear further testament, Nabokov
brands the sublimity of the individual as
the lost, old soul Taibhsear
calls Love out on the street holding the name
not of his greatest desire but that of her's.
Eons hold the grandest wealth that is the build-up
of the "drops in the ocean" that
are the whims of man and his
written word.

Beatings, lies, abandonment and hunger,
all alone, I lusted yet lost a love.
Once forlorn, there came to me one answer.
Lies, ruin, demise and my end thereof.

To me an angel came, and Love's desire,
whom renewed within me long lost passion.
Yet, tempest calmed, lust and fear sparked a pyre,
raging through our rose-kisses turned ashen.

Love comes and goes, in all its forms, this time
finding us in kindred pain and shadows.
We made love through our demons, losing spine
as we could not be more than our past woes.

Yet through it all, four loves gained and more;
entwined in the divine of yore threescore!

It was on that Eve of softness and sighs
that a deepest passion of uncontrollable want,
unlike any other want that has reached the cyclone heart,
and truly not ever being experienced in its perpetual emotion,
claimed for its own my soul.
lo! how magnificent and admirable is the
obtainment of emotion, let alone passion!
One will discover, quickly, the unquenching and
infinite magnitude of life's bulwark lion.
Passion, oh passion!
You have moved empires, destroyed worlds, ignited revolutions.
You have seduced Helen, inspired Shakespeare, corrupted Lenin
and now you have me.
What will you do with me?
Through chance and fate I have become your servant.
There is no returning after the whirlpool ***** one
into the cavity of longing.
One will forever long and forever be captivated
in the stare of true beauty.
For passion is true beauty and master.
I ask again "what will you do with me?"
Will you forsake me and leave me crawling
to a light that is not rightfully mine? Or,
will I be granted solace in the haven of an embrace?
One can only wish that it will never end
and a kiss remains as sweet as a rose.

Your ever humble and obedient servant,
Taibhsear

Was it a mistake to cup your breast
that day,
just like you wanted me to?
I feared who you were. That
is why I could not
go further.
To me it would be like Love
*******. Love doesn't ****.
Or so I
thought.

It was always a dream of mine
to capture the tincture that embodies
your sound; the voice that
wakes me from myself.

Words empower, words enslave; your
words gave succinctness to the
days. Periphrastic for show and
glamor, otherwise, it was always one to another.

"I" is for me, as you see fit.
"Love" is for us, as we dream it.
"You" is a sound that reverberates
off caged testimonies.

Sweet to me for sure; good to
you you claim. Please
pour forth that music. Love,
the chords of my harp-heart.

Grab it dearest, feel the power of
My soul beneath your fingertips. I will
Cleanse your spite, the vile decorating
The map-work of our Mother’s creation.
Fear not the whims of shadows and spells.
Through the radiance of emotion
The soul swipes clean the slate of mistakes,
Marks, and circumstantial torture. Go ahead
And wrap a portion of God so warm it
Masks the scars of the Lost and Wounded.

Rejoice! Partake in jubilation as
the world is alive. Choice
is etched in rivers of love. Tears
are wells of purified life
as they cascade down the quiet
of a woman’s face. Gods
stride amongst us as doves in
droves. Listen to the trees
sing dedications to mystery
and change. Bliss is
ours. If neoteny is the path
of humanity, then may
our souls be as soft
as a baby’s bottom. If love
truly goes from girl to
girl, then have a coke. Have,
see, do, create, share.
Welcome to the kisses of
the moon and the caresses
of the sun.

Mountains,
roiling across,
just as sea tempests toss'd.
Frost'd froth on brackish peaks churn
the sky.

Whisper your soul through my veins
so that as it advances
with God and eternity, the Cosmos, and stardust
around, around, around
the dendritic network shines as many lighthouses,
for the shadows to retire
and virtues flourish.

My message for the salty breeze,
in regards to my mother: "Our
relationship has waxed and waned,
like the tides and the moon, from
love to hate and back hither.
Time is like sleep, slow and sweet,
or I suppose a morning calm; it
has dulled the edge of the blade
that has scalped out our path.
I laugh at how clumsy our surgeon
has been. What a clumsy, ill-fitted
path we have all tread. I admit two
things however. One: I wouldn't
have had my life any other way. Two:
despite the tragedies, the suffering,
the ignorance, I am drawn to you
as I am tied to the sea. Constantly restless,
churning over the chum of the
past. No matter the sway of the tide,
there is happiness to be found
within the messages of our
bottled lives." Away the wind,
to the sun, and the higher truth.

Today I live in a life that does fight,
in love, and hate, for a resolution;
what is humanity? Revolution
tinkers a vestige. “There people, the light!”
With a glance we seem glorious. The night
reveals a different image; the Sun
of Plato does set. Man’s transformation
has not yet stopped, despite all our massed might.

Like that Creature Shelly’s fear concocted
we, being not human, grapple today
with all our parts. Mankind is an ideal
that Creatures need. I, exonerated,
am not a human yet, and oh! do pray
the Creature that is me unlocks soul’s seal.

Explore,
To see and grow.
Being forever true,
To hearts wind-chimed as such as mine
Today.