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lX0st Aug 2014
Please Midas,
Take the golden gun
And shove the golden bullet
Right through my golden skin
And tell me a story about
"All that glitters.."
The man in her life treats her like gold,
Though she cries,
Because she knows,
Her secrets would break him inside,
And would crush his soul,
So to protect him she lies,
As her secrets are something she holds,
She rests here in his arms for at least another night,
With this man that might never know,
As it's in the dark, with tear after tear she cries,
And with a broken heart of little hope,
It's in her mind,
With her tears that really begin to flow,
She imagines a life,
Away from this man that treats her like gold
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2017
Every star across the seven skies
Wishes to kiss it is a gold dust.

Not to mention the Moon in the centre
waning and waxing in the open and in secret
keeps unleashing longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece on its forehead.

She knows only then the rough seas beneath
her will calm down in the soft raining moonlight
shedding off such a lucky blossomed forehead.

Oh, if only scarcely they could ever see it
the galaxies since their inceptions longing for it.
Bliss of the eye tucked away from the scene
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!

The mother is fast is for all and is down to earth
She, the mother Fathima descended down
from up above the heaven that pivotal frontier
only all the prophets’ Prophet has seen.
Then was no Adam nor Eve or Jibreel!

Paradise finds its core with its resonant lore
in the shadow of the original feminine Fathima
the immortal hotspot the original physics explored.
Paradise lived and breathe beneath her feet
but she touched down at the heart of the earth
without stepping or touching on paradise
only to give away her stake to others!
No land she would take on her way back indeed
Not in her name, know where Fathima’s grave is?
When people visit Islamic holy city Medina they look for the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been the tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown It's been said that she preferred her grave to remain unidentified.
Hirondelle Sep 30
To see thee...
to daunt winter into a spring scented swirl,
to chance upon a leaf from a bud unfurl,
THUS dim Apollo’s smile with a gold gilded curl.

To talk with thee...
to loose time’s sores down a brook’s babbling game,
to purl and trill down a hushed grove’s shame,
THUS ripple in diamond sparks across time’s frame.

To remember thee...
to leap up the cascades in an upstream race,
to reach the heights hiding halcyon lakes,
THUS gaze at you in your gleaming grace.

To miss thee...
to set sail into the late song of a nightingale,
to brave sirens’ snare veiling all thunder and gale,
THUS seek the honeyed sky from night’s fingers so pale.

To live without thee...
to seal my last sigh in thy morning name,
to hide it fast within my night doomed frame,
THUS prank the dark when I die in morning flame.

To die...
to learn the art of the autumnal flame
                                and
                       ­ red           glory
          battle                                 gold
that                                                        game
to draw her tresses over my tired frame,
THUS defy sombre end’s pall donned claim.

THUS TO UNFURL BACK AGAIN!
IN THAT GOLD GILDED CURL I’LL REMAIN!
If one is reconciled with the vagaries of life; they can understand their life is a strand in a great web and learn to respect this reality, they may also think that each strand is inseparable from its mother, always changing form and structure. All the strands in this web are interactive and any ripple created by one will travel across the whole frame of the web causing due change.

As much as the flesh and the spirit, there is the third component of our existence: the cosmic reality of the gestures we make both while we live and after we are gone. And true beauty might as well be hidden in these ‘cosmic ripples’. The concept of ‘existence in cosmic ripples’ is well worth being given the thought. Like what Descartes said: “I think, therefore I am,” we can also say: “We ripple across time, therefore we are gods.” Huh? :) Of course in the sense that we generate rippling sentiments that reach others, multiply and become part of the whole recycling energy.

With our words and deeds, we sow the seeds of akin behavioral patterns in others across the universe, thus transcend the confines of the flesh. Maybe, that’s why writing good poetry was considered a divine art in some mythologies, such as Nordic and Greek. Likewise, the pall of the night can claim only the body in this poem while the rippling cosmic existence of the web of life rises over darkness in the fiery glory of victory. Also in the poem, the speaker, being a strand in this cosmic web, possesses godly properties; even a tad smile they wear may outshine that of the god of sun, prophecy, poetry and music. The Moirae, the Fates or the Grim Sisters of Three, could cut thread of even gods, yet there have been no shears that can clip ripples. They cut the thread of the flesh, yet the ripple the flesh might have created is already on its way across this cosmic reality. It ripples out to your friends, family members, neighbours or even to your pets. These recipients of the ripples, being cosmic, are no longer exactly what they used to be before the ripple transferred something from you to them.

