"canst" poems
Filipino immortal of time
I'm courting thee now;
And making thou mine
We both kneweth
This day wouldst arrive;
Now taketh mine hand, stand by mine side.
I hadst amour'
For thee, for so long;
Now let's maketh, the sweetest amare song.
Ourn affection, tis obvious
For all to see;
We art the real deal, not some farce dream.
As tis we shalt meet,
As thou shalt get that engineering degree;
I'll taketh a trip, or we'll meet in between.
I'm courting thee now,
Tribal of tropic's;
I'll get ****** in thy saliva, bodie's close, bliss the main topic.
None material's needed
As ourn belief's state;
Ourn devotedness, not some internet kiss, everlasting mate's.
So now thou shalt knoweth
Thou hath been courted;
To showeth thee mine love, and to me thou art more important.
Other's shalt judge
As other wilt mock;
Yet we shalt be happy, in romantic cot's
Even if we art poor
With none food on the table;
Ourn love shalt speaketh loudly, none words needed, nor label's.
We shalt write poetry
As it becometh true;
Sweetest earl Jane, just wanted to sayeth, I loveth thou more to.
Tagalog language, thou shalt teacheth me better
Queen earl Jane;
This is thine courting letter.
I'm not all the other's
As thou doth see;
I am thy Hari, thou art mine Reyna, in whom I believe.
As I knoweth thou don't feeleth
Good enough for man, nor God;
Just wanted to telleth thee, thou art mine, and God's all.
I just wanted to let thee knoweth
I looketh up to thine light;
Thou inspireth me so much, as to other's, thou art vital to life.
So when thou feeleth down
And wanting to leap out of thy brawn;
Remember tommorrow ill be here, as well as ourn own god.
This is mine courtship letter
As now I'm courting thee;
We both want it and need it, mine best friend, life, and queen...
I loveth thee so much
We both none more canst hide;
Thou art mine Earl Jane, thou art mine life....
To thee; dearest Earl Jane..................
©Brsndon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/あある じぇえん
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
Softly and gently, I swim him along
the frail whirlpool of a lie,
He visits like a lamp in the froth of cold
forward towards but shy
I remember to keep my palm onto the cold night's sheet
and tell him how his would fit in,
how every moment of my cold nights would burn
into the arms of his unconscious sin
I canst remember thy face though,
o love, was the dust of snow much.?
Swaying like a leaf in the wind of my poem
skimming on the foam of an immortal stream,
with his perfect structured fingers touching his evening cup,
he flutters like a laugh from the lips of a weeping dream.
A dream.
A DREAM.
O my.! Was this illusory?
Years of long closed eyelids imagining their perfect fit
The word exists the definition doesn't,
Dejection over fancies is dejecting
Perfection is straight where you find true love.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 3:41 AM UTC
i.
Her orient smile
Canst maketh a sick child
Walk if once was lame;
ii.
Tis she's wild
With an innocent smile
O' how heaven's untamed.
iii.
Her name's sweet Jane
A cherub of oriental flame;
She drive's me mad, crazy, insane in a good way.
iv.
Thence back to her smile
I jump back inside her aisle;
O' heaven is sweet,
O' how heaven is sweet in sweet Jane!!!
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose)
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
Cytherea, thy dainty Adonis is dying!
Ah, what shall we do?
O Nymphs, let it echo, the voice of your crying,
The greenwood through!
O Forest-maidens, smite on the breast,
Rend ye the delicate-woven vest!
Let the wail ring wild and high:
'Ah for Adonis!' cry.
O Sappho, how canst thou chant the bliss
Of Kypris — after such day as this?
'Oh Adonis, thou leavest me — woe for my lot!
And Eros, my servant, availeth me not!'
So wails Cytherea, grief-distraught.
'Who shall console me for thee? There is none —
Not Ares my god-lover, passionate one
Who sware in his jealousy forth to hale
Hephaestus my spouse from his palace, if he
Dared but to lift his eyes unto me.
Not he can console me, Adonis, for thee!'
Wail for Adonis, wail!
4.4k
Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,
And though thy birth-hour beckons thee,
Sleep the long sleep:
The Doomsters heap
Travails and teens around us here,
And Time-Wraiths turn our songsingings to fear.
Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh,
And laughters fail, and greetings die;
Hopes dwindle; yea,
Faiths waste away,
Affections and enthusiasms numb:
Thou canst not mend these things if thou dost come.
