Quick Ways of describing the moon with a poetic aptitude of felicity.

The silver glow struck my eyes, flowing through my body, making me stand in awe underneath itself.

The natural lighthouse guided my way through the haze, releasing my inner imagination.

The white hue echoed through the clouds, lighting up the stagnant air.

The whispy clouds covered the moon in a thin veil, concentrating their efforts on dismissing it's effort to shine.


Quick ways of describing the sun

The fiery ball of death awakened our planet with life, turning fire and flames into rivers and green grass.

The light felt warm against my skin, as I laid there, feeling the warm sun, trying to fathom the vast distances that lied between it and us.

The destroyer of worlds, the hellfire from above, the golden globe of hope and all things that are good, the ambiguous sphere of giving... The Sun

The Sky would not be blue, nor the grass green, nor would the cacophony of cold harsh winds batter against your house, as you sat reverent of the warm sphere, watching it's pubescent sunrise and it's aging sunset, as you behold, the greatness of the sun.


Quick Ways of describing the Universe

The bright stars shined through the sky, escalating man's need to know, to explore, pushing him to release his inner genius and become great.

The firmament sits there, a endless black chalkboard, smeared with nebulae and brushed with black holes, and glittered with stars.

The Earth sat there alone, waiting for consolation, waiting for a spark, and then she opened her eyes, and all the Universe was bestowed upon her, burning beauty into her brain and soul.

You.
You are the sunlight that filters through the leaves on the trees, leaving a golden warmth in patterns on the ground.
You are the smell of the earth after rain, rich with the musty aroma that brought memories back like rivers, or floods, or waterfalls.
You are the deepest part of the night. You are the silence. You are the soft sound of breathing in the moonlight.
You are the whispers like peppermint kisses on my tongue.
You are the stars, the velvet sky at night, the fiery sunrises, the clouds that drift like smoke.
You are the sand between my toes, you are the snow crunching under my feet.
And you are so beautiful. And you are gone.

Alikantus archetype of his astral travel just three days ago was crowned in Gaugamela...! It boils in hiding and uneasiness after lightening its fiery hooves by Lasithi's slippery Ierapetra in footsteps that seemed to be the same influxes of endeavors brought by Kanti from Crete, who pyrographed the Thracian soil before reaching the request for his address. . He turns to Medea, before arriving in Thrace after wandering through different places in search of protection and advice to protect his master Vernarth, while he underwent the last ****** libations of vivid Liliaceae and angiosperms encapsulated in his right pectoral, in the anonymous of Alikanto, asking Medea for a potion to be able to supply his master and deflate his breastplate, in order to use his Áspis Koilé breastplate in combat, since there were three days left for the duel. Medea arrived in the city of Athens on a stormy day, with a Dantean gray Fusco on the palm of the cliff, escaping previously, now near Abdera, in which the east proceeded to evacuate sooty plectrums to the west. As Medea looked up at the sky, she took a piece of feldspar anthracite to create aluminum javelins that Alikanto would have to carry on his return, along with the potions to deflate his infected pectoral. She painted the sky with gray lattice lines and subsequently lodged in his crooked loop. Signs could be seen from the infinite that came coupling in an alloy beam, whose countenance seemed to be a king ..., it was Aegean, who not only offered him hospitality but would bond with Medea in the hope that his sorceries would allow him to conceive a child despite his advanced age. The sorceress fulfilled her expectations, having a son they named Medo. When Theseus, Aegean's secret son, arrived in Athens willing to have his father recognize him as heir, Medea took him as a threat to the future of his son and tried to poison him. But Theseus discovered her, accusing her of committing horrible crimes and witchcraft, Medea had to flee again. In this crusade she had the assistance of Alikantus who transported her flying from Abdera, so as not to be captured and to be able to supplement the stews that Alikantus had requested, also with javelins that she had to take to Vernarth, to escort him from the splendorous injury.

The convulsed Sibyl Cimera customized the symbols of the arranged ceremonial, forging classic gestures of prodigality, and that nothing less was a cornucopia given to the Zephyrs of the Ultramundis, who revolutionized the boss around that trembled in the pickets of the stone dermis that dressed the walls of the final tubule of 103 meters. The channel nursed referred inclinations of Likantus who harassed, and customized the final discretion of Theseus, to finish with the folio of the descendant Aegean, breaching the sentence of his son, and avoiding him from his stepmother. In this coliseum, Theseus took root along with his mother Etra his, who did not reveal the name of his father until he was sixteen years old. At this age, Theseus was able to lift the stone, put on his father's sandals and sword, and begin his journey to Athens to be recognized as the king's son. From this obviousness, Vernarth in the Gaugamela arena dressed him in the Persikaia sandals, which made him whoever he was, and if he died you would take them seated to the altar of the Tristania comedies, where all that surreal surpasses the deep straits of reality, more than anything in racked muses in forced symptoms of paranoia or ****** Sybil, that mediated in the Arms of Christi, in the iconology of the Codex Raedus.

