"christe" poems
Availons twain twixt thus brighte biste
Hestorienne devoureed Christe
Holloe tou tu esn't et est.
Louvre, Le Louvre ist mi.
Bootes of sootes clamour shouerin'
Flouer in heand, beautie en Maie, Marche und Aprille.
Mama et moi no us or tu terrile.
Caspidate, inspedre, endre, spedistor, fouallona, mortalivus, vieliefe.
Good God, just confess already!!
I love... Ilove... Ilive, lie, liove, lovie,
She kissed me once on my cheek, deadly and deathandmorteanddeadandlifelessandvieless and now i love her, i want... ive never loved anyone, but now i know. I'll name him Theo, because of our God complex and i love you.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
tried to clean your grave
again today. i miss you.
i was only three.
he blames you, you know,
for something you said to him
when he was sixteen:
"make her come back home;
don't come back until you do.
go get your mother."
he didn't talk back.
"you didn't do that back then."
1983.
instead, he broke down
thinking you abandoned him
just like that woman.
i know you loved him.
i know you were a good man.
something ****** you up.
whatever it was,
it was speaking through you then,
that unholy ghost.
he never heard me,
just beliefs to argue down
when i was that age.
i absolve you both
though i struggle to do so.
christe eleison.
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 5:04 PM UTC
you scare me, a hidden gem
i am afraid of what could happen
i wonder where you walk and i wonder what you think
has the cross corrupted you
who has turned you so cold
i will be there when you get your wings
and the soothing echo of those classical sounds will pass
into a new choir of faith and acceptance
maybe then when all becomes bright, i will see your eyes
for what they truly are
a black ocean with enough depth to deceive me
into thinking i am only stepping into a shallow pool
a bitter tongue with the tonality of an angel
you can rest your voice as the tears take over
dómine fili unigénite, iesu christe,
dómine deus, agnus dei, fílius patris,
qui tollis peccáta mundi, miserére nobis;
qui tollis peccáta mundi, súscipe deprecatiónem nostram
i will be with you until you find yourself
if you are lost
i will be lost with you
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Today is a mistake, an aberancy
of time. The facts please.
No.
There are no facts when you
love someone.
The day, like a Harlequin novel
opens. The goblet in her hand
falls, the flowers can't catch up.
Think of spilling love like
milk.
You can never save
the white oil slick spreading.
Tomorrow will never come,
There will be only 15 minutes
of night.
Memories
crawling into daylight
unexpected,
Finally,
constellations
slide across the sky.
The final ending:
“ your appointment with (sorrow) death
was always to be
here.”
Caroline Shank
6.13.2024
Agatha Christe
Jun 13, 2024
Jun 13, 2024 at 12:16 PM UTC