"gallantry" poems
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
Where is corruption?
Seems tone up statesmen notion
Co-ordinate with gallantry pride exploration,
Somewhere scholar's voice explosion
Solicit grant for idle generation.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
What is corruption?
Working against the soul corruption,
Earning money overdose corruption;
Kissing beloved on road corruption
Homosexuality in India corruption.
Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!
How to eliminate corruption?
Agitation, law, dialect and compulsion.
Could not minimize absolute tension.
To eradicate this sensitive passion,
Must regulate spiritual diversion.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
Brighter than Rudolph's red nose,
My nose, like a traffic light glows.
Santa could hire me you know,
As his coach man I'd love to go !!
Traffic stops when I cross,
Puzzled police are at a loss.
"Oh, those signals", they say at last,
By then I'm gone real fast !!
Winter haunteth the place I live,
Not a ghost. (Ghostbusters do forgive)
Tissues like snow, dot the floor,
What's in them, I don't adore.
If only this was Charlie's Chocolate factory,
Where snow resembled sugary gallantry !!
Maybe Santa loved Winter no more,
Instead it entered through my front door.
Homeless Winter, thou gifted me cold,
And cold, a runny nose.
I'm grateful, for I am bold,
And gifteth Winter, poetry and prose !!!
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
Gliding in air
was an eerie delightful hue
hanging high above violet and blue,
for eons no one had knew,
the peon pest probing around
the howling zoo,
rhyming and roaming
hiding and hoping
flighty the ronin
ran,
groping every moment he could come to
as a token to his gallantry
the guidance to his apathy
decided to devise his only strife
to live happily
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.
My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.
A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.
A devilish ********** of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.
Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.
A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.
Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.
Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.
Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.
A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.
A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)
A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.
A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.
A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.
An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.
A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.
A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.
Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.
A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.
Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
There was no dragon
And there was no girl with hands bound with pearls,
But…
There was blood
And there was mass ****** littered all over the land and rivers.
There was no saint
And there were no hymns or marching pipes led by earls,
But…
There were lies
And there were bones inked to write and slaughter was delivered.
There was no lance
And there was no horse or swords drawn to help curvaceous girls,
But…
There was a red cross
And there was blood smeared on a pure white flag which flapped and curled.
There was no gallantry
And there was no dignity or pride nor was there justice delivered,
But…
There was a pale man
And he rode a pale horse and he rode from a land called Palestine.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
Love is the greatest force of all mankind...
of all cosmos, of all movement
of all that is wild and deranged
held safe in a locket, clandestine,
casually singing reigning from clouds of rain
sonnets of seismic sound sway trees
encouraging sodded fields grow greener than yesterday
yet sprightly and anew
soon
nudging the node
of the naysayers neighing,
bulging out their blue button ups
cramping, beastly belly's brooding to feast
on the blooming young,
the callow of a courageous continuum
trooping along gaily with gallantry
on trails, heralding gnarled roots
but this is rhythm
and rhythm is rhyme
and rhyme reconciles reasoning
"i love you for no other reason
but i love you"
says the tales of two
seeking singularity,
soaking in the sauna of one,
sovereign sun.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
I’d never noticed the
Freckles
On your
Shoulders.
But then again,
You’d never noticed
The scars.
Specifically
The ones
On my chest,
And if you had,
I’d never
Heard
Anything about them,
Or, “it.”
It had been awhile since we’d
Last crossed paths,
Encounters always
Ending in
Collision,
Connection
And corrosion come the first
Morning after; but welcomed.
You looked good though,
And that’s how it’d always
Started,
But beautiful nonetheless –
A world-weathered skin
In the form of a twilight tan,
The vulnerable smile
With a small curl displaying
Aggressive sexuality,
And a dress, your cloth,
A critical juncture,
Of both cinema and satori,
A’flutter in the wind.
“Gift-wraps,” aside,
I’d always return to the
Form and curve of “You.”
Simply you
The half I could see
Leaving the other
Somehow elusive side of
You
To my imagination and
Memory
Of prior gallantry.
Unspoken words
Pave paths between the
Tables we now occupy.