Had I the ear of wombed souls
Ere their terrestrial chart unrolls,
And thou wert free
To cease, or be,
Then would I tell thee all I know,
And put it to thee: Wilt thou take Life so?
Vain vow! No hint of mine may hence
To theeward fly: to thy locked sense
Explain none can
Life’s pending plan:
Thou wilt thy ignorant entry make
Though skies spout fire and blood and nations quake.
Fain would I, dear, find some shut plot
Of earth’s wide wold for thee, where not
One tear, one qualm,
Should break the calm.
But I am weak as thou and bare;
No man can change the common lot to rare.
Must come and bide. And such are we—
Unreasoning, sanguine, visionary—
That I can hope
Health, love, friends, scope
In full for thee; can dream thou’lt find
Joys seldom yet attained by humankind!
3.8k
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
3.5k
Oh do not die, for I shall hate
All women so, when thou art gone,
That thee I shall not celebrate,
When I remember, thou wast one.
But yet thou canst not die, I know,
To leave this world behind, is death,
But when thou from this world wilt go,
The whole world vapors with thy breath.
Or if, when thou, the world’s soul, goest,
It stay, ’tis but thy carcass then,
The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.
O wrangling schools, that search what fire
Shall burn this world, had none the wit
Unto this knowledge to aspire,
That this her fever might be it?
And yet she cannot waste by this,
Nor long bear this torturing wrong,
For much corruption needful is
To fuel such a fever long.
These burning fits but meteors be,
Whose matter in thee is soon spent.
Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
Are unchangeable firmament.
Yet ’twas of my mind, seizing thee,
Though it in thee cannot persever.
For I had rather owner be,
Of thee one hour, than all else ever.
3.5k
Hither, hither, from thy home,
Airy sprite, I bid thee come!
Born of roses, fed on dew,
Charms and potions canst thou brew?
Bring me here, with elfin speed,
The fragrant philter which I need.
Make it sweet and swift and strong,
Spirit, answer now my song!
* * * * *
Hither I come,
From my airy home,
Afar in the silver moon.
Take the magic spell,
And use it well,
Or its power will vanish soon!
3.4k
O Sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weight my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?...
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leav'st the kingly couch
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?...
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
She knoweth what I'm going to sayest
Before I sayest it;
She understandeth mine heart and pain
Before mine blood displayeth it;
She layeth me to sleep
When I get sleepy;
She layeth her head virtually upon mine chest
When I'm in weeping;
She Whisper's she loveth me
Before I canst speaketh it back;
When I'm on the wrong road, losing direction to mine soul,
Her and God get me back on track;
When I feeleth lonesome
She filleth up that lonesomeness;
When the anguish get's noisome
She giveth me her all, her best.
Earl Jane nagley is mine soulmate
Tis I'm more than blessed;
We art both preordained, from the beginning, eternal flame's
We art life, life is us, we art soulmates.
Indeed......
We art soulmates!!!
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose) soulmate of mine
©Hari and Reyna incorporated
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
"O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?
Me whom thou settest in a barren land,
Hungry and thirsty on the burning sand,
Hungry and thirsty where no waters be
Nor shadows of date-bearing tree:--
O Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?"
"I came from Edom by as parched a track,
As rough a track beneath My bleeding feet.
I came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet
I counted bitterness; I turned not back
But counted life as death, and trod
The winepress all alone: and I am God."
"Yet, Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest me?
For Thou art strong to comfort: and could I
But comfort one I love, who, like to die,
Lifts feeble hands and eyes that fail to see
In one last prayer for comfort--nay,
I could not stand aside or turn away."
"Alas! thou knowest that for thee I died
For thee I thirsted with the dying thirst;
I, Blessed, for thy sake was counted cursed,
In sight of men and angels crucified:
All this and more I bore to prove
My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love?"
"Lord, I am fain to think Thou lovest me,
For Thou art all in all and I am Thine;
And lo! Thy love is better than new wine,
And I am sick of love in loving Thee.
But dost Thou love me? speak and save,
For jealousy is cruel as the grave."
"Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath
My love is as thine own--deep answers deep.
Peace, peace: I give to my beloved sleep,
Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death:
Take patience; sweet thy sleep shall be,
Yea, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me."
3.4k
I miss mine homie,
Who in the world's name is homie? One mayeth ask.....
Well homie
Is mine old German Shepherd.....
Dad named him that
Funny yes I know.... Long story ....
And though I haveth many Angel's here on earth......
Homie,
Was mine true pet angel....
He always watched out for me when I was around nine years old.
And when one day,
At mine birthday party...
