"crowned" poems
BLESSED be this place,
More blessed still this tower;
A ****** arrogant power
Rose out of the race
Uttering, mastering it,
Rose like these walls from these
Storm-beaten cottages --
In mockery I have set
A powerful emblem up,
And sing it rhyme upon rhyme
In mockery of a time
HaIf dead at the top.
Alexandria's was a beacon tower, and Babylon's
An image of the moving heavens, a log-book of the
sun's journey and the moon's;
And Shelley had his towers, thought's crowned powers
he called them once.
I declare this tower is my symbol; I declare
This winding, gyring, spiring treadmill of a stair is my
ancestral stair;
That Goldsmith and the Dean, Berkeley and Burke
have travelled there.
Swift beating on his breast in sibylline frenzy blind
Because the heart in his blood-sodden breast had
dragged him down into mankind,
Goldsmith deliberately sipping at the honey-pot of his
mind,
And haughtier-headed Burke that proved the State a
tree,
That this unconquerable labyrinth of the birds, cen-
tury after century,
Cast but dead leaves to mathematical equality;
And God-appointed Berkeley that proved all things a
dream,
That this pragmatical, preposterous pig of a world, its
farrow that so solid seem,
Must vanish on the instant if the mind but change its
theme;
Saeva Indignatio and the labourer's hire,
The strength that gives our blood and state magnani-
mity of its own desire;
Everything that is not God consumed with intellectual
fire.
III
The purity of the unclouded moon
Has flung its atrowy shaft upon the floor.
Seven centuries have passed and it is pure,
The blood of innocence has left no stain.
There, on blood-saturated ground, have stood
Soldier, assassin, executioner.
Whether for daily pittance or in blind fear
Or out of abstract hatred, and shed blood,
But could not cast a single jet thereon.
Odour of blood on the ancestral stair!
And we that have shed none must gather there
And clamour in drunken frenzy for the moon.
IV
Upon the dusty, glittering windows cling,
And seem to cling upon the moonlit skies,
Tortoiseshell butterflies, peacock butterflies,
A couple of night-moths are on the wing.
Is every modern nation like the tower,
Half dead at the top? No matter what I said,
For wisdom is the property of the dead,
A something incompatible with life; and power,
Like everything that has the stain of blood,
A property of the living; but no stain
Can come upon the visage of the moon
When it has looked in glory from a cloud.
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I heard the footsteps as they came across the road;
The snap of hurried feet outside the house.
Shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two boys stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang! ~ set them running.
I cut them down; I cut them down!
I heard the sirens as the cops sped off the road;
The squeal of hurried wheels outside the house.
shapes in the moonlight, a voice in the darkness,
A knock at the door, I heard the dogs barking.
The bleating of the flock,
The chatter of the birds amongst the trees,
I recall the whisper of the morning breeze;
Hyphening the broken silence as two cops stole about the house;
It was midnight in August 99.
Two cops set out to chase the bang; Bang!
I put my hands up and the cops took me down!
Judge I’m guilty, it’s true for everything they said I did; I did!
But there were reasons, don’t you see:
These boys; they were bullying me!
I called the cops on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, came round again; still no one came; drove me insane;
Two sparks set out to chase the bang!
Bang set them running; I cut them down!
Two cops set out to chase the bang!
Bang! Yes, I put my hands up!
and the cops took me down!
But Mr Wolf gave me twenty,
and the circus came to town;
for as a victim I was lonely;
but as a killer; as a killer; I was crowned.
Newsworthy, top of the heap, the talk of the town!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:40 PM UTC
Into my heart’s treasury
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take
Nor a thief purloin, —
Oh better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory
Of a lovely thing.