Gestures are more beautiful than gods and they are contagious, rippling across the thread-woven web of life. And the Norns... they weave, measure and cut thread when all the time the web of life stays a whole, gathering information and colours to be even more beautiful. Maybe, the Grim Sisters, ironic with their name, serve for the change to the more beautiful by ceaselessly cutting off thread and weaving in others. Maybe, that’s why there should be glory in death like that of the autumnal leaves... It’s not grim but beautiful.

The speaker, being the same one who is separated from a friend in the physical domain as in ‘Guileless Green’, ‘An Ocean Vast’ and ‘Sweet Blasphemy’ is well aware of his cosmic reality and cosmic reach, so he is impervious to the pangs of time and space.
Marco Buschini May 2017
I do solemnly swear,
That forever more,
I shall live in a world
All on my own.
A world that consists of
Pure pleasure,
And unequivocal harmony.
That will last forever,
In a month of Sundays.
And so from this day forth,
I shall exude the richness
Of the heavens,
In ways that are applicable to life  
In the most profound way imaginable.
Which will inevitably,
Echo forever more
In the laughing sounds
Of matrimony.
Blessed my velvet tongue
For I speak the weight of gold,
And sing like an angel,
Whispering enchanting dreams,
And dancing on clouds.
corporal May 30
Let me taste those golds
because Babe, we’re not here to be told.
Bury a kiss on my neck before the truth unfolds.
It’d be your vow to the angel you’d sold.

Take off your watch.
Take off your crown.
In just one touch,
Make me believe I'm the only one.

Golden sticks, holy air.
Drop the lies and just skin me alive.
Don’t ask for a name.
Surrender to a bite instead.

Throw your clothes on the floor.
Leave your name behind the door.
You won't need those until four.
Don't bite too hard 'cause I might ask for more.

She's pretty wise to be fooled by his nicotine tongue.
But his smile bites.
Oh god, It does.
But Babe, you're in the wrong place if you're looking for love.

Danger hangs around his neck
Another trouble night ahead,
As if the government would pay
For all the night we would face
A Sad Alex Sep 7
can not be found in the flesh
For as warm it may be
As soft to your fingers it is
It will lay soft and cold eventually

can not be found in gold
Yes, it never loses its luster
But many coins you need to muster
And no number will fill the gap in your soul

can not be found in others
For the laughs may distract
The facade will crack
And still you will be empty inside

ilusive as it may be
It follows you around
It never left
For within you she rest
Waiting to be awoken
And while the rest might feel great
They serve as nothing but crutches
On your own you must stand
If you are to revel
On the pleasures life offers...

To improve one self
To look on path troded
It´s essence

To know there is more
With hunger jump forth
It´s rushes

To balance the mind
With the desire of the heart
It´s key

And once held in hand
You will understand
That happiness flies like a bird
But behind she left
Tranquility
And the knowledge
That you can get it again...
jerrey Jul 29
I don’t care how
or care what you do
to make it happen;
I just told you
make me shine
so slather me in turpentine.

I want the sun to shrink
and the world turn dark,
when she rests her eyes—
no longer rise—
upon my fiery spark.

I want the moon to swoon
and raise the tides
when he looks for the sun,
but instead
it’s my beauty that he finds.

I want the stars to bow down
and shower me in gold
when I shine brighter
and reach higher
than the stars of old.

I want storms to make
the world stir
when I walk upon
their earth,
no matter what it’ll take.

I don’t care
if it kills me;
just answer my plea.
I just want, so badly,
to shine,
so slather me in turpentine.
Pyrrha Aug 3
You don't know me
The places I wanna see
The things I want to know
What I want to be told
No, you don't know me

You can't hold me
Or tell me everything's alright
When I know you hold her
Like you used to hold me

You tell her she's made of gold
You know her favorite food, her favorite dress
And all the other things
That you don't know about me

I know you've memorized
Her face, Her voice
Yet when you turn around
Can you even remember my name?

I guess it's too much ask
For redamancy these days
As loyalty has gone out the window
A word of the past

But you used to tell me
That I was made of gold
And that in your arms
I was only yours to hold
But your hands have roamed
So far away from me

And it's not fair
To make me watch
As you do with her
All you did with me

We used to talk about the future
But in a single heartbeat
You have changed our destiny

All those words of yours
Come back and haunt me
Everytime you called me beautiful,
Was it just practice for telling her?

Well you were right about one thing
I am made of gold
And that girl of yours
No matter how much you try
To mold her into me
She will only ever be pyrite
Just a cheap imitation
Of the treasure you will never hold
Pyrite is a very common mineral that is called fool's gold as many mistake it for gold.
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