Vernarth sat on the edge of the Ultraworld and broke before the cosmos and the solitude that hid all the beings that floated in the gutter that collected him in his hiccup, in such a judgment that he refused all creations when he felt their laments, where the demons watched him from the darkness, fragilely pressing his meager occipital, attacking him in front of Medea, evading the Satanic circumscription, to contravene the agreement with Aegean. Perjure reigned in the doubts of tragedy sponsored by Komedia, marching in a victorious procession, and singing triumphs of tragic paranoid duality, enthroned in the martyrs of tribulation, and in the seed of the one who does not cease Ubis Tragediopathic, and in facts that speak of hunger of loneliness in every man immersed in the Ultraworld, as the only dimensional one who burns in his doubts and a frustrated Anastasia. Vernarth says "ekáthisan" and the Duoverse consequently of the Universe sat down to dry his tears, then Vernarth received from the darkness of the Ultraworld a golden light of Hippeis with an aura of Thessaly, where the krima or criminality occurred in three quarters lurk from Maceo to the confront him in the Arbela half hour. Vernarth self-compresses by giving up procrastination trials, and reconstructing severed bodies there, rather than isolating himself from his own souls and sins, with Hebrew souls of Nefesh root, who cling to phantasmagoric anxiety, decapitation of those who live exposing themselves in the solitude of the Ultraworld. The infrarenal sanctity of surrealism, inexorably surpasses any verse, if Lazarus here in the wind tunnel rises before Vernarth embracing him, and relieving Likantus' anguish to fulfill his mission for him.

Remember the indescribable insanity of our fiery love.

Remember the sensation of lips as I caressed your soft skin;

Remember how you melted in my arms as my breath warmed your ears in whisper.

Remember the goosebumps as my hands ran across your sweet delicate skin.

Remember the sweltering heat that rose as I opened your dress,

Remember the cool air stroking your smooth silk skin as it fell to the floor,

Remember the warmth of our bodies as I pressed you tightly flesh to flesh,

Remember that tingle as you clenched your legs while I nibbled your ear,

Remember the feeling of eternity as you slowly straddled me to the floor,

Remember the scent of our passion as we tantalized,

Remember the piercing trance of desire,

Remember the penetrating ecstasy of release as you reach your peak,

Remember the night you and I became a man and woman.

*** makes me hungry
love makes me tired
don't drive a car?
hard to get hired
got a few small jobs
don't think I'll be fired
moving hard and fast
coffee's got me wired
*** makes me hungry
love makes me tired
he had heavy kisses
fiery big hands
quick and fragile
stimulation bound
a starved hound
who likes to pound
deeper and deeper
wants me screaming
*** makes me hungry
love makes me tired

cold, wet gravel.
the heavy rain is set on the ground.
no longer making sound.
i'm taking a breath and closing my eyes.
my clothes are soaked, my arms spread wide.
lying on the paved road, no one beside me.
i tried to make myself love you.
i cried when i realized i don't.
and when i die, not just on the inside like i am now.
but when i die, my heart stopped and my remains burnt.
the air contains my ashes and i'm no longer here.
i fear my hold on your heart will fade.
and you will find a blade and cut free the ties.
and pry my cold fingers off your warm vessel.
i wrestle with thoughts of going into the dark.
and laying there until the spark of light shines through.
like a candle guiding me to safety i never knew.
you would be standing on the other side.
your arms spread wide, like a harbor for a struggling ship.
and when i go to grip your waist once more,
your figure drifts away, like waves from a shore.
and my ship sinks once more, like so many times before.
then my eyes tore open to see gray skies and an abandoned street.
it was just a dream of this death i keep seeming to cheat.
it seems i can't take a breath without regretting.
this is the perfect setting for a forgetting.
for me to reject all thoughts of you from my mind.
with the fresh air filling my lungs there are no pictures to remind.
remind me of you.
and you knew all along what you were doing.
trapping me like a fly to your web.
a tangled mess of web where many have been stuck before.
where you will **** the life out of every soul.
i payed my toll, i payed the price.
i thought my heart, mind and spirit would suffice.
but i was wrong, you keep finding a way to tug.
tug at my heart strings once more.
i fell like a leaf after cold grips the tree's core.
now the icy breath of winter is breaking down the door.
and i'm still falling, and the floor is still out of reach.
and you're still ******* my soul like a leech.
the world's a stage, and i'll play my roll.
my mask is pretty extravagant and hides my tears so well.
when i ask God to spare me, He points to hell.
He grabs my hand and joints it to His face.
His pity is nothing like His grace.
and i fall once again, but this time into the fiery lake.
and i scream out your name for you to follow.
to save me from this burning hollow.
but you gave no reply.
instead you turned as you waved goodbye.
you deny my existence, defy my name.
the flames rise around me.
you kiss the crimson cheek of the devil.
then her lips, then her neck.
flames licking me now as your tongue envelopes hers.
how you did it, i will never know.
you embrace her slow, thoughts of me nowhere to be found.
i am hell bound as you grasp pleasure's damnable hand.
my eyes expand, it was a dream once more.
i find i'm still lying on the paved, wet floor.
the heavy rain set on the ground.
no longer making sound.
and i look around, you are nowhere to be found.

a man knows the look of a woman's face when they know that she wants ***
as he stares straight into her fiery eyes
and wonder what's going to happen next

she lays her hands upon his chest
as she pushes him to the bed
then she goes undoes his pants
and starts to give him head

he lays with this look up on his face
a look of wondrous pleasure
as he looked at the woman who's making him feel this way
he tells her she's his treasure

as he erupts with a scream of passion
the feeling is so good
he tell oh how sweet she is
and not to be misunderstood

she gave him satisfaction
As he cuffed her in his arm
he tells her of the wonders power she had
like a mighty tornadic storm

she knew she made him happy
and satisfied him too
you just don't know how pleased she was
you just don't have no clue

the moral of the story
is to always please your man
and he will always appreciate you
and on his pedestal you will stand

I lie in bed, awake and watching  
the dark night sky stretched wide,  
as stars like diamonds catch my eye.  
The hours pass in a gentle drift  
until dawn begins its colourful shift,  
as sunlight breaches the eastern rim,
it's fiery orange rays reach out and skim
and the warmth bleeds out across the dark,  
as I watch the sunrise paint its arc.  
Then the morning mist creeps in all grey,  
and clouds roll in on winds of change,
cooling the sky and dulling the blaze,  
as daylight arrives in a steely blue haze.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Back to part two
O ya thought i was through
Im not through with you
Break down your crew
Leave em stuck like glue
No clue
My mind surpasses the highest IQ
Of the wisest scientist
Aint no defyin' this im ludicrous
But at the same time perilous and mysterious
Watch how quick my reaction bust
Im a demi god evil as ******
My syndication thicker than
Louisana fog my mind jogs
Faster than the speed of light
Blast through rhymes like a rocket flight
That means outta space
Get it naw forget it
By the time u catch on you'll
Be admitted
IN ICU
Doing intensive surgery and the clergy
Prepared for ya weak will an.eulogy
My philosophy is embraced with agony
Suffering n pain i go against the grain
Harder than *******
In the pauper neighborhood
You wish you could
Flow like me like mike everybody
Wanna be like me picture me
On mt olympus spittin' flows ridiculous
Even had the dead hearing us
rolling in graves
My fiery tongues leave ya skin scorned
And grazed like in the last days
Urgin' for ya soul to be saved
Im not well behaved
I radiate the sun with my own beam rays
******* go astray everday they jam K
But dont know im a protege of him
So they just lay
Low waiting for my.blow
hit ya harder than tyson combined with tsunami in japan
Makin' money that surpasses the average man
King Solomon heir entice terror of the new era
Step into my cage i dare ya
I go through propellers without touchin'
Double clutchin'
My grips on  money so it aint nothing
Always into something
Like nwa all for gun play
Im the seed of demon feedin' on your territorial region
Leave your country bleedin'
I was banned from the garden of Eden
Who do you believe in??
God or me none can pass me
Blast me and I'll split up to three
I'm trinity
God the father and the son the dangerous
One infinite continuum
By the time you'll figure out
You'll still he lost in my magnificent
conundrum

The fire is lit
The rain irrelevant.
People surrounding trying to bring upon the burs,
But the fire unalterable.
Toasting the air with every deep inhale.
You assure me with your warmth
We see the spark of every enduring flame
The cold chill of winter ceased to exist
Nothing can rid the fiery heat
of this beautiful fireplace of each other.

I have tried to embraced death once
It had left me numb
Turned out
Oliver twisted & entranced
No tingle
No storybook hope
For a reunion with love
Tuppenance or parlance
Of a mum tongue

Left alone
Responsible
For my actions
Of course
& the actions of those before me
Re-course undoubtedly
Them that dost the shaping
The future representatives
Left Inconsequentially

I imagine what kindling kinship must think
Of my timely deliverance
& movement
How sorry they felt
Discarding my relevance
Like an apple fallen
Far from the tree & left in sight of bruising

Not enough baggage
I am afraid
For the life
Alone
Absent to the words
Without her
Pre-setting & upsetting my dial tone
& how I came to find me
Losing bout to bout
When facing failure & the unknown
Buried in that water
Like the stomach & lungs of the forgotten
Gasping for air in the murk
Choking on chipped teeth & promises
Inaudible moan

Stillness
Have yet to touch death
Only been manipulated
By It's fiery folds
In that water
Beneath the moss
Lies that certainty
I will never know
For who does this child belong too
& I am still just a nervous kid
In lackadaisical search of atonement
Afraid of his own place in the universe
The state
The town
This conversation
& that moment

That which brought you
To your
How can I say resting place
You do not nap
You take loans out on heart strings
You were taken from the factory line
Post haste
Unfit for full scaled production
Shoveled
& packaged antiquity
Into that burden laced case
Left beneath a woman
Or above the boy
You never could face

No it doesnt help to think
Every map I disregarded
Every opportunity to love
I avoided
Cause of me & myself & the departed

But maybe I know
Something you don't
I am alive
& still full of the shocks
& pangs
Shocks of what I will
The pangs of what I won't

Now* whispers the serpent, do you feel my pain?

What pain? I ask, fearing it's response.

Oh child, dear, you are still blinded

Blinded? But my tears were as red as the embers of burning coal! I felt them burn as they slid down my guilt ridden face. These tears, you said, would let me see.

Ah. Only you can cure yourself, I have not that power.

Yet you have the power of temptation, to show me my flaws, my insecurities. To point out every little thing I've done wrong. Saying the thing I should've said, in the stories you repeat over and over! I scream.

I am a figment of your imagination. You tempt yourself my darling.
You have the power

I have no such power, you underestimate my abilities. If I could stop it I would!!

No you wouldn't Deep fiery glow radiates from the sly serpent's eyes.
*You like it too much

it's a faint scent that always
carries me back.
i see only a glowing blue,
a blue spark given to me by you
subtly catching tired eyes,
gently whispered lullabies,
singing, twisting, encrypting
everything i say.

nevermind, that my dear
it's really hard to stay clear.
i'm floating in and out of memories.
dreams stolen by lonely company.
it's okay though,
perhaps they need them more than i do.

it's fall again.
eyes in full swing business
orange, fiery chaos.
breathe deep. cool and fresh,
  October air.

how can i tell you,
when my chest is a dusty,
ill ridden fissure.
hollow, empty
echos.
echos.
walls painted with unbelievable
smiles
depression compression within these dark places.
is it too late to call your name?

im back now.
tattered and worn
open book, tired of language
Sleepy eyes, close themselves.
Should I compromise?
Maybe just let it happen..
meek, but never weak.

goodnight, good night.
music interjects.
a perfect time to start over
cool and fresh.

I

I still exist in your symmetry,
In your crystals, in your lines
There is a secret history;
A passing of marble and bronze
I leave my room and here I am,
Surrounded by the fake daylight
Memory still exists on the most
Aged asphalt and white plaster
Weighed by a sadness older than age itself
As time sags their wooden frames

Then there the fire begins
It burns with fury and rage;
My artificial paradise departs from me
As I gather what I can from ash
They remain unamended and raw
In their original, solid state
I begin to mark each line of sweat
The strands on my head now aflame;
Fiery hands remove all of me minus heart
Left with my frail bones that rattle, alone

As my spirit departs the scorched crust
I dust away at my improvised grave;
I carry myself to the edge of time
Vanished, no longer to be found.


II

The quietness after a harsh panic
Paints the ordinated New Age
There regrows the willows where
We are off to sleep;
I mix the soil with our love
It grows and grows and grows;
Their strands a brilliant green
It comes and joins me
My hair becomes the willow
Where I still hear you, asleep

There I flee to the ocean
Your memory amongst the particles of salt
The water’s ephemeral substance
Their fluidity draws me in
I am drawn in by the cool water
My skin slowly becomes blue;
My eyes replaced with worn, ancient shells
My hair a bundle of slippery kelp
I molt in the clear, wide expanse
As you consume me

And now in the darkness
You rejoin me again on the sea floor;
Again, grows the willow
The marker of our joint grave.

Paradise, 2018

Default mode is quiet
Thoughtful. Often
mistsken for aloof.

But I’ve seen glimpses,
Crackle campfire flames,
wisdom behind frames.

Old soul remembering
Everything today forgot.

Intermittent expressions of
Vitality, torture, and love.

And today as she rests
I send a few texts
Fanning fiery memories.

I know she smiles when she reads
These casual truths: pretty ****,
Show-stopping smile and eyes.

As time goes by,
Timing remains awry
But she’ll always
Reside in my mind.

He perches in the slime, inert,
Bedaubed with iridescent dirt.
The oil upon the puddles dries
To colours like a peacock’s eyes,
And half-submerged tomato-cans
Shine scaly, as leviathans
Oozily crawling through the mud.
The ground is here and there bestud
With lumps of only part-burned coal.
His duty is to glean the whole,
To pick them from the filth, each one,
To hoard them for the hidden sun
Which glows within each fiery core
And waits to be made free once more.
Their sharp and glistening edges cut
His stiffened fingers. Through the ****
Gleam red the wounds which will not shut.
Wet through and shivering he kneels
And digs the slippery coals; like eels
They slide about. His force all spent,
He counts his small accomplishment.
A half-a-dozen clinker-coals
Which still have fire in their souls.
Fire! And in his thought there burns
The topaz fire of votive urns.
He sees it fling from hill to hill,
And still consumed, is burning still.
Higher and higher leaps the flame,
The smoke an ever-shifting frame.
He sees a Spanish Castle old,
With silver steps and paths of gold.
From myrtle bowers comes the plash
Of fountains, and the emerald flash
Of parrots in the orange trees,
Whose blossoms pasture humming bees.
He knows he feeds the urns whose smoke
Bears visions, that his master-stroke
Is out of dirt and misery
To light the fire of poesy.
He sees the glory, yet he knows
That others cannot see his shows.
To them his smoke is sightless, black,
His votive vessels but a pack
Of old discarded shards, his fire
A peddler’s; still to him the pyre
Is incensed, an enduring goal!
He sighs and grubs another coal.

by Arcassin Burnham


Chill as the cold long winters sending rodents
into hibernation scraping knees and keeping
secrets minding your own **** business in a
city full of snakes where everyone knows your
name and all of your whereabouts with the most
currents doubts and rumors they hear from people,
but I'm just keeping it wavy,
but I'm just keeping it wavy,
but I'm just keeping it wavy,
i swear, I'm playing it safely,
A lot of people ,they hate me,
happened before but it will not phase me,

but I'm just keeping it wavy,
                                                          but I'm just keeping it wavy,


its too late to save who I was , not in this distant future,
memories will remain so vivid like scarring kama sutra,
vulnerable like taking my life to get me out of this hell,
cutting down barriers in life won't stop me getting to you,
look at me i'm ,done with this,
was a troubled kid with fiery mist,
hard enough to become a pacifist,
life tried to hit me with the dodge ball , but it missed,
deep memories with fake people and the fake smiles,
won't tolerate the **** when i create my first child,
but I'm just keeping it wavy,

but I'm just keeping it wavy,
but I'm just keeping it wavy,
i swear, I'm playing it safely,
A lot of people ,they hate me,
happened before but it will not phase me,
but I'm just keeping it wavy,
                                                         but I'm just keeping it wavy.

Book One


Prelude:

As Romans before them, they built the city upward—
layer ‘pon layer as the polar caps receded
layer by layer—preserving what they could, if someday
the waters may recede back into the former polar
ice caps; restoring the long inundated coastlines.


Home:

A man sat upon a tall pub stool stroking
his ginger beard while grasping a pint loosely
in his other hand. An elderly gent stood
next to him. The older gentleman noticed
that the ginger bearded man’s pint sat almost
quite near the bottom of its tulip glass.

A woman with eyes of amber and hair
as chestnut strolled through a vineyard amongst
the ripening grapes full of juice to soon
become wine. She clutched a notebook—behind (10)
thick black covers lay ideas and sketches
to bring the world to a more natural
state—balancing the wonders and the merits
of technology apace with the allure ‘n’
sanctity borne to the natural world.

When the ginger bearded man finished the
final drops of his stout, another appeared
heretofore him—courtesy owed to the elder
gentleman. “Notice dat ye got d’ mark
o’ a man accustom amid the seas,” (20)
he inferred; gesturing the black and blue
compass rose inscribed inside a ship’s wheel,
imbedded into the back of the ginger
bearded man’s weathered right hand.
                 “I have crewed
and skippered a many fine vessel, but I
am renouncing my life at sea—one final
voyage I have left inside of me:
one single terminal Irish-Atlantic
voyage t’ward home.” (30)
“Aye d’ sea can beh cold
‘nd harsh, but she enchants me heart. Ta where
are ye headed fer d’ place ye call home,
d’ere sonny boy?”
     “’tis not simply a where,
‘tis a who. Certain events have led me
to be separate from my wife. For five
eternal years I have been traveling—
waiting to be in her embrace. The force
of the Sea, she, is a cruel one. For (40)
it seams: at every tack or gybe the farther
off I am thrown from my homeward direction
to stranger and stranger lands… I have gone
to the graveyard of hell and the pearly gates
of (the so called) heaven; I have engaged
in foolhardy deals—made bets only a
gambling addict would place. All to just be
with Zara. I am homesick—Zara is my
home—it doesn’t matter where (physically)
we are located, my home is with Zara. I (50)
was advised to draw nigh the clove of Cork
and wait; wait for a man, but I was barely
given a clue as to who this man is,
only I must return him this:” the ginger
bearded man held out a dull silver pocket watch
with a frigate cut into the front cover
and two roses sharing a single stem
swirling upon themselves cut into
the back.
   “Can it be? ‘Tis meh watch dat meh (60)
fat’er gave t’ meh right before he died…
I lost it at sea many a year ago.
It left meh heartbroken—fer it was meh only
lasting mem’ry of him… Come to t’ink I
was told by a beggar in the street—I
do not remember how long ago—dat
I would happen across a man wit’ somet’ing
dear t’ meh, and I’d accomp’ny dis man
on a journey, and dis man would have upon
‘im d’ mark of a true sailor…” (70)
    “Dear elder man,
my name is Abraham; the mark you see
represents the control that I have on my
direction—thought it appears the Sea retains
some ascendancy… Yet now, it appears,
the Sea is upholding her bargain—though
a bit late... Do you, by chance, own a vessel
that can fair to Colorado?—all across
this mist’d island no skipper ‘ll uptake
my plea; they fear the sharp wrath of the Sea (80)
or (if they have no fear) simply claim my home
‘is not on their routes…’ i’tis a line I’ve
heard too often. I would’ve purchased a vessel,
but the Sea, she, has deprived me completely
of my identity and equity.”

Zara, with her rich chestnut hair sat upon
a fountain in a piazza—her half empty
heart longing to savor the hallow presence
of Abraham, and stroke his ginger beard…
Everyday she would look out at the sea (90)
whence he left…
     All encouraged her to: “forgo
further pursuit”; “he is likely deceased
by now”—his vessel (what left) scuttled amidst
the rocks of Cape Horn, yet Zara could feel
deep-seated inside her soul he is alive;
Alive (somewhere) fighting to return home.
Never would Zara leave; never would she
abandon post; she made that promise five
years ago as Abraham, ‘n’ his crew,
set out on their final voyage; and she (100)
would be ****** ere she broke her promise—a promise
of the heart—a promise of love. Abraham
said: “You are my lighthouse; your love, it, will guide
me home—keep me from danger—as long as you
remain my lighthouse, I’ll forever be
set to return home—return home to you.”

Out from Crosshaven did the old man take
steadfast Abraham en route to his home.
Grey Irish skies turned blue as they made their
way out on the Irish Sea, southwest, toward (110)
the southern end of the Appalachian Island.
The gentle biting spray of the waves breaking
over the bow and beam moistened the ginger
bearded face of Abraham; his tattooed
hands grasped the helm—his resolute stare kept him
and the old man acutely on course.
A shame,
it struck the old man, this would be the final
voyage of Abraham… he: the best crew
that the old man had ever came across; (120)
uncertain if simply the character
of Abraham or his pers’nal desire
to return home in the wake of five long
salty-cold years—a vassal to the Sea
and her changing whim. Never had the old
man seen his ship sail as fast as he did when
Abraham accorded its deck—each sail
set without flaw: easing and trimming sheets
fractions of an inch—purely to obtain
the slightest gain in speed; the display warmed (130)
the heart of the old man.
        And thus the elder
gent mused as he lightly puffed on his pipe
while sitting on the stern pulpit regarding
at Abraham’s passion to return home
(as he calls her):—maybe dis is d’ reason
d’ Sea has fought so hard, and lied, t’ keep
Abraham from returning home… Could not
bear t’ lose such fine a sailor from her
expanses—she is known t’ be quite a jealous (140)
mistress…
      But for all Abraham’s will and passion,
the old man insisted for the fellow
to rest; otherwise lack of sleep would cause
the REM fiddler to reap his debt—replace
clarity of mind with opacity.
Reluctantly stalwart Abraham gave
in and retire below deck—yet the old
man doubted the amount of rest that he
acquired in those moments out of his sight. (150)

For the days, then weeks, in the wake of their
departure from the port-island Crosshaven,
the seas were calm as open water can:
gentle azure rolling swells oscillated
and helped impel the vessel forward. The southern
craggy cape of the Appalachian
Island pierced the horizon. Like a threshold
it stood for Abraham—a major landmark;
the closest to home he had been in five
salty long years—his limbo was beginning                               (160)
to fade, his heart slowly—for the first time since
he left port in eastern Colorado—
started to feel replete again. The Great
Plains Sea—his final sea—he would not miss
the gleam of his lighthouse stalwart on shore.




Book Two

Oracle:**

Upon a beach, Abraham found himself alone—gasping
in gulps of moist air like that of a new born baby first (10)
experiencing the breathe of life; he felt as if he
would never become dry again… the salt burning his skin
as it crusted over when the water evap’rated
into the air; Abraham took the first night to rest, the
next day he set to make shelter and wait for a rescue
crew; out he stared at the crashing waves hoping for a plane
or faint form of a ship upon the horizon…days and
nights spun into an alternating display of day then
night: light then dark—light, dark, light, dark, grey, grey, grey…

Abraham (20)
gave up marking the days—realized the searches are done—
given up after looking in the wrong places (even
he did not know where he was…) the cold waves and currents took
him to a safe shore away from his ship and crew, in a
limp unconscious float…
From the trees, and what he could find on
the small  island, Abraham occupied himself with the
task of building a catamaran to rid himself of
the grey-waiting.
Out he cast his meager vessel into (30)
the battering surf; waves broke over his bows and centre
platform—each foot forward, the waves threatened to push him back
twofold… Abraham struck-beat the water with the oars he
fashioned; rising and falling with the energy of the
waves; Abraham stole brief looks back with hopes of a van’shing
shoreline—coast refused to vanish… his drenched arms grew tired;
yet he pushed on knowing he would soon be out passed the
breaking waves; then could relax and hoist sail; yet the waves grew
taller—broke with greater power… Abraham struck-beat the
water with his oars—anger welled—leading to splashes of (40)
ivory sea-froth instead of the desired progress
forward; eventually, his arms fell limp beyond the
force of will… waves tumbled him back to shore as he did the
first night upon the island…
Dejected Abraham lay
in the surf that night—the gentle ebb of the sea added
to insult, but hid the tears formed in the corner of his eyes—
salt water to salt water… the next day Abraham took
inventory of damage: the mast snapped in multiple
places, the rudders askew—the hulls and centre structure (50)
remained intact; the oars lost (or at least Abraham cared
not to search); over the next weeks he set to improve
the design and efficiency of his vessel—the first
had been hurried and that of a man desperate to leave;
the bare minimum that would suffice—he set to create
a vessel to ensure his departure from the des’late
accrue of sand and vegetation; Abraham laboured
to strengthen his body—pushing his arms further passed the
point his mind believed they could go—consuming the hearty,
protein-rich, mollusks, and small shellfish he could find inside (60)
tide pools or shallows—if lucky, larger fish that dared the
nearby reefs.
Patiently, Abraham observed the tides and
breaking water; he wanted to determine the correct
time to set off to ensure success—when the waves would not
toss him back to the beach; the day: a calm clear day—only
within few metres of soft beach did there exist any
breaking waves, and those that broke were barely a metre high;
loading provisions upon the vessel, Abraham bid
farewell to the island (out of wont for the sustenance (70)
it gave not for nostalgia) grasping his oars, he set forth
to find open sea—where the waves do not break and set you
gingerly on foreign shore(s); Abraham paddled passed the
first few breaking waves, his heart pounding with hope—he stifled
the thoughts (celebrate when the island is but a subtle
blue curve upon the horizon); as the island began
to shrink in his vision, the sky to his back grew darker…
the waves started to swell—moguls grew to hills—Abraham
stroked up and rode down; the cursèd Island refused to shrink…
if not begin to grow wider… stroke by stroke Abraham (80)
grew frustrated—stroke by stroke frustration advanced into
anger—stroke by stroke anger augmented into fiery
beating of the water!—Abraham struck and struck at the
Sea—eyes closed—white knuckles—trashing!—unsure which direction
he paddled…sky pitch-black, wind blowing on-shore Abraham
bellowed out to the Sea in inarticulate roars of:
hatefrustrationpitydesperationheartache!
Towards
Abraham’s in-linguistic roar, the sky let out a crack
of authority! a wave swept the flailing Abraham (90)
into the ocean—cool water only heated the rage
in Abraham’s mind—his half empty heart only wanted:
to sail home, become whole  again—sit under and olive
tree and stroke the chestnut hair of Zara as she drifted
off to sleep on his chest while he would whisper sweet verses
into her ear… Abraham’s rage, beyond reason, forgot
the boat and all clarity, he tried to swim away from
the cursèd island—scrambling up waves only to tumble
back with their breaking peaks—salt, the only taste in his mouth;
churning his stomach to *****; his kidney’s praying he (100)
would  not swallow anymore… his gasps stifled any curse
Abraham’s head wished to expel onto the Sea—yet she
swore she heard one final curse escape his lips! at that the
Sea tossed Abraham (head first) into his ghost-helmed vessel—
all went dark for hostile Abraham…

Contemplating back
at his rage—knowing the barbarian it makes of him,
Abraham peered into the band inscribed into his
ring-finger and saw the knot tying him to Zara—shame
at his arrogant-uncontrolled-fury sent Abraham (110)
into a meditative exile inside of his mind
(within the exile of the island…) in his mental
exile Abraham spun into deeper despair at his
two failures—even more at the prospect of failing the
vow he professed onto Zara: return home—home from this
final voyage, grow old with her on solid ground, never
to die apart and cause the pain of losing a loved one
without the closure of truly knowing the death is real,
to die by her side white, white with the purity of age…
Abraham’s destitution turned inward—his fury, the (120)
lack of control, the demon he becomes when rage surges
through his muscles; equiping him with untamed strength without
direction or self-possession—so much potential, yet
no productive way to use it… Abraham’s half-full-heart
burned, ached with passion and anguish—all desire
focused on home, his return, but the mind’s despondency
and insistent ‘what-ifs’ kept poor Abraham prostrate in
his mental cave—all his wishing for anger and vi’lence
to force his will, it did more to retain him upon the
cursèd island than bring his heart closer to fulfillment: (130)
his long awaited home…
Out of his mental exile did
Abraham’s irises dilate and contract with blinding
illumination—self-pity is not what make things happen—
it would only serve to anger Zara—nothing other
than I can be to blame for my continued absence; I
am stronger than that!—looking at the tattoo in his hand,
he remembered the reasons for the perennial brand—
the eight-spoke ship’s helm: the eight-fold-path—I must cut off my
desire for anger to be the solution and focus (140)
on the one path to Zara—the mind can push the body
further than the body believes is possible—the star:
the compass to guide me via celestial bodies
to where my heart can see the guiding beam of my lighthouse!

Under touch of your sweet lips I tend to become
light like a feather in the wind of poet's words,
ideas of goodness and beauty,
communion of souls,
love at first sight,
lady at ball of your singing thoughts,
wild appeal of nature of my instincts,
flame of lanterns illuminating imperceptible printing,
baton in hands of conductor absorbed with scores of your words,
peak overlooking creek of sensitive words,
coffee in your cup thirsty for your mouth,
doctrine of the love of God,
exchange of secret informations,
lunar-dating scenario of joint moments,
spell of love put on your mad from sensations soul,
strait connecting the continents of inexpressible feelings of pleasure,
steepest roller coaster of short-sighted thoughts on the run,
the loudest cry for the right to vote on the bond of souls,
the hottest desert crying for rain of sweaty bodies.

I want to dance with you in convulsions of the fullness.
I find my beginning and end in falling in love.
I think about us as ****** art of two met souls.

Write me a thousand fiery love letters
before we disappear from unsaturated cards of infatuation.
Talk to me Shakespearean verses
before we close lips in inspired kiss.
Dazzle nightingale with music of our souls,
before mistuning breaks the song.
Put my every breath in the depths of your arms
before forthcoming dawn of unrestrained passions.
Cry a river over my every angry glance
before ***** of spike of another sleepless night.
Knock on the door of God's heavenly court
before you go down from ecstatic clouds to the ground.
Tell the angels about our eternal love
before they don't protect us from designated mistakes.
Sing with the echo to my dreams
before lonely lullaby of distant places lulls me.
Share with me bread of trust
before loved ones feed with crumbs of our love.
Do not prevail over your raging storm of senses
before my smell disappears behind closed doors.
Avoid presence of doubt in fairies and unicorns
before we get to the promised land.
Dress for me flowery dresses
before greedy ice capture all waters.

home:

my house is hell, its the fiery pit we all call hell.
my family is the devil, and I'm its victim.
the "devil" likes to throw everything its got at me making remarks and pointing out everything I do, just making me remember every second of my pathetic life,  that my home really is hell.
I get home from the prison they call school and get off the bus to hell, not expecting what the devil will do to me this time.
my devils see who I really am as a bunch of lies.
they question me as a person every single day.
I have to face not one devil, but three.
I wish I could avoid all of my devils, but hell, I ain't gonna get rejoice in my lifetime.
I have made no decisions that would put me in heaven nor in hell when I die, but I live in hell, I learn at hell, and I deal with the devil day by day of my life.
there is no god in my life, there is no light at the end of the tunnel; its just a dark inferno hell.
you may question the decisions you make all the time because it may be the difference of heaven or hell, but that does not apply to me, I already live in hell, and there's no way I'm getting out of the devils wrath.
the smoke of hell chokes me, leaving me to gasp for air when there is no mercy.
to me, hell is like Harry Houdini ready to escape from his magical glass box, only that I'm not Houdini, so there's really no way of escaping.
I am trapped, suffering from the lack of water and air. Houdini had it easy, he could actually escape.
but unlike him, there's no way out of hell.
the devils take your soul and with the touch of there hands, the piercing stab of there words, insults, arguments, it turns your heart cold, limp, lifeless, numb.
but home isn't my only hell.
day by day; I live in a personal hell being mocked, ridiculed for my mistakes, just torn to shreds
. every step I take is burning the soles of my shoes; my feet.
no matter how far away from home I am, I'm still in hell

Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
I can’t breathe right anymore,
Ever since I've found myself
Beating down the Devils door.

“Beelzebub, Satan!
Let me in
I can’t keep running,
Father of Sin”

Trip
Trip
Trip
I can’t feel my feet touch the ground,
I’m only aware
Of this insane
ripping sound.

Barren
Barren
Barren
Looking up to the sky
I can’t help but cry,
“Lucifer what have you done
It seems heaven’s run dry!”

Empty
Empty
Empty
“Oh no, you Old Serpent!
I’m afraid my insides are out,
How can I proceed
With my intestines strewn about?”

Slip
Slip
Slip
I can not take this,
My head is pounding,
Every sound resounding,
This head ache is a killer.
I only complain
About this tension in my brain,
Since for organs
I've already found a Filler.

As the ground cackles open,
(“Look who finally answered the door!
Antichrist, you Tempter, did you not hear me knocking before?”)
I see one small problem,
A phantom tickle, a teasing *****,
For in all of my life
I've never been this famished, that I can assure!

Inhale
Inhale
Inhale
The world into my now vacuous
Gaping hole of a stomach,
A true bottomless pit.
For I will not leave this life
With nothing to show for it!

No more stars, I will keep them for myself,
let the moon shine it's dull light
in the spotlight,
with no one to share it's empty stage.

And maybe now,
Converter of Angels,
With the universe stored safely
Within the wormhole in my body,
My gaping wound,
Personification of ******,
Maybe now,
With Star-Filled-Guts
I will shine again.

The fiery sparks of hell
Will be no match for the likes of me,
For all who dare look
Will be blinded instantly.
I’ll be so incandescent
You’ll see me from afar
For haven’t you heard, Fallen Angel?
I’m Hell’s North Star.

They warned me about you.

"But he's a gentleman", I argued,
So he's the one I pursued.

Opened doors, brought flowers,
It was like he had the magic touch of love powers.

Went on long walks on the beach,
When I needed him he was always in reach.

They say the first years of marriage is joyful,
But mine quickly turned into something quite horrible.

They warned me about you.

You see love is blind,
That might be the reason why I pushed the pain aside.

Closed my eyes to the aching hurt and pain,
Opened them to the love I thought would remain.

Followed him around like a lost puppy,
How could I've been so stupid... now I'm left unhappy.

They warned me about you.

But now it's too late to leave,
The love that was once there, to that I'll forever cleave.

Because I rather feel hurt from you than nothing at all,
You ripped my fragile heart out of my chest and made it fall.

But if loving you is wrong
Then I prefer to be wrong forever,
Because on our wedding you vowed to leave me never.

They warned me about you.

So with this ring I take us both to the fiery grave,  I don't want us to be detached,
You're asleep, I locked the doors and strike the match.

I've realised that you will never learn,
So together we'll be, until death do our souls burn.

They warned me about you.
                   ~Gabbriella with 2 b's~

She will tame me, she cant blame me, when I put a smile upon her face.
He will paw me, he will claw me, but there's still an empty space.
Slow haunting whispers, I can feel her on my ear.
His breath, his warmth, the ever growing fear.

...Like a simpson, I change colour
The ink seeps on to the floor.

Do I stay and feel heart ache?
Or open that cage door?

He comes closer, puts his head against my heart,
A gentle pur, a silent thump, a misfit in the dark.
I reach out, then pull back, scared of his loathsome bite,
Not for lust, or need, or want, but an unworded fight.

It grows within me, like the locks on his mane,
Entwining round, engulfing me; is this what you call sane?
He bares his teeth, but not in anger, a gentle, sweet, supression,
Our eyes will lock, a growl will pass...

A fiery-tempered tension


-----------

Credit to Sarah Larking, who wrote this with me.

One tiny fiery ant
with a tiny wand,
deftly conducted
a grand orchestra of
ants with varied talents,
resulting in a musical storm,
unheard of in the
craggy ant world before.

The ants with diaphanous wings
smug, complacent dandies
that counted themselves
nothing less than regal
buzzing above unaware
of  this magic electrifying
the land of ordinary ants below,
but had a hunch somehow
wondered:
"Are we missing out
on some fine thing
ants like us should aspire for
or is it just a feeling
without any basis?"

I sneak inside your mind
and tiptoe amongst
the broken glass
skirting around
disassociated thoughts
watching arguments
you thought you lost
sitting in the bleachers
of the upper reaches
of your subconsciousness

I find
I'm not the only spectator
that dwells within
your mind

you sit next to me
****** bare feet
you whisper softly
you're in for a treat

See that white knight
upon that fiery steed
that's you
waiting, for me

Waiting for the battle
sitting so calm
here I come
upon the darkest horse
ready to do you harm

I sat quietly in the stands
of your twisted tournament
holding onto your hand
waiting for spears to rend
skin from flesh
tear flesh from bone
waiting for blood to pour
from an empty wound

but the white knight
did not advance
just sat quietly
in saddle
waiting for a chance
for the black knight
to fall, stricken by
a ghostly lance
It was the white knights
chance, to catch him
as he tumbled
and fell

and there I dwell
inside your mind
you tumbled and fell
*I caught you in time

When our time comes,
float down like
autumn leaves.

Make our descents
with graceful pirouttes
guided by the soft winds;
empty branches will
leave behind reasons
for the fiery red that once laid
to be missed;
and light that seeps through
the hollow canopy shall
cleanse our fallen souls.

So when our time comes,
float down like autumn leaves.
Wear white gowns
that snowflakes weaved for us;
leave no more
footprints in the ground,
we've trampled on
their hearts enough;
bittersweet when they
think of us dancing above,
weightless and unrestrained.