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Meet me in Valhalla
When the battle's done
The cries of enemies long slain
Have faded one by one
Hold my hand, brave brother
As our glory's crowned in blood
The sword strikes deep but still
Our souls will rise above the mud
O warrior, our destiny was
To fall in foreign lands
Within our veins flow rivers strange
Our mouths pour forth with sand
We do not fear the bitter dark
That waltzes round our eyes
Hold my hand, brave brother
Led by the Valkyrie we die
We march on toward golden shields
To fight under burning suns
Meet me in Valhalla
When the battle's won
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Everything in quotations marks and italics was written by TS Eliot.
eyes knowing glossy men,
sheer women, creatures,
not all artists, but artists,
always thus,
centrifugal, simple
from their core,
emanate, resonate,
expand the exterior
with interior precision sculpting
to the interior delve,
via brush or limb,
pen or music,
the exposition, the exploration,
the reconstruction of composing
one's self, creation and destruction
of your own myths
movement of arms and legs,
sparseness of simplicity
subsidiaries of centricity,
tributaries of complexity,
oriented to their locality
the simple purpose of inhalation,
to exhale, after transformation,
the calculus of thought into emotion:
*"the tongues of flame are in-folded
into the crowned knot of fire and
the fire and rose are one"*
the dancers hear the music:
*"so deeply that it is not heard at all,
but you are the music
while the music lasts."*
**”Quick now, here, now always –
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well"**
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Copycat, collect the nectar,
it will optimize your splendor.
Grasping it by the gallons,
drinking poison, immune, callous,
to the pain you aligned, and profusely measured.
Fixated on this peeling label,
bend it back, are you able,
To contain symptoms as they surface?
Written down as toxic in cursive,
a sign of recovery crowned as 'fatal'
Copycat, take your weapons,
along the speckled crimson as logical 'sessions'.
Brim the shell, or remain hollow?
Graphic truth is hard to swallow,
unseen pain is being reflected-
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
drenched in a sea of waveforms,
dancing on the ebb of a digital ocean
its crests crowned with sound
pitched upon amplitude tides
their volume compressed;
reverberating through glass speakers
mere dots in the sands
i hear cadence...
within the music of your speech
how can it be,
such a many word
written,
yet forgotten,
indelibly on your beach?
if we could interpret the oceans
what stories would its sea speak?
of its corruption?
treasures unreturned
to lost and found?
or of its time to give up the dead,
or of the angels that fell to its ground?
© Qwey.ku
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
In the Midnight heaven's burning
Through the ethereal deeps afar
Once I watch'd with restless yearning
An alluring aureate star;
Ev'ry eve aloft returning
Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car.
Mystic waves of beauty blended
With the gorgeous golden rays
Phantasies of bliss descended
In a myrrh'd Elysian haze.
In the lyre-born chords extended
Harmonies of Lydian lays.
And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure,
Where the free and blessed dwell,
And each moment bears a treasure,
Freighted with the lotos-spell,
And there floats a liquid measure
From the lute of Israfel.
There (I told myself) were shining
Worlds of happiness unknown,
Peace and Innocence entwining
By the Crowned Virtue's throne;
Men of light, their thoughts refining
Purer, fairer, than my own.
Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision
Crept a red delirious change;
Hope dissolving to derision,
Beauty to distortion strange;
Hymnic chords in weird collision,
Spectral sights in endless range….
Crimson burn'd the star of madness
As behind the beams I peer'd;
All was woe that seem'd but gladness
Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd;
Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness,
Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd….
Now I know the fiendish fable
The the golden glitter bore;
Now I shun the spangled sable
That I watch'd and lov'd before;
But the horror, set and stable,
Haunts my soul forevermore!
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i.
Iniibig kita
Mahal Kita;
Minamahal Kita,
Iniirog kita.
ii.
Here do I cometh, I'm on mine way. The skies art clear tonight, just a tint of fine gray; though I spread mine plumage, fracture the tone, I knoweth one day, O' verily one day- I'll findeth mine way home.
And I thinkest, when I findeth the bungalow, I wilt rest, after long
Passage alone. As thou I wilt bestow, mine Lip's on thy own; quietly humming, Sayaw tayo?
iii.
A Tagal na ah, a Tagal na ah, now I'm here mine love, I've made it mine queen; some sayest dream's don't cometh true, Only if the other's couldst find; they discern science, just not the sign's of the times.