So to,
Acts of predation await,
Perched and ready for
Gardens,
Accepted, the resulted chaos.
I wonder,
“What’s she thinking?”
As I capture a wink
And steal the sunlight
Bouncing of her
Shoulder’s freckles.
It’s an intoxication
At its finest.
Accordingly,
I sip my
Beer
And in echoes mumble,
“I want you, want you,
Want you.”
Luckily,
You wanted me too.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
It's made in me
The way of me
So loving & savory,
What do I speak of?
My dear instinctive bravery
Insatiably
A heart of gold engraved
in thee,
Solemnly a gift from God
given gracefully.
Questioned by many about
my dashing courage
Noble-minded behavior,
Intrepidity
Superman-like favor,
Saving a life with intent
& untapped wit
Comforting to the mind
So very major.
Put my life on the line
for someone in need
Even for animals, treated,
As loved ones indeed
Deference
Urbanity
It sits well as my creed,
So many think of me
as crazy, somewhat insane
For having such a desire
of valiance within my brain,
Why salt my game?
Because I'm so in tact
with life?
The beauty it holds?
Mettle with heartfelt
kindness to my delight?
I can't help it
I must protect & serve,
MINUS THE BADGE
Pains me to see a
damsel in distress
No tender heart deserves.
I know that every situation
is not my problem
Shouldn't concern me some
would say,
Like a man beating his wife
while the kids cry & stray
In daylight even
Never could I look away,
I'm sorry
I feel I must jump in to
save my quarry,
Who knows I may be
in over my head,
But I can care less at times
Must save the prey from the
predator, can't consume of spoiled
bread.
Whether its a car speeding
about to run over a baby
Or a relentless fire in a
building coursing to burn a lady,
With my mind attentive, laced
with uncontested audacity,
Boldness
Courtesy
Reverence
All out strong Tenacity,
I'm here, Im here...
Good guys are yet to be
seen
Daredevils that are truly
serene,
But no matter what
I'm here,
With my mind & Valor
Have no fear
A young soldier
is near,
At your service I'll be
around to help
Take a stand with me
Let me lend a hand for thee
With my beautiful, yet
Ravishing Gallantry....
©Michael P. Smith
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 9:36 AM UTC
Acrid stenches of contrived action
stain his sloppy, uneven speeches
gallantry is unnerving, obnoxious
to me, even in the grandest favors.
I sniff with all my offended senses.
To a bloodhound nose, it's cloying.
He smells like he's trying too hard,
trying too hard smells sour, biting.
I prefer challenges from a cunning,
a silver-tongued fox. Let me chase.
Subtle while retaining the ability to
remain brazen, aye, there's the rub.
Chomping at the bit, the overeager
and easily pleased are not my kind,
the authentic and untamed always
give me more rise than an easy bait.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
*Ragged cliffs loom o'er the shore-
as waves punish the rocks below -
"Deafening",
is their roar*..........
*A fleece, a blanket, of mist...and fog,
muffles the 'pleas'
From the 'sailing ships'.....
moored in the salty seas*
*Out from the mist...
alone.........she comes-
"A battle waits.... to be won"
says this maiden.....from Avalon*
*With arms outspread--
and opened palms.......
She 'chants'...for the sea to lie "still.... and calm"...
says the maiden.......from Avalon*
"*Oh God of Nature....of all men -
I beseech thee..........
To shield these men of gallantry".....
'Chants'...the maiden from Avalon*
*As she speaks.....
the waves subside.....silent, is their roar
The solar orb....no longer hides....
As the brave doth come ashore*.
*Is it magic, myth, or simply......lore?
perhaps, a tale not told before-
But....... when all was said, and done......
"Blessed be the maiden"*.....
"From Avalon"
r.riddle- 10-29-2016
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
How can I ever explain it?
