"feelest" poems
shukraan, for showing selflessness in a land of selfishness; and self wants. Thou art a soul, wandering alone, with the blood of a friend who seeks the unknown. As sadly woe constructs thy face.
Shukraan, mayest God almighty send thee his grace; when thou feelest no taste of love in thy mouth.
Shukraan, wherever mine friend thou shalt go, please know an ear thou hath here; to always lend it's hearing, and a soul to connect to for
Grasp and understanding.
Shukraan, thou art a ray from the wonderful creator, let not the world hook thee in its filth and vague papers, for the beauty is not outside; but in.
Shukraan, Shukraan mine poetic friend, show affection to woman and man, be thee the best thou canst; let not dark overtake thee, but let the light be thy own shadow.
Shukraan, dear Sarah, if seek God he shalt win all thy battles, none more tears or the morrows wherein fears art the normal; but where mercy, peace, joy, and happiness art the new.
Shukraan, mine friend;
Shukraan to thou O'
ploome.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©Sarah ahmed birthday dedication (aka Thepoet)
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
In thine aromatic causeway,
I wilt peregrinate thine
Soul, which is a hallway
That leads me to a railway
Of amour's finest tastes;
If tonight's the last night
Of mine, I seek to seest thy
Face, hold hand's, with
Grand plan's shaking
Rhymes as cosmos
Trace. Doing mine all to please thee-
To showeth thee mine many reasons;
With thee I am so graced.
I'm sorrowful mine dear,
Mine tears as year's stack dust to
Bones that waste.
I feelest out of place; out of thy arms.
I need thine enjoin, bring me close that I may feel thee, a warmth of charm. I want to be sent to heaven's stars, a place to fly and float, no devils or ghosts; nor any drunkard's bar's. Fain wilt I be to hold thy arm,
As the burn burns hard, and nothing negative may enter in. Babes of old, washed clean of sin, nothing to loose-all to gain and security to win. Making music with the sound's of ourn snoring.................
Under mystical spiritual willow trees. Heads aside another, connected brains of information-
Souls alike, forever a blessing. Love to flow wild, from the celestial beyond's dressing.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
I am in love, and in love with him;
I'll love him t'night, under th' moonbeams;
And who shall say-t'at he's really mean?
As far as I know, he's funny and keen;
I am but trapped, between his West' worlds;
Too polite for poems; too tactful for words.
I'm alive no more, by my Eastern wings;
Only a poem at nights; but none on mornings.
I seekest only him thus, with such eyes so blue;
A promise faint still, but delights so true.
I loved his yesterday, and shall do his tomorrow;
I loveth him like t'at-within th' very here and now.
Ah, but shall he ever perfectly know-
T'at I singeth his songs, and painteth his rainbow?
And should t'is lasting love ever transform;
I too wouldst change, I'd take any form.
I may not be within his green leaves;
But I'll 'ways be t'ere, even in his tears.
I am to be th' queen within his throne;
And owneth his secret, intended for my eyes alone.
His skin is even brighter than t'is sunny day;
His blue eyes were mine in dreams, and th' whole of today.
I am th' lover of his goods, th' charms of his bads;
I loveth him happily, and sacredly; in flesh and in all my head.
And whenst my soul he began to tease,
All I ever wanted was to share his kiss;
And by him I feelest but peace,
No dire annoyance, just one secret bliss;
And 'tis his lips t'at shall be my taste;
What a love t'at groweth-but never is in haste!
Ah, and I wanteth to taste just his watery breath;
So let's just hope t'at t'is world hath no death-
At least no death before he is mine;
Th' one I hath yearnt for, th' one on my mind;
And perhaps love canst be direly ill;
But none canst presume aught; nor what I might feel.
And whenst but cometh th' shriekings of fall;
Still 'tis his voice, t'at I loveth at all.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
I may still prefer death to loving him,
For ‘till death itself cometh, he may only live in my dream;
His eyes are a pair of panoramic twin oceans;
Too vengeful for poems, too tactful for words.
The owner of a heart I’th never seen;
But watched only t’is morning, as we sauntered along his roads.
Ah, he might be possess not a calm universe;
But still too solemn for a song-swift as he is, in my very verse!
I am a little butterfly trapped between his fair worlds,
I am his sunny heat, and my blood his chilly colds;
And as I strolled by him in t’is summer breeze,
All I ever wanted was to share his kiss;
For whenst he is upon me, all I duly feelest is mighty bliss;
I am deaf as a dead thorn-which liveth again, as he cometh again.
Yet as I'th said, all shall but fade in a blurred gasp;
For he is mine not, and might never dwell, within my weak grasp.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
I feelest the thunderstorm rolling in
As tis death is catching up with me;
The waves of brimstone, coldness and the depth of the dark sea
Awaiteth me below mine unworldly feet.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
Hark! I can hear the drifted voice;
And days that hath once passed away;
I merged with their bliss yesterday;
And today, I shall share their kiss.
Hark! About this lonesome vanity;
Be a string of insanity;
Unheard by those followed liars;
But more enhanced than the Sun's fires.
One about this stupidity;
Is that I feelest insane no more;
I paint, and drown in artistry;
I writ, and none sounds like before;
One about this insanity;
The swirling clouds and haze to me;
Wand'ring in circles about thee;
To be dead now, but ne'er be;
One about this strange clarity;
A fatal clause that shan't let me;
What a perfect calamity--
To draw me thus, to let me free!
How about if I drift away;
Leaving all that I hath today,
And the poems I writ--but again;
What shall be mine--o my friend?
To the sane, we are a disgrace;
To the sage, we are loneliness,
To the safe, we are dead and lost--
And such vain pictures, ah, ain't true!
What are those glad mortal lilacs;
What are burnt, prudent lavenders;
What is this life, I can't handle;
Why do all lovers look alike?
What are those crying little skies;
What is in their handsome blue eyes;
What is their fate that can be seen;
What has life meant, what has it been?
What is this shy nature to me;
What makes the cold Moon so bashful;
What does sound prejudice to be;
What do lies make, what is truthful?
What shall it mean to be just fine;
What does it mean to be in love;
What shall it mean to have a mind;
What does it mean to be enough?
What shall it mean to be pure;
What does it mean to be tortured;
What shall it mean to destroy;
What does it mean to have joy?
What shall it mean to be insane;
What does it mean to die--and live?
What shall it mean to take and give;
What does it mean to be human?
What shall it mean then, to be loved?
What does it mean to be tough;
What shall it mean to love again;
What does it mean to have a friend?
What shall it mean then, to love thee;
What does it mean to be with me;
For love is none that I can see;
Nor one my broken heart can be.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 10:24 PM UTC
The Sleeper sits among the shadows
Dark and dreary beneath the gallows
Go near him never still my dearest
Or else to slumber fall, I fearest.
Pray don't close thine eyes my dear,
Please, don't take to slumber
I know thine eyes are heavy
I know thy feelest weak
Pray, don't close thine eyes my dearest
Please, don't take to sleep.
Listen here my dearest, take to see and look
The Sleeper, he is waiting, there upon thy stoop.
Waiting, oh just waiting, for thou to givest in,
But dare ye not to let the Sleeper win.
Pray don't close thine eyes my dear,
Please, don't take to slumber
I know thine eyes are heavy
I know thy feelest weak
Pray, don't close thine eyes my dearest
Please, don't take to sleep.
He's at the door now, I hear the pounding;
The Sleeper's voice sickly resounding,
Calling out my name, my dear!
Calling me to sleep, I fear,
The dark so quietly surrounding.
Don't let me close mine eyes my dear!
Don't let me take to slumber.
Mine eyes are growing heavy,
My heart is growing weak...
Don't let me close mine eyes my dearest,
Pray, don't let me take to sleep.
9/6/14
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
How thou art fallen, in darkness torn
That hath bound thee in endless mourn
Feelest how the moon drowns in sea
A song of vengeance, tenderly
Thou art in silence wearing souls
A sullen night where lone bells toll
Thy sorrow draped in veils so dark
Yet speaks wisdom as its art
Seek, o seek the path in dream,
As a dawn comes to redeem.
Apr 9, 2025
Apr 9, 2025 at 3:50 AM UTC