Though we behold, the spirit and soul, and ourn creator, the crowned head of the world's; Hallowed be his name, Yahweh, father Jehovah, known also Elohim. His son Yeshua ha'mashiach, English language "Jesus the anointed one". The son above all son's. Jane, mine queen.
iv.
Iniibig kita
Mahal Kita;
Minamahal Kita,
Iniirog kita.
Tagal na ah
Tagal na ah;
Now in thy
Grip, with
Mine kiss,
On thy Lip's
I place mine
Vow's. O'
Yadid, yadid,
Never let me go
Agapi mou-
Zoi mou,
Se latrevo
Mine queen.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedication
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
As the autumn leaves whirl around
I sit quietly listening to the sound
And look outside, struck by what I've found
The beauty that surrounds
Now fall is not my favorite time of year
Christmas is, and for good cheer
I get to spoil my kids, and my dear
And love abounds
I love my husband and he loves me
There's no arguing, we live happily
I'm awestruck everyday by what I feel and see
Like his queen, I was crowned
So as I'm faced with autumn, and the cold
I'll surround myself with love and beauty untold
I have my love and he has me to hold
As the leaves fall all around
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 11:57 AM UTC
I.
the emperor
sleeps in a palace of porphyry
which was a million years building
he takes the air in a howdah
of jasper beneath saffron
umbrellas
upon an elephant
twelve foot high
behind whose ear
sits always a crowned
king twir-
ling an
ankus of
ebony
the fountains of the emperor’s
palace run sunlight and
moonlight and the emperor’s
elephant is a thousand years old
the harem of
the emperor
is carpeted with
gold cloth
from the
ceiling(one
diamond timid
with nesting incense)
fifty
marble
pillars
slipped from immeasurable
height,fall,fifty,silent
in the incense is tangled a cool moon
there are thrice-three-hundred
doors carven of chalcedony and
before every door a naked
****** watches
on their heads turbans of a hundred
colours
in their hands scimitars like windy torches
each
is
blacker than oblivion
the ladies
of the emperor’s
harem are queens
of all the earth and the rings
upon their hands are from mines
a mile deep
but the body of
the queen of queens is
more transparent
than water,she is softer than birds
2.
when the emperor is very
amorous he reclines upon
the couch of couches and
beckons with
the little
finger of his left
hand
then the
thrice-three-hundredth
door is opened by the tallest
****** and the queen
of queens comes
forth
ankles
musical with large pearls
kingdoms in her ears
at the feet of
the emperor a cithern-
player squats with
quiveringgold
body
behind
the emperor ten
elected warriors with
bodies of lazy jade
and twitching
eyelids
finger
their
unquiet
spears
the queen of queens is dancing
her subtle
body weaving
insinuating upon the gold cloth
incessantly creates patterns of sudden
lust
her
stealing body ex-
pending gathering pouring upon itself stiffenS
to a
white thorn
of desire
the taut neck of the citharede wags
in the dust the ghastly warriors
amber with lust breathe
together the emperor,exerting
himself among his pillows throws
jewels at the queen of queens and
white money upon her nakedness
he
nods
and all
depart through the bruised air aflutter with pearls
3.
they are
alone
he beckons,she rises she
stands
a moment
in the passion of the fifty
pillars
listening
while the queens of all the
earth writhe upon deep rugs
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They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles
Of forest night had hid eternal things,
They scaled the sky with towers and marble piles
To make a city for their revellings.
White and amazing to the lands around
That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose;
Crystal and ivory, sublimely crowned
With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows.
And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang,
While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains;
Never a voice of elder marvels sang,
Nor any eye called up the hills and plains.
Thus down the years, till on one purple night
A drunken minstrel in his careless verse
Spoke the vile words that should not see the light,
And stirred the shadows of an ancient curse.
Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield;
So on the spot where that proud city stood,
The shuddering dawn no single stone revealed,
But fled the blackness of a primal wood.
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And life came in, crowned in blood, kissed and messed,
announcing itself with a cry.
A girl-child, missing piece, fitted to my breast
her weight absorbed with my heart's sigh
She was fear personified, so heavenly blessed,
she made my terrified simpers her lullaby.
I felt my heart's core swell to absorb her scent,
and my eyes overflowed with love's cascading cry.
She cast light into my darkened chaotic hurt -
sparked a desire to wake, to live, to try,
clasping her whole fist around my ring finger,
holding me still; the whole world passing by.
And in her absence she left her shadow nestled in my chest.
And in my absence I hid my kisses in her sigh.
She grew with eyes of blue and a sympathetic smile -
all faerie dust on the wing of a butterfly,
an almost echo of a girl I once knew.
Except she didn't know that kind of cry,
wouldn't know anything less than rainbows,
than Christmas mornings and endless blue skies.
We tripped, clicked heels through the passing years,
from little girl to little woman in the blink of an eye,
till we were both wearing her shoes instead of mine.
And like Alice, she snapped from low to high
she grew - time sculpting curvy definitions
of who I hope and fear she will be.
She is golden curls and girlish giggles
ever wondering the where or the why
ever seeking to help, to heal, to try
to pour her heart into an undeserving world.
She has legs she claims to stand her ground
to be, to free, to hold her own.
And though like me, she is not me,
since she is so much braver than I.
Her finger is wrapped around her innocence
holding strong to consent or deny.
This life will make her cry her tears
and this world will realise her fears
but she will ever have the wings to fly
and I will ever ready to sing her our lullaby.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 3:37 PM UTC
and what were roses. Perfume?for i do
forget…or mere Music mounting unsurely
twilight
but here were something more maturely
childish,more beautiful almost than you.
Yet if not flower,tell me softly who
be these haunters of dreams always demurely
halfsmiling from cool faces,moving purely
with muted steps,yet somewhat proudly too—
are they not ladies,ladies of my dreams
justly touching roses their fingers whitely
live by?
or better,
queens,queens laughing lightly
crowned with far colors,
thinking very much
of nothing and whom dawn loves most to touch
wishing by willows,bending upon streams?
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Far back in the ages,
The plough with wreaths was crowned;
The hands of kings and sages
Entwined the chaplet round;
Till men of spoil disdained the toil
By which the world was nourished,
And dews of blood enriched the soil
Where green their laurels flourished:
--Now the world her fault repairs--
The guilt that stains her story;
And weeps her crimes amid the cares
That formed her earliest glory.
The proud throne shall crumble,
The diadem shall wane,
The tribes of earth shall humble
The pride of those who reign;
And War shall lay his pomp away;--
The fame that heroes cherish,
The glory earned in deadly fray
Shall fade, decay, and perish.
Honour waits, o'er all the Earth,
Through endless generations,
The art that calls her harvests forth,
And feeds the expectant nations.
8.6k
Bonjour, hello to this French revolution, where people fought against the corrupted monarchy and created a new constitution. Hunger, no rights and no respect, they could not seem to solve it peacefully, so they cut off Louis the XVI neck. Marie Antoinette was a heartless greedy ***** she stole the people's food, so now she deserves some punishment, this is a historical moment for these people which they would soon cement. They started the Reign of Terror, which some may say was a costly and unnecessary error. Millions of people were killed and most were wrongly accused, their used to be equality, liberty, and fraternity, but all people saw was death, which is something not to be amused. The French Revolution where the third class fought the monarchy, so everyone could have true equality, liberty, and fraternity. Then came a guy named Napoléon who changed their wicked ways, he founded new ideas which created the future you see today. I know he wasn't exactly the best, he crowned himself the emperor, which no one had a say on, he pretended to respect the church and have meritocracy but really he was just a con, deceiving people as if they were just a couple of pawns. Napoléon is a wimp, he cost millions of lives, he also abandoned his armies multiple times, he may be one of the, greatest strategist's in the world, but really he's just a waste of time. Napoléon should have figured out not to attack Russia at winter time, it never worked out before so why would it work this time. He may be a symbol of France and the greatest self proclaimed emperor, but he died because of his pride just like Maximillian Robespierre. That was the end of the French Revolution, they slowly lost their power but they still hold onto their republican constitution. So aurevoir for now, bon voyage to you grande revolution, till your next controversial decisions and solutions.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Potential
I was told I had potential
That I could do great things
But nothing has transpired
Into the glory that it brings
And so the bar gets lowered
As far as it can go
Until, it can get no lower
No more room for me to grow
Perspective is welcomed greatly
Opinions come and go
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
I've been stagnant without direction
As the years pass and I grow old
The consensus is its never too late
Or at least that's what I've been told
It's far, so far beyond my vision
Down that long and winding road
I once thought I held it in my grasp
But it slipped right through the fold
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Greatness isn't given
Or earned through years alone
It's what we say and how we say it
It's with our words and tone
It's possible you've reached your peak
Up the mountain through the snow
It's still no cause to lower the curtain
After each and every show
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Nothing is more conducive
Than letting shine your inner glow
If there's a chance then you should take it
Show us all how much you've grown
From the prince who lost his kingdom
To a crowned king on his throne
Not everyone can make it
The choice is yours and yours alone
Just don't become complacent
When the world is yours to own
Focus is illusive
As well the ebb and flow
Nothing changes without change
When you still have room to grow
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC
He comes, a moon whose like the sky ne'er saw, awake or dreaming.
