If be becomes am when I,

When I am sad and think about all the sightings prior,
When I am anxious and all corners fall apart; prior
to the tipping top I am looking at, my dreams exhale
frivolous endeavours as I am trying to breathe; to inhale

In apathy.

Forgetful and retracted;
I lost tact in compulsion,
Exasperated and unfaithful:
I am divorced.

And so, be becomes am when;
I tip all dreams prior.

Unmotivated by mundane
I mirrored minds Meta-
Contrived cognition was the condition
To compose concretely the matterful agenda

Lines are only written
When stimulating inhibition
So I brewed up a prescription
To allow me a peace of mind

Branching out like a child
During the first day of school
I pondered intently a question
Already dismissed by fools

Last lucid breath lingers
Is it inception or indifference
Fitting finale or frightening fallacy
Eloquently exposed, exemption of esperance

‘Be waiting up at the window,’ said
The note he sent by hand,
‘I’ll come and collect you at midnight,’
Said the note, ‘the way we planned.’
She heard the clatter of hoofbeats in
The courtyard down below,
And waved to him from the window
As she seized her portmanteau.

She quickly skipped down the staircase
Holding both her shoes in hand,
Trying to avoid the clatter as
She raced down to her man,
It only took but a moment then
To seat her on his horse,
And gallop out of the courtyard on
Their way to the watercourse.

A light appeared in an upper room
And they heard her father roar,
‘By God, you’ll pay for your insolence,
I told you once before.’
He’d promised her to a Banker’s clerk
Who had paid him for her hand,
Though she had said that it wouldn’t work,
She had bowed to his command.

But then the couple had plotted,
He was sworn to break her free,
‘If anyone is to marry, it
Will just be you to me.’
They headed down to the water where
The sloop, ‘The Esperance’,
Was waiting for their arrival
Before sailing off to France.

It took an hour to set the sails
And wait for the tide to turn,
They hid themselves below the deck
In a cabin at the stern,
But soon the thunder of hoofbeats said
They must have been found out,
For then they heard her father’s call,
‘It’s best that you come out,’

He ventured slowly out on the deck
To reason with the man,
Then saw the flash of the powder that
Was loaded in the pan,
The ball cut straight through his windpipe,
Left him sprawling on the deck,
While she was dragged from below, and screamed
‘All curses on your neck.’

He locked her into an attic room
And he wouldn’t let her out,
Though she would wail, and would scream at him,
And curse and yell, and shout,
She waited up till the early hours
Then she set her room alight,
The fire spread till they all were dead
From that single candlelight.

It sits as a blackened ruin now
With soot on the standing walls,
A testament to a daughter who
Refused to be overruled,
And still some nights when the moon is bright
There’s a whisper, close at hand,
‘I’ll come and collect you at midnight,
And we’ll leave, the way we planned.’

David Lewis Paget

Twilight and amber arrogance,
Gives clear expression, sans irreverence.
If my gaze were caught, would you reciprocate?
An exhibition of cream behind the rouge,
Dawns that archaic esperance.

So timeless the elegance yet reservation becomes you,
A reluctance to inquiry; you’re still burdened with virtue.
Let time behold the charms we so coolly converse,
Where smoldering embers revive at a whisper,
As if crawling from a hearse.

A flicker of light lines the color in your eyes,
Arise strings of blue, where well worn secrets reside.
At the precipice of finale, when the pieces are all played,
The queen takes his king,
And the plans have been laid.

We arrive where the fires light;
Clean sheets, light and cool.
Once embers now they ignite,
And your fingers run the wool,
I relinquish black silk,
And you trade for lace.
I surrender white cotton,
Then you keep the pace.
  
Analog half past morning, in the dark of the night,
An exuberant caress,
Both fierce yet polite,
It breeds that gentle potency,
With a shiver of delight.

So solemn and light; I arose,
And soon smells of cinnamon not rose
Filled the room which lay still;
scattered with clothes.

Now the rays kiss our sheets and climb silent up your toes,
They crawl warmly to your eyes and conclude,
That look of yours: it glows.

instead, they send me a glow of esperance
and expounding answers through the back of fireflies
which I now must entrap for further examination
like a sterile entomologist milling around
in the someday

blazing with unbridled wrath
the reason barred by all gods
only at nightfall disclosed
within my grasp but in the somewhere

preferably after the daytime shadows
have fueled my will in the antrum
a modest perishing cold revives splendidly
and I awake by the sound of my rumbles
from what seems to be one oblivious moment of eternity now

I swing an idly leg of my dented bed
pull the other inanimate carrier behind
she's here, whenever the eyes open
this time far back in the mirror right across
that stares back at me with those withered and dilated eyes
underneath two unilluminated crescents
uncertain, if she sobs or smiles
the night is nigh, better hurry

instead they send me a glow of esperance
and expounding answers through the back of fireflies
which I now must entrap for further examination
like a sterile entomologist milling around
in the someday

blazing with unbridled wrath
the reason barred by all gods
only at nightfall disclosed
within my grasp but in the somewhere

preferably after the daytime shadows
have fueled my will in the antrum
a modest perishing cold revives splendidly
and I awake by the sound of my rumbles
from what seems to be one oblivious moment of eternity now

so I swing an idly leg of my dented bed
pull the other inanimate carrier behind
she's here, whenever the eyes open
this time far back in the mirror right across
that stares back at me with those wizend and dilated eyes
underneath two unilluminated crescents
uncertain, if she sobs or smiles
the night is nigh, better hurry

I.
There are no pillars of fire to—
gather around; the clouds, they
deluge the prayers to and fro.
The deafened rumblings racing

the pouring torrents, as they
try to reach out, to answer,
and frown like morose protests,
like restless tantrums; and I—

I can only gasp for air.

Like salvations and unmet counsels.


II.
Remembrance follows ever-dearly;
shuffles carelessly amongst hasty—
coronations of dusted amber,
of dubious prints on the sand,

and it comes along, lavishly.
Esperance creeps tauntingly:
I wonder if it’s within me,
to reach out and sear the weave—

with conjoined hands, praying for air.

Like revising sextants and astrolabes.


III.
Dread is a candle in the dark,
nestled tightly into the fingers
and burrowed deeply into—
hands; they choose to hold on.

Blessed are the hands that harrow
and lean to the curtains of twilight,
to the lenses of hindsight:
merely debtors, to the fealty of morrow.

I can no longer grasp for air.

Like rainbows after a downpour, like chrysalides striking an impasse.

.

The night is a sanctum
for the unsettled thoughts
to linger
I plexure memories
into cobwebs of sillage

Trickling down my cavern,
venom of lies
gifted yore

I hang them as amulets
to elude cozen
But the ways of guile
can never be elucidated
they're protean in nature

You were the puzzle
I longed to unsnarl
Recounted chronicals
alew.

Thrum of your cordolium
struck me stiff
An open book I am
I let you in
clysmic your lesion heart.

Renewed in soaring spirits
you sung sonnets of love,
recited "Ain Soph"
the esperance of morrow.

Beguiled,
I lay my viridity bare.

Metamorphosed to your true self,
gloated in glee
"I am Siren,
lured you into my entrapment"

Walloped by your mordacious cruor
Stifled, my lips eat silence.

And now whenever I hear
the word 'Love'
All I see is
how damaged people are,
All I notice is
a hollow visage.