Mine friends tried to be OK with homie,
As me and homie were soulmates friend and being wise...
So mine friend's tried to feed homie through his fence hotdogs,
Like I did with no problem...
And mine old buddy Danny found out.
Homie didn't eat hot dog's
Unless I Gaveth them to him ....
Me, his best friend and soulmate!
Fed them to him....
As I saw homie ready to rip Danny's hand off...
I just chuckled and told homie...
Down boy down...
Homie always listened...
He was mine soulmate....
My do I miss mine homie...
As I remembered one day coming home from school...
Mum picking me up from that young learning center,
She said son I got something to tell thee,
On the way home...
(Yes mum)
I said...
Well,
Homie died
I found him whilst thou was at school son...
( said mum)
I couldn't say nothing
I think I just said really?
As mum told me
He was found in his doghouse
Curled up
Dead.....
I questioned her?
Where is he mother?
Wherein did thou layeth his body mum?
I asked....
She told me she had taken him to some place about fifteen minutes away,
And buried him in some wood's....
I wasn't angry with her.
Nor even father,
I was hurt because I didint get to see his body...
I was hurt because I told mother and father all the time...
Bring him INSIDE!!!!!!
When it got cold...
As I remember it was cold
And snowing when he died........
Yes I understood homie was a big dog
And couldst be a little wild at times....
Though we had a basement
With rooms in that basement
And couldst haveth put a cage down there....
So I felt horrible I didint just bring him in
Even though they thought it was fine to stay outside
During winter......
Mum thought he was poisoned
By someone putting something in his food....
My opinion is he died alone,
When I was gone,
And froze to death....
Don't like thinking of it...
I just miss him to mine soul!!!!!!!!!
I forgive mum and dad not angry,
Just canst waiteth to see mine angel again...
R.I.P homie baby boy...
See you in heaven (:
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!
Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!
3.2k
Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,
So far, so near in woe and weal;
O loved the most, when most I feel
There is a lower and a higher;
Known and unknown; human, divine;
Sweet human hand and lips and eye;
Dear heavenly friend that canst not die,
Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine;
Strange friend, past, present, and to be;
Loved deeplier, darklier understood;
Behold, I dream a dream of good,
And mingle all the world with thee.
3.1k
'Mid my gold-brown curls
There twined a silver hair:
I plucked it idly out
And scarcely knew 'twas there.
Coiled in my velvet sleeve it lay
And like a serpent hissed:
"Me thou canst pluck & fling away,
One hair is lightly missed;
But how on that near day
When all the wintry army muster in array?"
3k
My soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a wingèd sentry
All skilful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet Peace sits crown’d with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious Friend,
And—O my soul, awake!—
Did in pure love descend
To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of Peace,
The Rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure
But One who never changes—
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
2.8k
(Phillipians, iv.11)
Fierce passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea,
But calm, content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to Thee.
In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.
Since at His feet my soul has sate,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on Him my care.
"Art thou a sinner, soul?" He said,
"Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!
"If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine!
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.
"'Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.
"In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away."
Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.
2.8k
Remind me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish’d hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till Time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.
Can I forget—canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,
How quick thy fluttering heart did move?
Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast so fair,
And lips, though silent, breathing love.
When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,
As half reproach’d yet rais’d desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet,
As if in kisses to expire.
And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes’ darken’d gloss
Seem’d stealing o’er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven’s plumage smooth’d on snow.
I dreamt last night our love return’d,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,
Than if for other hearts I burn’d,
For eyes that ne’er like thine could beam
In Rapture’s wild reality.
Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless, as the mouldering stone
Which tells that we shall be no more.
2.9k
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which usèd, lives th’ executor to be.
2.9k
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden ****
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
3k
tire ishq kī intihā chāhtā huuñ
mirī sādgī dekh kyā chāhtā huuñ
Your infinite love, I desire
Look at my humility what I desire
sitam ** ki ** vada-e-be-hijābī
koī baat sabr-āzmā chāhtā huuñ
Fury or your audacious-unveiling
Something fortitude-testing I desire
ye jannat mubārak rahe zāhidoñ ko
ki maiñ aap kā sāmnā chāhtā huuñ
Heavens be favourable for the religious
But us ever-so close, facing each other is what I desire
zarā sā to dil huuñ magar shoḳh itnā
vahī lan-tarānī sunā chāhtā huuñ
A tiny heart but so spirited I am
To hear those words ‘’By no means canst thou see Me’’ I desire
koī dam kā mehmāñ huuñ ai ahl-e-mahfil
charāġh-e-sahar huuñ bujhā chāhtā huuñ
Determined guest I am O’ people of assembly
Morning lamp I am, quenching I desire
bharī bazm meñ raaz kī baat kah dī
baḌā be-adab huuñ sazā chāhtā huuñ
Within a full gathering I have disclosed the secret
So impolite I am, your punishment I desire
Note:
Moses prays to God for guidance and begs God to reveal himself to him. It is narrated in the Quran that God tells him that it would not be possible for Moses to perceive God, but that He would reveal himself to the mountain, stating: "By no means canst thou see Me (direct); But look upon the mount; if it abide in its place, then shalt thou see Me." When God reveals himself to the mountain, it instantaneously turns into ashes, and Moses loses consciousness. When he recovers, he goes down in total submission and asks forgiveness of God.