Not without a full disclosure
I will tell you every bit
Your kindness to which I demure
Soldiers fight their own private war
Mine to protect the Hill Tribes
Willing to suffer all the gore
All credit to them I ascribe
Upon arrival in Da Nang
I gathered my field gear and rifle
A mission with Colonel Vang
Preparation seemed but a trifle
My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies
Give a great gift to me, your sons
I will escort them through Hades
I'll teach them to ****** with guns
Wet their tongues in cobra's blood
I have come to save you from doom
The coming communist red flood
Boys already made their own tomb
We shall fly the flags of the Hmong
We'll rally boys from the villes
We must slaughter the Minh and Cong
The Hmong will have their own Bastille
I will take a dragon to wife
Boys will nurture in her foul breath
They will worship their ****** knife
We'll dance the ritual of death
I’m the lost soul forest monster
Others have come before today
They are pathetic impostors
We will flow through the night to slay
Other boys born beneath the palm
They have come to steal your life's breath
It's them that we target to bomb
I'll walk among you as Macbeth
My Duncan is among your kin
Banquo will haunt me til I rot
I will be fixed with mortal sin
Unable to wash away the spot
I will hide my hands from Odin
A conundrum in which I'm caught
Future will be among the Jinn
My destiny from this foul plot
Your sons buried in sacred ground
They'll not be stained with my darkness
Peace for them will be so profound
How many thanks can I express
Those boys in valor's selfless crown
From gallantry, their future gone
Sins I keep and can't beat down
For many years, I must atone.
I, far removed from battles roar
Do fondly remember those boys
Their smiles and laughter before
Stand out among life's greatest joys
No more the fierce warrior am I
Just an old man with memories
I am needing to just say goodbye
And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
Lenore, as gentle as the wind,
As light as a feather;
I wonder where it was
The breeze delivered her.
I imagine her smile
In the morning sun, and
Her son, playing in the yard.
I smile in reminiscence
Whilst pondering
This new shore
I've happened upon;
Guilty, come fear,
A remorse blanketed echoes of
Gallantry.
The world would never let me go.
She knew that when we’d sprout;
The world would never let me go,
“So go,” she’d whispered.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
Took the bus home.
Paid my $2.50,
no special discount.
Spent my day selling my wares,
But did not sell enough to
Pay the daily rent,
Hell, to even pay for lunch.
Gave up my seat for sweet,
Baby-child laughed at my
Gallantry, I think,
For his exclamations were
Of the shrieking pleasurable variety.
Saw Macbeth last night,
In the end, he dies,
Same as when I saw it
Last year.
Le plus ca change
The Frenchies say,
Wonder if they still wear berets
And say "Le Weekend?"
In the winter,
The buses are overheated,
So winter coats become furnaces.
I am rendered,
Ash and smoke.
Nothing new there too.
Missed my stop
Writing this,
Happened before,
Hope it happens again.
Came home to the customary
What's new,
So I said
Not too much
But,
Somebody decided that ole
Poem I wrote two years on,
Should be the
Poem of the Day.
That's sweet, my love ,
You surely will be
Insufferably happy and
Impossible to live with
for at least the next
five minutes.
So take the trash out,
Before we leave,
Then pick a place to dine,
For not a thing in the fridge to eat.
So to the compactor,
I strode, thinking Shakespeare
Didn't have to do this, I'll bet,
But started smiling,
Ear to ear,
A ***** eating
Big ole
Grinning,
Nonetheless!
Thinking,
The question is,
How does it feel,
This poem of the day
Accolade,
The answer,
of course!
It feels, like,
I am,
I am just like {you, man}
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
Girls and ladies dream
Of and desire
A knight in shining armour,
Gallantry and bravery to
Sweep them from their feet
To a happily ever after,
But take it from
One who knows,
No knight that ever fought
For his lady
Had her back,
Has armour shining pure,
It takes sacrifice and
Mental melee - sometimes brutal
To maintain love in this desperate
War called life,
And no man did a hard day's work
Nor fought in war and
Came away unscathed and undirtied,
A true knight's armour,
Though burnished as best may be
And glittering in the sun
Has dents and gouges absent
In a woman's dreams,
Every mistake every failure
Shows in his history and
Cannot be polished out
But that he polishes what remains
Is testament to a true heart,
And a man worth keeping
Dec 30, 2023
Dec 30, 2023 at 4:54 PM UTC
Finally i'm free, finally i am
Away from that cage, far from that hell stage
Been two months since I'd stopped chatting with them
They've never ceased stalking me, talking to me
But I fought them with gallantry
The courage of not making a noise
The bravery in silence
Finally i'm free, finally i am
Away from that cage, far from that hell stage
Might be the last visit of my loved ones that affected me so much
Gave me a true strength to overpower and block
They've danced, sang, even performed a magic tricks
But all are in vain, the coin was finally flipped
Until totally no voice from them, no sightings at all
Finally i'm free, finally i am
Away from that cage, far from that hell stage
It has been twenty minutes since we left the sanitarium
Finally i am away, finally i am far
"His situation is fifty-fifty" said the nurse that accompanied the body
As i looked at him to my curiosity
Oh God! It was my body in an ambulance...
written: September 1, 2014 @ 9:16 PH standard time
Mysterious Aries
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
Gazing at the vibrant clouds in the ashen sky,
It is not them that move, but I,
For the breeze of Mother Nature is but a wafting breath,
Imparted from her *****
To move the impartial inhabitants to harbor universal wisdom.
Thus let rivalry arise between the jurors three;
Amongst which Father time sets the sands free,
Impartial to havoc of releasing ages and convicting generations,
Set loose at his own hand,
Greatly yearning for mankind to desire to understand.
Hark and Herald, an Angel arrived on sullen black wings,
To recluse man; further reprieve wrong doings,
Slowly risen with the gallantry of gilded fervor and entitlement,
Like Atlas bearing burdens on brazen back,
Sentencing humanity to acquiesce that all is not bleak and black.
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 12:45 AM UTC
from October, 2016
Ragged cliffs loom o'er the shore-
as waves punish the rocks below -
"Deafening",
is their roar..........
A fleece, a blanket, of mist...and fog,
muffles the 'pleas'
From the 'sailing ships'.....
moored in the salty seas
*Out from the mist...
alone.........she comes-
"A battle waits.... to be won"
says this maiden.....from Avalon*
With arms outspread--
and opened palms.......
She 'chants'...for the sea to lie "still.... and calm"...
says the maiden.......from Avalon
*"Oh God of Nature....of all men -
I beseech thee..........
To shield these men of gallantry".....
'Chants'...the maiden from Avalon*
As she speaks.....
the waves subside.....silent, is their roar
The solar orb....no longer hides....
As the brave doth come ashore.
Is it magic, myth, or simply......lore?
perhaps, a tale not told before-
But....... when all was said, and done......
"Blessed be the maiden".....
"From Avalon"
r.riddle- 10-29-2016
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC
Gallantry, the heart cannot entail,
Obscene and crude, blood formed as hail,
Ostentatiously coy, the maidens call,
Dissecting my spirit, your eyes enthrall,
Beloved your lips, I so long to kiss,
Yielding hope, begin to reminisce,
Enchanting laugh, music of Apollo,
Jasmine scent, unknowingly hollow,
Offering a goddess, pure gift of light
Consuming my heart, with nothing but spite,
Eyes of topaz, god’s gift to my world,
Lust mistaken as love, mind unfurled,
Youth is a curse, for a heart in distress,
Never will i know, your lips to caress
Dec 9, 2009
Dec 9, 2009 at 10:42 PM UTC
Who will cherish me
When withering autumn leaves
Are stripped of their golden gallantry
By the biting winter winds
Writer and reader alike
Chasing currents of contradictions
Like our will to death, fighting for life
Am I here at all if I am not here to stay
Points of purpose, in shallow moments
Ripped by tides and dragged away
We mind the depths, so to never dig up our dead
A fading remember when
Time and tide, forever outpacing the lives of men
Unearthed and submerged
In the instant between
The angel opening his eyes, and the tired who resign to dream
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 9:50 PM UTC
November of Sixty-five, at the X ray landing zone
men of the seventh Calvary were outnumbered far from home..
The casualties were mounting, Charlie held the heights.
Four massed assaults repulsed that day, Terror ruled the nights
In the high grass and the heat they lay,
the wounded men and dying.
They thought their fate was set and sealed: No med-e vacs were flying.
Through shot and shell, into that hell, two brave men came flying
into the hot landing zone for the wounded men and dying.
Thirteen trips in all they made to keep some hope alive.
There are men alive today who, without them, would have died.
Ed Freeman and Bruce Crandall flew where angels feared to tread.
They bore the wounds of valor where others would have fled.
His medal of Honor was bestowed for conspicuous gallantry.
today we mourn, Ed Freeman’s gone
and Freedom’s still not free.
this poem is written in honor of Captain Ed "Too Tall" Freeman. the action for which he received the Congressional Medal of Honor was the battle of La Drang, Vietnam which is the core of the Mel Gibson film " We were soldiers" the action takes place on 11/14-15/65
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
Ganjgal, September 8, 2009
They had a job to do that day
in the Valley of Ganjgal.
Afghani and Americans
walked into a metal hail.
An ambush had been laid for them
as they approached the town
Every light was darkened
Taliban held the high ground.
One squad was pinned
Behind a wall and
was taking Casualties.
The gunny Sergeant
for sure was dead
and perhaps the other three.
Corporal Meyer on the radio
called for suppressive fire
but was denied because brass feared
to rouse the natives ire.
With no air support available
and the situation looking grim
Corporal Meyer told his Sergeant
They should take the Humvee in.
They drove into the ambush zone
time and time again
Engaging with the enemy
and rescuing their friends.
Corporal Meyer killed one enemy
at close range with his M-4
He then engaged with a machine gun
and killed or wounded several more.
When air support, at last, arrived
and held the foe at bay
Corporal Meyer entered the killing zone
to take the dead away.
He came across four bodies
that had been stripped of guns and gear
All four had been shot at close range
the postmortems make that clear..
On his broad shoulders he bore a friend
Who’d paid the price of war.
He ran between the bullets
until he had retrieved all four.
Disregarding his own safety
and heedless of his Shrapnel wound
He displayed great personal bravery
without which our cause is doomed.
Corporal Meyer wears an honor now
that few men living bear
The Medal of Honor on his chest
for conspicuous Gallantry there.
He will tell you he’s no hero.
He just had a job to do.
A proud United States Marine
to their motto ever true.
Dec 16, 2011
Dec 16, 2011 at 11:42 PM UTC
He was born of the grandiosity,
The pride of wolves,
The bravery of lions,
The wit of ravens;
He was born of a beast.
He had the might of the strongest,
He triumphed every strife.
He always had the victory,
Of the pleasures of life,
He was born of a beast, indeed;
Yet unlike the beasts akin;
He was not of ferocity,
A strange affliction, received;
Bravery of lions, he has, indeed,
Yet, he struggles with a foe.
The foe gave the toughest skirmish he had,
Sadly, he failed to vanquish it:
The sullen darkness, the specter,
The mist that did nothing but whisper;
Whisper tragedies over naught.
It filled him with guilt,
It filled him with fear;
It made the Beast weary,
To conceal the scars he sought in battle;
A battle far too explicit.
He, the beast, ventured endlessly,
Trying to hide his curse.
He tried to release himself from everyone;
His kinship, his gallantry,
His kin.
Then in his yonder, he met a wisp;
Lively, bright, pompous.
The wisp accompanied him in his bouts:
The bouts that hid his truths,
The bouts that pushed him away from his realities.
Alas, the Specter he encounters once more.
Again, it whispers his fears.
Amidst the pain he listens to, a faint voice enlightens him;
The wisp speaks his bravery;
The wisp speaks acceptance.
His eyes were unclouded,
It glowed like never before.
He had done something he thought he would've never done:
Vanquish the evil that haunts him;
Vanquish the Specter of Censures.
A day arose again.
He, the Beast awoke, listening to the hymn of the wisp;
It spoke that his battle was not of the specter's,
That his battle was within the Beast's self,
And with it, he slumbers, edified.
He awakens once again,
Realizing the truth that he is:
A flamboyant Faun,
Frolicking in the meadowy grasslands,
Basking the Sun's warmth.
Yet realizing this, he wears his mane once more,
As he is greeted again by his kin;
He fears not that hisself be lost;
He fears that his all would be lost,
When they are darted by his Truth.
He, the Beast still walks upon his feet,
He still has the grandiosity of his birth,
Yet he forcefully clouds himself in lies,
To hide the reality he only can accept;
The Faun, hiding in the beast's mane.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
Gallantry badge stitched to rotting cloth
as the skin sinks and the bones fade
and the love made is left to reek the bed
where sexless wife and lonely daughter
Lay their head's arrest.
In due time they both tan, sag and crackle
Under weight of the sun.
That dizzy cyclops that roped forth
homecoming boats and ships stands
five years from being defunct; rusted
to the hue of a coppice
and hardly the attraction it once was
But oh well— sighs the sailor, too old and bankrupt to care
for approaching poverty— the money has been made and my life spent
For others (his Sister, his Niece, his Brother)
They lack the ability to sigh;
the closest they get is the occasional stormy wind
that cracks the surface, blows through their teeth
resembling a crooked lullaby,
Revolves the bullet lodged in their skull;
O occasional stormy rain that beshrews the water
clogging their lungs and, in due time, The leaking muck
that’ll pluck and sharply snap inward the casketwood--
directly against the bullet gathhering mold in their heart--
Their souls have been spent.
One less soldier wouldn't have changed a thing
(The result was a certainty propagated
as a contingency)
And if G-d bare'd witness his eyes no longer sting,
His grievances had and his puppets dead
Following a suffering in his name.
If Thy Kingdom holds true
They bare witness now to the lighthouse
In it's chipping hue, it's trivial dock and visitor
Silhouettes—
All held in place and burning; They disfigure
Under weight of the sun.
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 2:58 PM UTC
Anticipation is like a former actress who eagerly awaits a future prospect, where delicate wallflowers hang with certain fortitude.
Similarly, our medieval ancestors played the harpsichord, whilst later English Baroque flaunted her chauvinistic flamboyance to those who fluttered their eyelashes in the name of socio-economic harlotry.
I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, my friend of gallantry.
However, the roots of Portugese expression are conveyed in the aristocracy of our heritage.
As purity is the laughing stock of assumed independence, and pride is buried in lascivious presumption, we must remember that the classical piano shares an Arabesque flavour which stands in juxtaposition to our Saxony.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
And t'is is truthfully why I am here, my love:
I belong to thee, sacredly, entirely, and soulfully
to thee-yes, only to thee!
My eyes brighten at every sight of thee,
my mind delights at the thoughts of thee,
my pulse fastens at the views of thee,
my blood curdles at the scent of thee,
my veins rustle at the gaze of thee-and hark!
Hark now, dearest-how my heart leaps,
sheepishly yet excitedly-when'ver I recall thee!
Ah, and how t'is feeling trembles and fidgets
as always, as thou stareth back-gladly and
with a smile so handsome yet animated and playful-
sweeping straightly back into my soul.
Like t'ose stupefying, sentient glazes of summers-
blowing silently with the rustic gallantry
of t'eir ruddy oaks, my heart is elevated
with defiant, but affectionate branches
of terrific, terrific love for thee!
Oh! And t'ese thou but needst to know-
t'at both my virtuous-and vicious lusts-crave only thee,
as well as how my pure joys rely on thee!
As despairingly as how
my soul was born for thee,
my life was crafted for thee,
my hands were paired with thee,
and thus so graciously are my young feet-
my toes, my ribs, my lungs, and the very limbs
in which my spines might dwell, and be celebrated
by thy gentle, manly breath.
Oh, how thou, my Western prince-so delicate
and blessed with all the might
of my very being-thou hath, my love, since the very first
been my gem, my bronze, my silver, my gold,
my charm, my pearl, my diamond, my light,
my fire, my treasure, and my lifelong dreams-as thou
shalt always be!
And so art thou the perfect accord
to comply with all such of my mine;
as thou art but the freshest bloom
of my ****** years,
as innocent as t'is nature's peaceful labyrinths-
but youthful and starry like the fruit of my most curious-
yet ardently succulent imagination.
And how I am so devoted to thee, my love!
Just like the stars are to the moon above.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC