"flatteries" poems - Hello Poetry

After the wolves and before the elms the bardic order ended in Ireland. Only a few remained to continue a dead art in a dying land: This is a man on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle. He has no comfort, no food and no future. He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by. His riddles and flatteries will have no reward. His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid. Reader of poems, lover of poetry— in case you thought this was a gentle art follow this man on a moonless night to the wretched bed he will have to make: The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree and burns in the rain. This is its home, its last frail shelter. All of it— Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before— falters into cadence before he sleeps: He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.

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6k

Eavan Boland

My Country in Darkness

After the wolves and before the elms the bardic order ended in Ireland. Only a few remained to continue a dead art in a dying land: This is a man on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle. He has no comfort, no food and no future. He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by. His riddles and flatteries will have no reward. His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid. Reader of poems, lover of poetry— in case you thought this was a gentle art follow this man on a moonless night to the wretched bed he will have to make: The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree and burns in the rain. This is its home, its last frail shelter. All of it— Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before— falters into cadence before he sleeps: He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.

20

Long days seem so much longer. Distance does not make the heart grow fonder. You’ve conquered the empire of my subconscious. Your crusade so short, Yet I hope your reign continues for eons. We’re far past passive flatteries, Instead, we fill each other’s hearts with vows. You mean them now, But what about a few months? What if you decide I’m not what you want? The torment I am slowly approaching, Consumes my distant soul. I can hear the sounds of futuristic loathing, From when you decide this love has taken it’s toll. So tell me. How can I pay this inevitable toll? How can I save us from Cupid’s malicious tyranny? His arrow is too far lodged within me, I cannot remove it. I can only push it farther and farther Into my heart until it falls out of my back. But this arrow, trenchant. Cupid, the sharpest of marksmen. Yet colorblind, he is. He sees not what colors his targets represent. He draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship. Sometimes, yet not often, He will hit the intended target. But the odds are scarce. His subjects are often punctured, And connected to one whom reciprocated Fate’s desire. Yet this time… This time… Cupid must have hit a target of Fate’s approval. For thrice he has missed. This time He and Fate are in sync. This wound may stretch over time, But the arrow shall remain firmly lodged within my ***** ***** and immovable. Until you kick it through my backside. But until then, I can only endure. I can only be woo wounded. I can only survive, Another ambush of the militant called Cupid. But I will do it for you, For by you, I’ve been so divinely seduced. Wooed by your lips. Not by your kiss, But by the music, Which your mandibles so express. I desire not to seal this wound, But to evade its’ repercussions. For I have endured a similar wound thrice. He is winged as if an angel, Yet Was Lucifer not once an angel as well? Cupid is an impostor. A spy of Agony, himself. He prays on the young, the old, the strong, and the weak. He cares not who he obliterates in his crusades. He is a bloodthirsty heathen. He makes scoundrels of Saints, And Harlots of Housewives. Saint Valentine is no Saint. He is Satan’s nightmare. At first, his arrows are ecstasy, But like a cancer, His poison-saturated arrows Seep deep within every crevice of your body. They consume you as if enriched with ****** And eventually rot within your ***** Until it is nothing but dust and a memory. One day I will assassinate Fate’s Malicious militant, The one we call Cupid.

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Oct 31, 2012

Oct 31, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC

canaan-massie

Fate's Malicious Militant, Cupid.