✒ Translated by ℐamil Hussain
Words of Muhammad Iqbal
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 11:14 PM UTC
FALSE world, good night! since thou hast brought
That hour upon my morn of age;
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,
My part is ended on thy stage.
Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear
As little as I hope from thee:
I know thou canst not show nor bear
More hatred than thou hast to me.
My tender, first, and simple years
Thou didst abuse and then betray;
Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears,
When all the causes were away.
Then in a soil hast planted me
Where breathe the basest of thy fools;
Where envious arts professed be,
And pride and ignorance the schools;
Where nothing is examined, weigh'd,
But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed;
Where every freedom is betray'd,
And every goodness tax'd or grieved.
But what we're born for, we must bear:
Our frail condition it is such
That what to all may happen here,
If 't chance to me, I must not grutch.
Else I my state should much mistake
To harbour a divided thought
From all my kind--that, for my sake,
There should a miracle be wrought.
No, I do know that I was born
To age, misfortune, sickness, grief:
But I will bear these with that scorn
As shall not need thy false relief.
Nor for my peace will I go far,
As wanderers do, that still do roam;
But make my strengths, such as they are,
Here in my ***** and at home.
2.6k
I
Awake, glad heart! Get up and sing,
It is the birthday of thy King,
Awake! Awake!
The sun doth shake
Light from his locks, and all the way
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.
Awake, awake! Hark, how the wood rings,
Winds whisper, and the busy springs
A consort make;
Awake, awake!
Man is their high-priest, and should rise
To offer up the sacrifice.
I would I were some bird or star,
Fluttering in woods, or lifted far
Above this inn
And road of sin!
Then either star, or bird, should be
Shining, or singing still to Thee.
I would I had in my best part
Fit rooms for Thee! Or that my heart
Were so clean as
Thy manger was!
But I am all filth, and obscene,
Yet if Thou wilt, Thou canst make clean.
Sweet Jesu! will then; Let no more
This ***** haunt, and soil Thy door,
Curse him, ease him
O release him!
And let once more by mystic birth
The Lord of life be born in earth.
II
How kind is heaven to man! If here
One sinner doth amend
Straight there is joy, and every sphere
In music doth contend;
And shall we then no voices lift?
Are mercy, and salvation
Not worth our thanks? Is life a gift
Of no more acceptation?
Shall He that did come down from thence,
And here for us was slain,
Shall He be now cast off? No sense
Of all His woes remain?
Can neither Love, nor sufferings bind?
Are we all stone, and earth?
Neither His ****** passions mind,
Nor one day bless His birth?
Alas, my God! Thy birth now here
Must not be numbered in the year.
2.6k
Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.
Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.
Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.
Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.
Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
i.
Alow downward Reyna, humanity hunger's and kill's,
Red liquid they do spill, despoiling, toiling, taking
Lucifer's fill;
ii.
We canst only watcheth queen, as their working's and dream's,
Get untied by the string's, of the fine unseen line, of the principalities and power's.
iii.
Henceforth the hour's, shalt be as fading flower's, they shalt seeith their government's and darkened power's; falleth as the star's, men who knoweth none boundaries, God shalt rattle the mountain's and deep, as a harlot to her patron. Though the patron's sleep.
iv.
We shalt endureth this paining moment amour', the cosmic chronograph is opening door's; erelong love, erelong amour', we shalt sit at a feasting table, wherein the beau monde that hast Satan's barcoded label, shalt not perch. The flame shalt quench it's thirst, as recreation below us takes it's course. For ourn creator spoke this Jane, in the beginning. The world's lost it's way, it needeth cleansing from the sinning. As we shalt be restored by reconnecting on higher planes. To be reborn, in the spirit again.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC