"courses" poems
"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love
We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands
She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up
I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't
She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.
When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.
32.3k
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart—
empowered to rise above its circumstances,
unweighted, unburdened, unbound,
tied only to that which would lift it higher,
untethered from anything which would
pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it.
It's the free heart, quiet and at rest
yet jubilant and uncontained,
the celebrating heart, the praising heart,
the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage,
bent on adventure, journey and romance.
All the while it's a waiting heart
because it's a yielded, led heart—
a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD
but willingly, quickly to the LORD—
a heart that though eagerly anticipating each
twisting turn, next horizon and changing path
keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery
but forever on the Shepherd
because it's a heart persuaded
that He alone is the Great Reward
for which it has always been looking.
True joy is only ours when we find an endless
source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One!
The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else.
The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him,
desperate for Him to the expense of all else,
willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied.
Joy and idols, I have learned,
do not easily reside together in the same heart.
So if I find that joy is chased away
the most likely culprits are my own desires.
What am I wanting more than Jesus?
For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life
then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy.
There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss
to expose all of the hidden idols within me.
It's surely those who have suffered the greatest
and most frequent losses for Christ who are also
most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy.
For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else
that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based
not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances
but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself.
Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand,
but for any with eyes truly opened to see
the most precious of times may be those
when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand.
Rivers of sadness can open up
into wide gulfs of endless delight and
are often the very courses needed to carry us there.
When all is lost, we find to our amazement
that, even so, we still have ALL
and no one can rob us of it.
When He takes everything from us
He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song. To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song.
20.5k
if someone tells me that jealousy does not exist
on this earth
i will tell them to look deep
inside my heart
and see the jealousy that courses through my veins
i yearn for someone to talk to
even if it's just a random person anonymously on a random site
and i yearn for a cutesy little skype conversation
with a complete stranger
and i yearn for people to ask me to go places
instead of me asking them
and i yearn for them to remember me,
and i yearn for them to remember my name
and that it's leeza, not lyza
and that i have feelings, too
and i hate this back brace
and that i just want to laugh with them
and i don't want them to laugh at me
and i just worry so much
and i am jealous because they are concerned with
grades and boys, grades and girls
and i just try to fit in
because i am jealous.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 9:42 PM UTC
Dear Miss ********,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we do not have space for you at our company.
Yours,
Xxxx xxxxxxxx
Dear Miss *******,
We regret to inform you that unfortunately at this time we cannot offer you a place with our company as you are under qualified.
Yours ** xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. We regret to inform you that you are over-qualified for the position.
Yours, xxxxxxx ***
Dear Miss ******,
I don’t think so love. This isn’t even a letter, this is my managerial position on you handing me your cv.
Cheers, bahbye now
Dear Miss *******,
This isn’t really a letter either, but despite how un-pc this is, we can’t hire you due to your gender.
Thanks anyway, save your paper.
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application, unfortunately we had stronger applicants.
Yours, etc., aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa
Dear Miss ********,
Thank you for your application. Unfortunately we are not hiring at the moment even though we had advertised the job you applied for.
Yours, xxxxxxxxx xxxxx
Dear Miss ********,
We had left it between you and another applicant, and couldn’t decide so we flipped a coin, and she won. You’re a lovely girl though.
Yours, fffffff ffff fffff
Dear Miss ********,
I refer to your claim for Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance at VVVVVV’s CCCCCC local office. Jobseekers Benefit/Assistance claims are subject to periodic review, consequently, I would appreciate if you would attend this office for interview on the 31/17/78 and bring the following :
1. Proof of Identity (i.e. Passport or Driving Licence or Long version of your Birth Certificate)
2. Proof of Residency (e.g. Letter from landlord/ Rent Book/ Lease/ Mortgage Receipt/ Letter from Parents + Household Bill)
3. Written Proof of recent job applications and replies.
4. Proof of job applications made through FAS
5. FAS courses applied for.
6. A copy of your Curriculum Vitae (CV): unemployed from
7. If your spouse/partner is an adult dependent on your claim, please bring his/her GNIB and Passport/Travel Documents.
Failure to respond to this letter may lead to suspension or disallowance of claim.