Long days seem so much longer. Distance does not make the heart grow fonder. You’ve conquered the empire of my subconscious. Your crusade so short, Yet I hope your reign continues for eons. We’re far past passive flatteries, Instead, we fill each other’s hearts with vows. You mean them now, But what about a few months? What if you decide I’m not what you want? The torment I am slowly approaching, Consumes my distant soul. I can hear the sounds of futuristic loathing, From when you decide this love has taken it’s toll. So tell me. How can I pay this inevitable toll? How can I save us from Cupid’s malicious tyranny? His arrow is too far lodged within me, I cannot remove it. I can only push it farther and farther Into my heart until it falls out of my back. But this arrow, trenchant. Cupid, the sharpest of marksmen. Yet colorblind, he is. He sees not what colors his targets represent. He draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship. Sometimes, yet not often, He will hit the intended target. But the odds are scarce. His subjects are often punctured, And connected to one whom reciprocated Fate’s desire. Yet this time… This time… Cupid must have hit a target of Fate’s approval. For thrice he has missed. This time He and Fate are in sync. This wound may stretch over time, But the arrow shall remain firmly lodged within my ***** ***** and immovable. Until you kick it through my backside. But until then, I can only endure. I can only be woo wounded. I can only survive, Another ambush of the militant called Cupid. But I will do it for you, For by you, I’ve been so divinely seduced. Wooed by your lips. Not by your kiss, But by the music, Which your mandibles so express. I desire not to seal this wound, But to evade its’ repercussions. For I have endured a similar wound thrice. He is winged as if an angel, Yet Was Lucifer not once an angel as well? Cupid is an impostor. A spy of Agony, himself. He prays on the young, the old, the strong, and the weak. He cares not who he obliterates in his crusades. He is a bloodthirsty heathen. He makes scoundrels of Saints, And Harlots of Housewives. Saint Valentine is no Saint. He is Satan’s nightmare. At first, his arrows are ecstasy, But like a cancer, His poison-saturated arrows Seep deep within every crevice of your body. They consume you as if enriched with ****** And eventually rot within your ***** Until it is nothing but dust and a memory. One day I will assassinate Fate’s Malicious militant, The one we call Cupid.

75

Tensions high, like broken kite strings, reaching further away, escaping the empty earth in your arms. Creeping chatter, pouring inky letters, in runny messes all over my hands, feeling bruised by you; the sting, the slap as leaking words drip drip drip from your mouth, the broken tap. I’m tired. I’m so tired of hearing soft whispered yearnings scratching the back of your throat. Desperation, loneliness? You beg with the croon in your tone, you play along like the gentle little sweetling, a songful, humming love, all warm in cupped hands. In all this time, this achingly long time I’ve played as your neat little trick; the showman’s trusty pet, small dove flying as soon and only when you release me. String caught up around my waist, I’ll never fly too far. As I walked away, that night with the moon trailing my form, and pooling in pillows cradled in my soft footsteps, you watched my back stretch lean and tall and stand away from you. You looked back, it was the moon shifting through my hair, when I turned to notice a head shake, a blink in the empty settling air you left behind. ….Drip….drip….drip, you leak all those notions I wished you would one day say, those heart-melting flatteries, desirable admissions, I’m the only one you want, to keep you satisfied, keep you going and touching and loving and exploring and breaking, until your other girl comes home. You ask and plead and return, lapping and licking in my arms, wanting my form so bad again; you cry for all the fun in the world, but this time, it just can’t. You’re just my broken tap. You’d need to stop dripping ***** water one day. You’d need to stop echoing around me at night, cradling myself to keep my strength enough to say no to what I wanted and got for so long. But you’re just my delicate and lovely broken tap. I’ll always love you somehow, and feel so dangerous, intoxicating and breathtaking as you made me so. You showed me so. But I can’t wait for you to cease on your own. Pull me round with you, wait for you, tossed like an empty drink because of you. Maybe I just need to let you let me go. Like I cried to let you go first.