Crowned with eternal flame no flood can lay.
Lo, from the flagon of thy love, O Lord, my soul is swimming,
And ruined all my body's house of clay!
When first the Giver of the grape my lonely heart befriended,
Wine fired my ***** and my veins filled up;
But when his image all min eye possessed, a voice descended:
'Well done, O sovereign Wine and peerless Cup!'
Love's mighty arm from roof to base each dark abode is hewing,
Where chinks reluctant catch a golden ray.
My heart, when Love's sea of a sudden burst into its viewing,
Leaped headlong in, with 'Find me now who may!'
As, the sun moving, clouds behind him run,
All hearts attend thee, O Tabriz's Sun!
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XXVI. TO DIONYSUS (13 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I begin to sing of ivy-crowned Dionysus, the loud-
crying god, splendid son of Zeus and glorious Semele. The rich-
haired Nymphs received him in their bosoms from the lord his
father and fostered and nurtured him carefully in the dells of
Nysa, where by the will of his father he grew up in a sweet-
smelling cave, being reckoned among the immortals. But when the
goddesses had brought him up, a god oft hymned, then began he to
wander continually through the woody coombes, thickly wreathed
with ivy and laurel. And the Nymphs followed in his train with
him for their leader; and the boundless forest was filled with
their outcry.
(ll. 10-13) And so hail to you, Dionysus, god of abundant
clusters! Grant that we may come again rejoicing to this season,
and from that season onwards for many a year.
7.8k
Sickly might,
cravens and craving demon drooling bite.
That fleshly flaunt of fool and privilege,
he burned to smoldering.
Lapped his blood from crowned jewel
and corroded golden spires.
The lost cadaver,
pride driven manicured demon of self
driven greed and godly hunger.
Such as fiendish that ******
the sulfured serpent,
tis a sickened beast in dread black suit,
raffled in silken red tie
it's but the psychopath's blood smeared human hide.
Crave the flesh,
tear and splatter the soul from within,
fiends of fantastically practiced to perfect parallel smiles.
They'll slip your soul from the bars of your throat,
reap every inch of the body's hold.
Steal friendships to lips,
lives to hips,
slurp the killing,
seize the blind weeping cold.
You've got nothing not to be swept and stole.
Soulless has a studded luster,
but the ****** socio bleeds liquid sins,
bears fangs plastic wrapped in blades,
human game is the psychopath's wet dream.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:27 AM UTC
sappho greets her as she
would a reflection:
hand against hand, staring into
her eyes. silence dancing
around them as a long-lost love-
r.
enheduanna sighs at the contact
and the quiet shifts as
her fingers close:
as there is no need for language
when her
inanna will grant them
a holy diadem.
-----
eternity reeks
of nights out on the lawn
daisies growing with the weeds
pillowing beneath the two
dwindling women -
hands clasped tightly,
their eyes closed.
...lapis blooming
within the petals
of the undergrowth...
gods slumber amongst
worthy poets occluding,
heart-soothing each
other without words
or sonnets
or divination.
sappho dared to
look out from
heavy-lidded
lethargy,
for she was
yearning:
at dawn
...her honeyvoiced,
mythweaving
enheduanna:
a sweet-shelter
of temptation
and goddesses
who wage
tender war and
drink from pools
of sun...
at dawn
the ancient
divine
poet
gazes
again
and sappho
forgets she
too is nearly
as old
for her lover wears
an invisible golden-
crowned circlet
of springtime
and illuminated
lands.
but she can hardly think
anymore, when
the songsmith of
glory and prayer
is kissing her.
laying in the basin
of heaven and skies
she pours restless
eternity down
her throat.
----
lapis melts
to pink clovers
of fowlerite
no mortals notice
two bodies blending
between poems
rustling tunics
maidens casting
away their
fruitful
sobriety.
----
poet
dreams
a woman
of verse.
hardly expecting
shallow-breathed
kisses of burning
solstice and
unrequited
love.
Feb 16, 2022
Feb 16, 2022 at 12:18 AM UTC
Day breaks over a sleepy village
Morning absolutions completed
An excited buzz is in the air
Everyone is a buzz with cleaning
Hundreds gather wild flowers in the fertile fields
Many were in charge of raising the fires
Soon the whole town had bright blooms weaved from one end to the next
The horizon alight with smoke and power
Goddess and God rights invoked within circles round
Pulsating, rhythmic energy racing through each dancing body
Gyrating to the cosmic beat of life
Couples jump merrily together over cauldrons ablaze
High hopes rise and give way for dreams of children
Lovers round and round they twine
Maypole ribbons rainbow hued passing through hand to hand
As dusk falls the Queen is crowned
Mead flows freely through the jubilant worshippers
The moon hangs round with fullness above their heads
Lighting the way for love into the night
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
its beauty cant be ignored
this underground queen
hasn't yet been crowned
its just too supreme
yet haven't been found
unique and magnificent
sparkles and shines bright
all eyes are opened wide
brilliance is something
it just can not hide
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
'tis a sad sad
tale of woe
of which I sing
of gods and godesses
and their lessening
how forlorn
the goddess Ceres
once loved by all
and wooed by many
when unprovoked
and unforeseen
a war was wrought
'gainst fair queen
caught unawares
her throne assailed
her forces scattered
'twas all unfair
cast down she was
from lofty throne
no longer crowned
no more beloved
pierced thru
with many thorns
belittled
and besmirched
her reputation
and now her station
lost far beyond
re-incarnation
silently
she slips away
lost
and near forgotten
wounded
and rarely seen
her sullen thoughts
of malice reign
shamed and bleeding
plotting her revenge
till time and chance
provide the proper
circumstance
then all the thorns
that pierced her thru
she shook as many blades
and hurled
those bitter barbs as one
'gainst Hades' mighty gates
shaken he
from his dark slumber
his rallied forces
armed in numbers
their banners raised
on solar breezes
as trumpets blare
thru breathless reaches
voices shout
in protestation
slide rules locked
in astrometric
calculations
oh see how Ceres
scorned and mocked
has wrought
her rotting vengeance
on Pluto's frozen rocks
"Oh woe to thee
my Persephone
flee thee now
to thy father's house
for thy husband's hearth
hath been broken
and Hades' home
now just a token
My lofty edifice
a shattered wrack
an' all that's left
'tis a humble
wretched shack"
Pic Poem
https://www.pix-star.com/media/cache_local/download/23fc881b88e812947b061094f5694d32/JPlutoThouHastFallen-e52.jpg
.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
green hills, rolling green
i like you
with fresh dewy innocence
you speak in hushed voices.
your sides are guilded
with coral white
your tops are crowned with clouds.
green hills, rolling green
i like you for the majesty
you wear your verdant vestment
forever stretched your arms to the blue
forever sheltered by the stars.
green hills, rolling green
tell me, do you like me too?
would that when i harken
to the trumpet call, when there would be
no excuse to tarry
i should lay spattered on thy peaks
first touched by the divine finger
piercing the nimbus mantle.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC