Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.

New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.

Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow
No yesterday nor morrow know;
’Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.

Smiles on past Misfortune’s brow
Soft Reflection’s hand can trace,
And o’er the cheek of Sorrow throw
A melancholy grace;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.

Still, where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads
Approaching Comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sabler tints of woe,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.

See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.

When I found out
about your little game.
I laughed.
First in anger,
then in spite.
It was so very petty after all.

Your big persona
clothed in a bespangled mantle
of hypocrisy and loyalty
came apart
just like you did
when things began to crack.

Your hands
capable of spinning rifles
and commanding cadets
failed to handle me
in all my complexities.
I do not fault you for that
after all it takes a strong man
to be with a strong woman
but i do fault you
for the veiled hypocrisy
you showed at every turn.

You questioned my loyalty
insinuated at flirtations
flaunted your jealousy
Yet behind my back
all the while
showed honeyed intentions
to the girls in your tracks.

You gave me up
like an unhousebroken puppy,
that had bitten
your tremendous ego.
Citing your love for me
and your good intentions
while all you wished for
was to roam free.

When I figured out your little game
I laughed
first in anger,
then in spite.
But now,
when I think of your game,
I do neither
because the games of small men
no longer interest me,
and neither do you.

She wore endurance as a cloak.
Tried ever so sorely and wrongly,
she committed all to the Vindicator.
In her resolute quietness, she spoke volumes.

For her ardent disparagers,
her payback was tireless hours of intercession.
As she stoically embraced undeserved tribulations,
she gained character, wisdom, and tranquility.

Who dares put out the brilliance of a star?
Her sublimity resonates evermore in the
darkest patch of the night.
Though seared with scars,
her stellar virtues are glaring,
illuminating hearts and inspiring minds.

She can’t feign ordinariness,
even if she hides behind her own shadow.
Detached from a frenzied world,
she derived her essence from heavenly fire.

Oh, had they known the fount from whence she drank,
they would not have, in malignity,
ensnared their own souls
in a bid to put out her luminous radiance.
They have murdered sleep through their ignoble gestures.

Behold the star as she abides in the firmaments!
Purified by the trials and tribulations,
she stoically endures and thrives.
The sky may be bespangled with twinkling stars,
but her brilliance stands out in luminary distinction.

Years have passed
But months still left
Feelings have altered
As people have changed
You are not there
Still ur aroma exists in the air

With every passing second
It reminds me of past weekends
Surpassed evenings together
Hits me though harder
Daydreaming about our unwriten future
Makes me feel better

Numerous blank hours now eat me
Which were insufficient once
Dew bespangled grasses' desperation now is at the peak
Unaware of the fact that,Their beloved stole will never come back to soak them meek

Coolness of breeze has lost its charm
As u r not there to lock urself in my arm
Moon is demanding Eclipse every now and then
Since u stopped coming to our lane

Eyes now dried after flowing since eras
U r nt there so they lost their aura
Fingers have numbed, missing the grasp of urs
They do want to ***** themselves by countless anchors

Meeting of my own lips now stings me like a scorpion
Since u left,I have turned thorns into my minions
Withered rose though replaced by fresh
Still they wail silently in haze

Digging today my buried past
I want to live those moments once
Still I wonder Why!!!
But there is nothing left except lie...............

Not that he was incapable of inditin',
'Twas the words that caved in,
Squeeze us out you dare, they said,
tears will consort, caper, abet.

Despite, he let the ink strew,
right alongside the beads of rue,
Bedecking with guilt, the Chartaceous world,
But, lo, the bespangled had the words engulfed.

Held with despair the paper of riot,
He dropped the quill and quit the fight,
Words go lost how I write about you
Tears rush forth and blight the  milieu.

the wind howls
like a hound
  (sans the totality
    of sound, as the truck
     slurs its final groan)

bespangled crown of the NLEX
festooned by pearled light
all across its furtive stretch

the heaven in my darkness
says Now as silence is drunk
in funeral hilarity. the truancy
of populace says Who as the
morning beckons with its blue entry becoming almost whole (and
ethereally exponential)

Pildira sings like a bird
  and self becomes so
quietly rational;
like my heart, (the metronome,
    settable configuration of
labile fortuities) gropes
   a perspicuous vision and plants
it to mine chest.

Pildira flutters like an
   old butterfly in this new morning and i, with the net of
   my hands cold with song, will be
songless in the moon without stars, or stars without moon.

Living in the circle
of a Hawthorne tree root
Cassandra the white
sits in cradled silence
while a fairy-dust moon
perches glowing in a fay sky
aqua vapors
dotted by stippled stars
deep in thought
she touches gnarled limbs
shall she take
her will-o-the wisp wand
and lead another human child
on a very dotty journey
bespangled by
pixie-dusted lights
she laughs out loud
at the thought of her trickery
and the fay games of wooded sprites