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Oct 23, 2016

Oct 23, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC

tamara-fraser

Escaping The Empty Earth

Tensions high, like broken kite strings, reaching further away, escaping the empty earth in your arms. Creeping chatter, pouring inky letters, in runny messes all over my hands, feeling bruised by you; the sting, the slap as leaking words drip drip drip from your mouth, the broken tap. I’m tired. I’m so tired of hearing soft whispered yearnings scratching the back of your throat. Desperation, loneliness? You beg with the croon in your tone, you play along like the gentle little sweetling, a songful, humming love, all warm in cupped hands. In all this time, this achingly long time I’ve played as your neat little trick; the showman’s trusty pet, small dove flying as soon and only when you release me. String caught up around my waist, I’ll never fly too far. As I walked away, that night with the moon trailing my form, and pooling in pillows cradled in my soft footsteps, you watched my back stretch lean and tall and stand away from you. You looked back, it was the moon shifting through my hair, when I turned to notice a head shake, a blink in the empty settling air you left behind. ….Drip….drip….drip, you leak all those notions I wished you would one day say, those heart-melting flatteries, desirable admissions, I’m the only one you want, to keep you satisfied, keep you going and touching and loving and exploring and breaking, until your other girl comes home. You ask and plead and return, lapping and licking in my arms, wanting my form so bad again; you cry for all the fun in the world, but this time, it just can’t. You’re just my broken tap. You’d need to stop dripping ***** water one day. You’d need to stop echoing around me at night, cradling myself to keep my strength enough to say no to what I wanted and got for so long. But you’re just my delicate and lovely broken tap. I’ll always love you somehow, and feel so dangerous, intoxicating and breathtaking as you made me so. You showed me so. But I can’t wait for you to cease on your own. Pull me round with you, wait for you, tossed like an empty drink because of you. Maybe I just need to let you let me go. Like I cried to let you go first.

78

Partly to verify an era, partly also to pass the time, last night I picked up a collection of Ptolemaic epigrams to read. The plentiful praises and flatteries for everyone are similar. They are all brilliant, glorious, mighty, beneficent; each of their enterprises the wisest. If you talk of the women of that breed, they too, all the Berenices and Cleopatras are admirable. When I had managed to verify the era I would have put the book away, had not a small and insignificant mention of king Caesarion immediately attracted my attention..... Behold, you came with your vague charm. In history only a few lines are found about you, and so I molded you more freely in my mind. I molded you handsome and sentimental. My art gives to your face a dreamy compassionate beauty. And so fully did I envision you, that late last night, as my lamp was going out -- I let go out on purpose -- I fancied that you entered my room, it seemed that you stood before me; as you might have been in vanquished Alexandria, pale and tired, idealistic in your sorrow, still hoping that they would pity you, the wicked -- who whispered "Too many Caesars."

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1.8k

Constantine P. Cavafy

Caesarion

Partly to verify an era, partly also to pass the time, last night I picked up a collection of Ptolemaic epigrams to read. The plentiful praises and flatteries for everyone are similar. They are all brilliant, glorious, mighty, beneficent; each of their enterprises the wisest. If you talk of the women of that breed, they too, all the Berenices and Cleopatras are admirable. When I had managed to verify the era I would have put the book away, had not a small and insignificant mention of king Caesarion immediately attracted my attention..... Behold, you came with your vague charm. In history only a few lines are found about you, and so I molded you more freely in my mind. I molded you handsome and sentimental. My art gives to your face a dreamy compassionate beauty. And so fully did I envision you, that late last night, as my lamp was going out -- I let go out on purpose -- I fancied that you entered my room, it seemed that you stood before me; as you might have been in vanquished Alexandria, pale and tired, idealistic in your sorrow, still hoping that they would pity you, the wicked -- who whispered "Too many Caesars."

30

The hour comes when you dream for marriage, The hour when destiny calls the future to fulfilment; The hour when nature requires you to settle down. The hour when singles seek companionship, The hour when you are ready for marriage; The hour when nature calls for marriage. The hour when someone out there seeks your hand in marriage, The hour when someone awaits your appearance; The hour when someone designed for you calls your attention to marriage. The hour when you believe to find your missing rib, that part of you that makes you fulfilled; The hour when you wait and hope for marriage; The hour when you find that missing part of you that makes you complete. Beware, many will come in disguise for marriage; But be not deceived by multitude of flatteries and gifts; wait for the hour of marriage. The hour when past is revealed before a relationship; The hour when nothing is hidden in a relationship; The hour when you still love each other despite past lives; With the understanding that life is surrounded by past adventures. Trust in the word of God for marriage, Hope in the call of nature for relationship; and Believe in the one destined for you by God. Each step taken brings you closer to that special one. Someone who awaits you just as you await him/her. Someone who will never wish to see you in tears, or bear to see you travail in pains and sorrow; Someone who will understand every path you tread; Someone you may not know but believe is out there waiting for you; and longing for the hour of marriage. Someone who believe in integrity and honour of the body, and not defilement of the body before marriage. Someone who believes in the law of marriage; ........ the law which states that ...... Marriage is honourable in all, above all in a bed undefiled. Someone who seeks to live for love to marriage, when the appointed time comes; Someone who believe that destiny will bring you both together, when ready to meet each other. Someone you believe can feel your heart beat as you can feel their's. Someone whose part of you are and your part they are. Someone who comes to take away the pains and sorrows of wrong relationships and past lives. Someone whose heart seeks to build your's. Someone whose character and charisma seeks your integrity and dignity. ...... Before the hour of marriage ..... Strive to make full proof of life ambitions, Seek self asset not self liability. Determine to accomplish your vision for life's mission with passion. Then seek the hour of marriage and relationship. The man must strive to acquire wealth before thinking of marriage, the woman must endeavour to adorn herself in dignity and integrity. The man must seek to understand the mystery of marriage before venturing into it. The woman must be willing to submit and humble herself before the man. Let love not lust lead to marriage. Let character and charisma constitute a creed for marriage. Marriage built in love and understanding will blossom forever. Wait for the hour of marriage for it guarantees happiness forever in marriage.

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Aug 23, 2013

Aug 23, 2013 at 7:58 AM UTC

valentine-mbagu

The Hour Of Marriage

The hour comes when you dream for marriage, The hour when destiny calls the future to fulfilment; The hour when nature requires you to settle down. The hour when singles seek companionship, The hour when you are ready for marriage; The hour when nature calls for marriage. The hour when someone out there seeks your hand in marriage, The hour when someone awaits your appearance; The hour when someone designed for you calls your attention to marriage. The hour when you believe to find your missing rib, that part of you that makes you fulfilled; The hour when you wait and hope for marriage; The hour when you find that missing part of you that makes you complete. Beware, many will come in disguise for marriage; But be not deceived by multitude of flatteries and gifts; wait for the hour of marriage. The hour when past is revealed before a relationship; The hour when nothing is hidden in a relationship; The hour when you still love each other despite past lives; With the understanding that life is surrounded by past adventures. Trust in the word of God for marriage, Hope in the call of nature for relationship; and Believe in the one destined for you by God. Each step taken brings you closer to that special one. Someone who awaits you just as you await him/her. Someone who will never wish to see you in tears, or bear to see you travail in pains and sorrow; Someone who will understand every path you tread; Someone you may not know but believe is out there waiting for you; and longing for the hour of marriage. Someone who believe in integrity and honour of the body, and not defilement of the body before marriage. Someone who believes in the law of marriage; ........ the law which states that ...... Marriage is honourable in all, above all in a bed undefiled. Someone who seeks to live for love to marriage, when the appointed time comes; Someone who believe that destiny will bring you both together, when ready to meet each other. Someone you believe can feel your heart beat as you can feel their's. Someone whose part of you are and your part they are. Someone who comes to take away the pains and sorrows of wrong relationships and past lives. Someone whose heart seeks to build your's. Someone whose character and charisma seeks your integrity and dignity. ...... Before the hour of marriage ..... Strive to make full proof of life ambitions, Seek self asset not self liability. Determine to accomplish your vision for life's mission with passion. Then seek the hour of marriage and relationship. The man must strive to acquire wealth before thinking of marriage, the woman must endeavour to adorn herself in dignity and integrity. The man must seek to understand the mystery of marriage before venturing into it. The woman must be willing to submit and humble herself before the man. Let love not lust lead to marriage. Let character and charisma constitute a creed for marriage. Marriage built in love and understanding will blossom forever. Wait for the hour of marriage for it guarantees happiness forever in marriage.

58

The moment comes when you dream for love, The moment when the present calls the future to fulfilment; The moment when the future draws nearer. The moment when love seeks companion, The moment when you are ready to love; The moment when life calls for love. The moment when someone out there seeks your love, The moment when someone awaits your appearance; The moment when someone designed for you calls for your love. The moment when you believe to find your missing rib, The moment when you wait and feel love ahead; The moment when you find that missing part of you that makes you complete. .............Beware..........., many will come in disguise to love; .............But...................., be not deceived by multitude of flatteries; wait for the moment of love. The moment when past is revealed before relationship, The moment when nothing is hidden ina relationship; The moment when you still love each other despite past lives; With the knowledge that life is surrounded by past adventures. Trust in the moment of love, Hope in the call of the future; and Believe in the one destined for you. Someone who will never wish to see you in tears, or bear to see you travail in pains and sorrow. Someone who will understand every path you tread. Someone you know not but believe is out there waiting for you; and longing for your love. Someone who awaits you just as you await him/her, Each step taken brings that someone closer to you. Someone who believes in integrity and honour of the body, not defilement of the body before marriage. Someone who believes in relationship to marriage, someone who believes in the law of marriage, ......the law which states that..... Marriage is honourable in all, above all in a bed undefiled. Someone who seeks to live for love to marriage, when the appointed time comes; Someone who believe that destiny will bring you both together, when ready to meet each other. Someone you believe can feel your heartbeat as you can feel their's. Someone whose part of, you are and your part they are. Someone who comes to take away the pains and memories of wrong relationships and past lives. Someone whose heart seeks to build your's, Someone whose character and charisma seeks your integrity and dignity. ....Before the moment of love.... Strive to make full proof of life ambitions, Seek self asset not self liability; Determine to accomplish your vision forlife's mission with passion. Then seek the moment of love and relationship. Let character and charisma build your honour and dignity. Believe in the moment of love that moment of fulfilment. The moment when you are sort after for your virtuous character.

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Jul 13, 2013

Jul 13, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC

valentine-mbagu

Moment Of Love

The moment comes when you dream for love, The moment when the present calls the future to fulfilment; The moment when the future draws nearer. The moment when love seeks companion, The moment when you are ready to love; The moment when life calls for love. The moment when someone out there seeks your love, The moment when someone awaits your appearance; The moment when someone designed for you calls for your love. The moment when you believe to find your missing rib, The moment when you wait and feel love ahead; The moment when you find that missing part of you that makes you complete. .............Beware..........., many will come in disguise to love; .............But...................., be not deceived by multitude of flatteries; wait for the moment of love. The moment when past is revealed before relationship, The moment when nothing is hidden ina relationship; The moment when you still love each other despite past lives; With the knowledge that life is surrounded by past adventures. Trust in the moment of love, Hope in the call of the future; and Believe in the one destined for you. Someone who will never wish to see you in tears, or bear to see you travail in pains and sorrow. Someone who will understand every path you tread. Someone you know not but believe is out there waiting for you; and longing for your love. Someone who awaits you just as you await him/her, Each step taken brings that someone closer to you. Someone who believes in integrity and honour of the body, not defilement of the body before marriage. Someone who believes in relationship to marriage, someone who believes in the law of marriage, ......the law which states that..... Marriage is honourable in all, above all in a bed undefiled. Someone who seeks to live for love to marriage, when the appointed time comes; Someone who believe that destiny will bring you both together, when ready to meet each other. Someone you believe can feel your heartbeat as you can feel their's. Someone whose part of, you are and your part they are. Someone who comes to take away the pains and memories of wrong relationships and past lives. Someone whose heart seeks to build your's, Someone whose character and charisma seeks your integrity and dignity. ....Before the moment of love.... Strive to make full proof of life ambitions, Seek self asset not self liability; Determine to accomplish your vision forlife's mission with passion. Then seek the moment of love and relationship. Let character and charisma build your honour and dignity. Believe in the moment of love that moment of fulfilment. The moment when you are sort after for your virtuous character.