Yours sincerely,
**** *****
Local Officer
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Time is of the sentence, while
verbs reveal their intents
for adjective nouns (pro or no
comment) quickly in vents
meant for air, but coarseness
courses through upturned grates
shredding of courses into no ways
to go from here to home,
awaiting infinitely fine moments
caressed along necks of silken
skin within the wear of stretched out
glances left lingering still
in compassionate ponds rippling
soft warm smiles lazily by
the melting cares of the world
golden in luxuriously wrapped light
playing across the surface & through-
out into emerald encrusted irises
to cast love's shadow over
swamps of fear gurgling neuro-
toxic diatribes against plu-
perfect pasts & future
imprefects presented in a case to
Your Honor's (the jury) out of bounds
dissolved with ear ration-
al solutions mixed & stirred
thoroughly throughout,
without spilling too
much.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Her lips constant at the utterance
Of sweet and serene words filled
With adoration, praising him,
He who made endless hearts
do cartwheels and somersaults
Of multiple, millions nigh and far
their hearts loving
As long as he’s living
Nonetheless, changing courses
Of history was what she excelled
One glance, one encounter turned
Her lips managing
to do none but stutter
To his shielded heart
no one managed to flutter
His deer like eyes observing
With admiration, eyes sparkling
every look, crook, nook
Of her smile that shook
The worlds and heavens
Devout in his heart and mind
His earth's plates shifting
His massive planets orbiting
He witnessed it all in one being
The gravity of the universe on her
Shoulders heavy from responsibility
The heavens challenging her capability
Her hardships conveyed as she blinked
their dilated orbs communicating
language barriers unstoppable
To what her eyes held
He understood his needs
To care, to cherish, to love,
Feeling his heart pumping blood
Faster, quicker than light
Travelling the dark domains
Undiscovered, just like her soul
That he felt the need to explore
As his heart finally fluttered
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
i had a dream
i was flying
in the arms
of this grande old kite
and we drifted through canyons
and across flowered fields
over endless pastures
and restless seas
i looked down
somewhere near
the haldimand half-point
and saw friends
and patrons
smiling
while the busy keepers
of oasis
were singing
and loosening their vowels
familiar faces
were everywhere
and it was warm
and serene
they were charting courses
and building dreams
laying praise
untarnished by imposing views
and as much as i tried
i couldn’t express my gratitude
when i woke
i was lying
with an angel
at my back
whose eyes
were wide
and blue
and her words came crystal clear;
kindness will not be sold
and as i turned
to reach her hand
the rain had gathered
and washed away
a stain
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
It's 3:09am
I'm im the library
Desperately trying to write a research paper:
'LGBT Familes'
How fitting.
Caffeine courses through my veins
Coffee overloads my bladder
Bathroom.
I hate bathrooms.
When you have no gender
The simple act of relieving yourself becomes a chore
The heavy weight of that key decision
Chokes your lungs as you stand outside the doors
Two doors.
Men.
Women.
Not me.
The choice becomes simplified:
While I sometimes pass as a man
I often do not.
I can choose the men's bathroom
The consequence of which could end in physical violence
The same hate I explain through my essay.
The same fear that plagues my community.
The women's restroom is also an option
The consequences likely less dire than the former:
Heavy side eye and the potential of yelling.
A much safer choice.
Obviously.
Per usual, I walk into the women's room.
I take three strides inside.
Then I stop.
I've never used the men's room.
My fear of violent reactions has always won.
Yet at a time like this
How likely is it that someone is inside the men's room?
Now is my chance to face my fears.
Now I have a safe chance at peeing in peace.
In a bathroom potentially more suiting
Of my gender identity
So I turn around.
Let the door slam behind me.
Half a step into the men's room
The smell of rancid ***** hits my senses
Toilet paper liters the stalls
I have missed absolutely nothing in my years in the women's room
Women have nicer facilities
A significantly more advanced hand dryer
Cleanliness
Air freshener
Men do not have these luxuries
Now I question,
Do men not take as good of care of their bathrooms as women do?
Do the workers intentionally prioritize women's sanitation?
What causes this undeniable divide?
Is the messiness of the men's room a result of their conscious decisions?
Or simply a response to societal expectation?
Regardless,
I think I'll stick to the women's room
While I add bathrooms to my compilation
Of more discrete gender inequality
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Wake up Nigeria whilst it is still day.
Your darkness thickens in the hot summer sun.
Wake up Nigeria from your spectators' fun.
Like a titan to the slaughter, your way
to financial hades might be certain.
Awake, or your future is uncertain.
Your teeming youth population languish
in persistent erosive social crimes.
Awake Nigeria from pain and anguish.
Your tragedies exceed your countless births.
Awake Nigeria, for these many deaths
reveal a corrupt weakened armed forces.
Awake Nigeria from your great slumber.
Your rank in the black world has been usurped.
Awake Nigeria, reclaim your number
one position by treading those courses
once trod, and never again to be stopped.
Awake Nigeria and discern the times.
Cease for good to be black gold dependent.
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 9:22 AM UTC
Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).
Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.
All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.
"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!
She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
I am a teenage girl
I don't go outside much
But I workout
I teach myself in online courses
I spend a lot of time on World of Warcraft
I'm in love with someone much older than me
I feel like I've known him for a 3 lifetimes, not just 3 years
I believe the human spirit is a powerful thing made of light and darkness
I'm a submissive at heart
And I believe in true love
So that's me.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
Distant learning courses in the heart
Irrelevant actions have left us all apart
Acquisitions decaying those stray minded people
It's no longer a commonplace to feel peaceful
Simultaneous occurrences have our mind in disarray
Through our pasts they begin to replay
All these calamitous activities brought through maleficent eyes
Disintegrate what's left sending us in a fools paradise
We reap to elope from these rigorous bearings we call home
Only to find ourselves cast away into the unknown
We strive to survive in a world full of abhorrence
Being seen transparent just as worthless corpses
Those few who prevail are not left without detriment
They are forever severed a mental delinquent
**Nevertheless our story lives on
In this godforsaken marathon**
-Joseph B Schneider
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
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Is hugging a fulfilling experience for you? Did you have parents who felt comfortable hugging? Are you hugging others the way you were hugged? Or have samsung galaxy s6 edge. You consciously chosen to hug in a different way? As a Marriage.But what if my pleasure is using your swimming pool Or your wifeOr eating your dog or your wife ? In the realm of hedonism Købe samsung galaxy s6.For instance.Because a phobia is a total connection to pain.Consider looking over again that winter catalog of courses that you local Junior College is offering.He sees the wine not at all,.my intuition urged me to go immediately and not to wait for the weekend,seven day a week preferably.he or she writes the lines instead,abundance,
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Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
Spinning round a windy ledge,
i kiss the cross around my neck,
these fever dreams replace the likes of you.
Grinning into space, alone and lost,
the dampened linens lie,
as i wake up,
covered in fake love.
In my den the china white,
embraced my blood and laced my night,
an amuse-bouche of courses left to come.
The past three years I can't recall,
coulda been fun, but was it worth it all,
i'm a coma patient lacking an excuse.
Truth,
is hard to come by,
You,
are a stranger in my,
Eyes,
collude disguise.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
VIII. TO ARES (17 lines)
(ll. 1-17) Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-
helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities,
harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the
spear, O defence of Olympus, father of warlike Victory, ally of
Themis, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of righteous
men, sceptred King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere
among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aether
wherein your blazing steeds ever bear you above the third
firmament of heaven; hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless
youth! Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life, and
strength of war, that I may be able to drive away bitter
cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of
my soul. Restrain also the keen fury of my heart which provokes
me to tread the ways of blood-curdling strife. Rather, O blessed
one, give you me boldness to abide within the harmless laws of
peace, avoiding strife and hatred and the violent fiends of
death.
5.6k
Letting go can be tough
Perhaps the harshest measure
Many times we will face
Changes that last forever
"What if I'd done this?"
"What if I'd done that?"
Questions to go unanswered
And irrelevant to the fact
The adoption of acceptance
Is your only quest
The only option to be alloted
Now swallow to digest
Observe the tremble in your hands
Your eyes begin glistening
Your heart is in your ears
But who's the one listening?
As it courses through your veins
Something celebrates in your heart
Every storm runs out of rain
The Truth in you prevails
As you begin to emerge
Once again to raise the sails
You've let it run it's course
You've stopped the irradic spinning
Focusing on the Now
Every breath a new begining
The only stake it has claimed
Is to your education
Simply a reminder
Of life's continuing alteration
To err is only human
And Forgiveness is Divine
You, they, deserving or not
Just turn the coin to see the shine
Yes, we have a choice
To see the brighter side
We don't have to dwell
In the illusion of The Lie
Just as it came
Let it go with an ease
Accepting what it WAS
Join your Self and thaw the freeze
It will come again
Your Knowing, now a weapon
It has lost the ferocity
Sanity no longer threatened
You can call it thick skinned
Or unwavering balance
You can call it indifferent
I will call it an Allowance.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
I'll light every
Firework that I can find
For you.
Every ounce of you,
Including the parts
That you like to hide.
They deserve to be seen
And heard too.
The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Although not the same
As overseas,
There is still reason to celebrate
The crackle of firecrackers,
The release of red lanterns,
To light the street of your heart,
As well as the sky.
We're not as young as we
Used to be.
But that doesn't mean that we have
To act like it.
The fire that courses
Through my lungs can't wait
To get out and roar
Like a dragon,
And break the silence
In celebration.
A red envelope wrapped in fire,
And sealed with the flash
Of prosperous smiles.
Every time I see you,
It feels like New Year's.
And when you kiss me,
My soul sizzles,
Stirring up this fire
That dances through my body.
The next second
Not to mention the next year
Isn't promised.
Tomorrow may not come.
If there ever was a time
To burn down and sweep up
Pieces of our old selves,
Why wait?
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 10:55 PM UTC
love is hard,
so tear stained faces
and dreams crushed beneath a falling sky
are not worth your time.
to experience screaming silence
and fingers that caress the world
and not you;
truth be told
put your trust in someone
different.
pray that the path you tread upon
not be knocked from underneath you
because the harsh reality is
it will be, if you still choose the man
with the cold blood
that courses through his veins.
sadly, coldness is all too familiar
to you
and it's what you like the
most.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
*As I close my eyes
my senses know no bounds
my body becomes weightless
and my joyful song resounds*
I try to find my bearings, and
I hold on to myself.
I've never put someone so close;
My self upon a shelf.
*Every fiber of my being
has room to stretch and grow
my steps spring forward lightly
and my smile is wide, aglow!*
So come unto me, siren.
Give me room to grow and fall.
Sing for me a beacon; silly boat
Is sinking slow.
*I swim to you in haste
my hair flowing wild and free
and water courses around my limbs
as minnows accompany me.*
And so we're freed by water,
Unalone and unafraid.
Need no more one breath to take,
Nor single blessing said.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
being so near to you
i can sense how close you are
with every fiber of my being**
but i am frozen
**i try to move against my pain
and reach out to you
to just step across the stream**
but i am frozen
**beneath the surface
a river courses through my veins
begging for you, pleading**
but i am frozen
**now i have so many dams
made of sharp ice
though naturally i flow freely**
but i am frozen
**i want to be with you
i want to be in your arms
i want to be thawed*
but i am frozen*~
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
Disclaimer: I did this as a creative rewrite for one of my university lit courses, and all the inspiration and quotes belong to Robert Browning the original writer of "My Last Duchess"
HIS LAST DUCHESS
ARRIVEDERCI
_“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.”_ (I’m not)
Alas! Me, “a wonder.” He calls.
Now wretchedly refined and pasteurized.
To be consumed, now, for genteel eyes.
Pity! Should you ever see me roll mine.
Behind those curtains, you might have been surprised
To see my countenance whimpering
At you Sir; and seething, at _Him._
Must you not be fooled by that sickly decorum
Upon which his manly pride resides.
The Duke—what rich talent in envy he has,
And of pithy idiosyncrasies! Pardon me now
As I speak of his infamies: Is it not,
Too preposterous of a Duke, to sulk
And take offense, over a blush?
(As if the blush was his to wield and shun.)
Am I not allowed to flush _at all?_
And must I be ashamed of being swooned
By the casual offers of life’s grandiosities?
Each and every, dropping of the daylight,
Ripen cherries in May and chivalrous gentlemen,
my dear white mule; must I then weep
at them all, only to prove my fancy for him.
And when does gracious gratitude itself
become in vain: a finite honour—
deemed excessive elsewhere?
Never had he plucked me out, for censure,
Before he gave commands, I knew he did
To pluck the smile out of my face.
Utterly clueless—he thought I was
To find myself throttled, for immodesty.
A wife, an appendage to a Duke,
Loosely felled, to stroke a green-eyed ego.
My fault it seems, is a mere generosity
Of affection: falsely opined, if not
Misread, to fare a defect of temperament,
A chronic malady, doth be cured by death.
To cement the farce he will, soon, bring you
Downstairs to meet a friend. (a fiend)
A prized possession: Neptune, taming a sea-horse.
His hubris incarnate, cast in bronze.
But you must know the truth, for the sea-horse
Did not perish for naught, she is freed from him
At last.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC