"cureless" poems - Hello Poetry

Whene’er I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were—unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows! Yet, is the daring wish represt, For that,—would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Yet, I conceal my love,—and why? I would not force a painful tear. I ne’er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom’s heaven a hell? No! for thou never canst be mine, United by the priest’s decree: By any ties but those divine, Mine, my belov’d, thou ne’er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom, Rather than spread its guilty glow. I will not ease my tortur’d heart, By driving dove-ey’d peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. Yes! yield those lips, for which I’d brave More than I here shall dare to tell; Thy innocence and mine to save,— I bid thee now a last farewell. Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair And hope no more thy soft embrace; Which to obtain, my soul would dare, All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. At least from guilt shall thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shall thou be to love.

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Lord Byron

To M. S. G.

Whene’er I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were—unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows! Yet, is the daring wish represt, For that,—would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Yet, I conceal my love,—and why? I would not force a painful tear. I ne’er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom’s heaven a hell? No! for thou never canst be mine, United by the priest’s decree: By any ties but those divine, Mine, my belov’d, thou ne’er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom, Rather than spread its guilty glow. I will not ease my tortur’d heart, By driving dove-ey’d peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. Yes! yield those lips, for which I’d brave More than I here shall dare to tell; Thy innocence and mine to save,— I bid thee now a last farewell. Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair And hope no more thy soft embrace; Which to obtain, my soul would dare, All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. At least from guilt shall thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shall thou be to love.

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Mystic thoughts Laws of torts Spasms of my mind Dreams of gold Stories untold Timeless stories timed Reckless revenge Once were friends Crazy - madness -- STOP Cure the cureless Empty carress Long drop short stop

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Jan 10, 2012

Jan 10, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC

jurgen

Ether

Mystic thoughts Laws of torts Spasms of my mind Dreams of gold Stories untold Timeless stories timed Reckless revenge Once were friends Crazy - madness -- STOP Cure the cureless Empty carress Long drop short stop

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I'm blinded, aware of nothing anymore The emptiness has reached from the heart to the core. The obscured disguise of the illuminating ray sealing me in the undying darkness to have me gone astray. The strong hold my mask has on me, an abstract reminder for I'm a volcano under sea. The compulsion of uncertainty thrusting fakeness on to my lips, a constant practice that immediately curves its tips. My heart is stabbed with the cureless contrition Agony oozes out by rejecting termination. Vagueness finds its home in the feelings I try to verbalize Insanity strikes my thoughtful headroom to unstabilize. My wounded heart and insane mind conspire to develop a defence against these harsh feelings that forge a fearful nuisance. Callousness, a nightmare dressed like a daydream, a bitter hope The dream comes true along with the bitterness to cope. That's how I sculpted myself into a cold stone, choosing to become all numb and alone. I'm blinded, aware of nothing anymore The emptiness has reached from the heart to the core. Standing straight a stiff statue, I wait for something to be moved by...

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Mar 17, 2018

Mar 17, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC

Meaura

Waiting To Be Moved By...

I'm blinded, aware of nothing anymore The emptiness has reached from the heart to the core. The obscured disguise of the illuminating ray sealing me in the undying darkness to have me gone astray. The strong hold my mask has on me, an abstract reminder for I'm a volcano under sea. The compulsion of uncertainty thrusting fakeness on to my lips, a constant practice that immediately curves its tips. My heart is stabbed with the cureless contrition Agony oozes out by rejecting termination. Vagueness finds its home in the feelings I try to verbalize Insanity strikes my thoughtful headroom to unstabilize. My wounded heart and insane mind conspire to develop a defence against these harsh feelings that forge a fearful nuisance. Callousness, a nightmare dressed like a daydream, a bitter hope The dream comes true along with the bitterness to cope. That's how I sculpted myself into a cold stone, choosing to become all numb and alone. I'm blinded, aware of nothing anymore The emptiness has reached from the heart to the core. Standing straight a stiff statue, I wait for something to be moved by...

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you could see her dancing, fascinating, like a ballerina. You could hear her singing, exhilarating, like a tiny sparrow. you could hear her playing, in the woods, like a kid never growing. but; you could hear her calling his name, cureless, in her nightmare's. you could see her running, to a target, she will never get. you could see the shining tears, going down, across her lovely face.

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Jun 27, 2019

Jun 27, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC

JohnSue

shining tears

you could see her dancing, fascinating, like a ballerina. You could hear her singing, exhilarating, like a tiny sparrow. you could hear her playing, in the woods, like a kid never growing. but; you could hear her calling his name, cureless, in her nightmare's. you could see her running, to a target, she will never get. you could see the shining tears, going down, across her lovely face.

19

Night, Our night. We were supposed to win. We were supposed to come as a tide, Washing over all the nonbelievers, Our molecules mixed into a cauldron with anyone else who has ever fathomed making a difference in an indifferent world. We were supposed to win. We were meshed together in a way where I bought into this. I bought a drug for this crippling disease. Yet, I’ve known this to be cureless. Cureless, as my affections for you. Cureless, as the afflicted home we live in. ****** by society, we sat in our lonely, empty space. I couldn’t speak a sound; you were the one who had enough air to speak. We were supposed to win. Now, not so much. Now, I don’t remember it meaning as much to me as I had once thought. The oxygen may have been from extracted my body, but, by god, Losing has soul.

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Nov 13, 2014

Nov 13, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC

InexplicablyBadria

The Election Night of 2014

Night, Our night. We were supposed to win. We were supposed to come as a tide, Washing over all the nonbelievers, Our molecules mixed into a cauldron with anyone else who has ever fathomed making a difference in an indifferent world. We were supposed to win. We were meshed together in a way where I bought into this. I bought a drug for this crippling disease. Yet, I’ve known this to be cureless. Cureless, as my affections for you. Cureless, as the afflicted home we live in. ****** by society, we sat in our lonely, empty space. I couldn’t speak a sound; you were the one who had enough air to speak. We were supposed to win. Now, not so much. Now, I don’t remember it meaning as much to me as I had once thought. The oxygen may have been from extracted my body, but, by god, Losing has soul.

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