55

Let's pretend I can read your mind. What unkind words would you not say, whose name would you hide? What places would you flee, in dismay, or wish to Caribbean cruise to? If I could hear your love, what would it tell me that I do not already know? What kind of fantasies would whisper? Will your fears be softly moaned, or scream loudly to be let go? Let's pretend you knew I could hear deeper all your silences, how many flatteries, there, would echo like broken vinyl, a skipping heartbeat, a flat tire...on the road… Would you still lie, if you knew--that I knew, still believe in them? Still make me believe you good? (never telling the truth) Let's say you could hear my thoughts... my inner worth... Would you condemn me and herald my secrets? Command me for your work make me a lackey or say I'm crazy to everybody—a nobody...? If you could see inside me or feel my worst hurts, would you understand \why and how my heart should burst? And of course, this is all make believe, imagination at it's height, but true life is another sort of his and her stories…. from our minds' eyes to witness to be told : be realized. And every tale has once come true: man now flying, cloning, in rockets to the moon, I'm sure my fiction will be written soon, if not already In that book... what kind of mood “He” must of had when craving King & Koontz the idea of me... (and “god” knows who) scratching chin his beard of white in a bowl of crocodile tears, playing pretend, and silent night our living years...in a sigh. (No need to read your mind I can feel your lies, goodbye.)

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Aug 16, 2019

Aug 16, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC

butch-decatoria

Crocodile Tears

Let's pretend I can read your mind. What unkind words would you not say, whose name would you hide? What places would you flee, in dismay, or wish to Caribbean cruise to? If I could hear your love, what would it tell me that I do not already know? What kind of fantasies would whisper? Will your fears be softly moaned, or scream loudly to be let go? Let's pretend you knew I could hear deeper all your silences, how many flatteries, there, would echo like broken vinyl, a skipping heartbeat, a flat tire...on the road… Would you still lie, if you knew--that I knew, still believe in them? Still make me believe you good? (never telling the truth) Let's say you could hear my thoughts... my inner worth... Would you condemn me and herald my secrets? Command me for your work make me a lackey or say I'm crazy to everybody—a nobody...? If you could see inside me or feel my worst hurts, would you understand \why and how my heart should burst? And of course, this is all make believe, imagination at it's height, but true life is another sort of his and her stories…. from our minds' eyes to witness to be told : be realized. And every tale has once come true: man now flying, cloning, in rockets to the moon, I'm sure my fiction will be written soon, if not already In that book... what kind of mood “He” must of had when craving King & Koontz the idea of me... (and “god” knows who) scratching chin his beard of white in a bowl of crocodile tears, playing pretend, and silent night our living years...in a sigh. (No need to read your mind I can feel your lies, goodbye.)

58

Let's pretend I can read your mind. What kind of words would you not say, whose name would you hide? What places would you flee, in dismay, or wish to caribbean-cruise to? If I could hear your love, what would it tell me that I do not already know? What kind of fantasies would whisper? Will your fears be softly moaned, or scream loudly to be let go? Let's pretend you knew I could hear deeper all your silences, how many flatteries, there, would echo like broken vinyl, a skipping heartbeat, a flat tire... (blown) Would you still lie, if you knew--that I knew, still believe them? Still make me believe you? (never telling the truth) Let's say you could hear my thoughts... Would you condemn me and herald my secrets? Command me for your work make me a lackey or say I'm crazy to everybody a nobody...? If you could see through me or feel my worst hurts, would you understand \why and how my heart should burst? And of course, this is all make believe, imagination at it's height, but true life is another sort of story from our minds' eyes to witness to be told : be realized. And every tale has once come true: man now flying, cloning, in rockets to the moon, I'm sure my fiction will be written soon if not already in that book... what kind of mood He must of had when craving King & Koontz the idea of me... (and god knows who?) scratching chin his beard of white in a bowl of crocodile tears, playing pretend, and silent night with our living years...

0

Feb 5, 2016

Feb 5, 2016 at 4:11 AM UTC

butch-decatoria

CROCODILE TEARS (Pretend)

Let's pretend I can read your mind. What kind of words would you not say, whose name would you hide? What places would you flee, in dismay, or wish to caribbean-cruise to? If I could hear your love, what would it tell me that I do not already know? What kind of fantasies would whisper? Will your fears be softly moaned, or scream loudly to be let go? Let's pretend you knew I could hear deeper all your silences, how many flatteries, there, would echo like broken vinyl, a skipping heartbeat, a flat tire... (blown) Would you still lie, if you knew--that I knew, still believe them? Still make me believe you? (never telling the truth) Let's say you could hear my thoughts... Would you condemn me and herald my secrets? Command me for your work make me a lackey or say I'm crazy to everybody a nobody...? If you could see through me or feel my worst hurts, would you understand \why and how my heart should burst? And of course, this is all make believe, imagination at it's height, but true life is another sort of story from our minds' eyes to witness to be told : be realized. And every tale has once come true: man now flying, cloning, in rockets to the moon, I'm sure my fiction will be written soon if not already in that book... what kind of mood He must of had when craving King & Koontz the idea of me... (and god knows who?) scratching chin his beard of white in a bowl of crocodile tears, playing pretend, and silent night with our living years...

56

If I could create my own god a soul of both solace and mirth He who needs no one’s flatteries nor demands them from all the earth He would not possess jealousy a trait that even men despise Showing each one he is equal within the lord of this worlds eyes Having made of each a sinner he would love all of us the same Blaming himself for our failings not tempering us in a flame Our lives would be a tapestry a quilt of love, that beauty built Where he'd take pride in what we are and not punish us, for his guilt Tate

0

May 29, 2014

May 29, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC

tate-morgan-1

My God

If I could create my own god a soul of both solace and mirth He who needs no one’s flatteries nor demands them from all the earth He would not possess jealousy a trait that even men despise Showing each one he is equal within the lord of this worlds eyes Having made of each a sinner he would love all of us the same Blaming himself for our failings not tempering us in a flame Our lives would be a tapestry a quilt of love, that beauty built Where he'd take pride in what we are and not punish us, for his guilt Tate

17

Fake smiles Phony eyed Hollow compliments and lies, Outlandish flatteries. Deceptive seeming. If humans had hallmarks, none would have 'em.

0

Apr 25, 2018

Apr 25, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC

Jash

Hallmarks

Fake smiles Phony eyed Hollow compliments and lies, Outlandish flatteries. Deceptive seeming. If humans had hallmarks, none would have 'em.

6

i am grateful you didn't know the fissures that seized our ancient kingdom our two atop the marriage mount. there were many reasons for the fault, of course, many players whispering at court, chipping the stone, but i have an imperceptible bias for these things and flatteries of lesser pawns that played on vanity and power and prowess— the virulence kings—were nails and nail and nails that cracked the stone on which we sat. who knows what fossils can be made of shards of us?

0

Sep 16, 2018

Sep 16, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC

neophytejws1981

an archaeologist's divorce

i am grateful you didn't know the fissures that seized our ancient kingdom our two atop the marriage mount. there were many reasons for the fault, of course, many players whispering at court, chipping the stone, but i have an imperceptible bias for these things and flatteries of lesser pawns that played on vanity and power and prowess— the virulence kings—were nails and nail and nails that cracked the stone on which we sat. who knows what fossils can be made of shards of us?

13