I'd put on a pilgrim's mantel,
Journey along to the far wild;
Break through thorny thickets
And twigs across the wilderness,
To where humans dwell not,
To a world of savage animals;
Right through jaws of death,
Trudge through barren valleys,
Cimb soaring mountains before me,
Dash through mystique woods,
Woods darker than a lonely grave;
Whilst buffeted by wild branches,
Wend along wildest river banks,
Where early boughs grow wild and rank,
Stumble through murky waters,,
See beyond bounds of mortal men,
Trudge yonder a wide strange plain,
To fair lands of the emeralds,
Where dawn songbirds perpetually
Croon nature's symphonies,
Where trumpeters, taborers
Harpists and fiddlers
Play the loveliest melodies,
Soothing melodies trapped
In proverbial winds of time,
Where the meanest castle pillar
Is not of silver
But of fairest gold.
A realm of only beauty to behold,
A realm of everlasting youth,
A realm of opalescent skies,
A realm where the sun doth rise,
In the sheer corner of paradise
Just to catch a glimpse
At thy physiognomy
*Only if I could

Tonight,
I shall encompass my lover's high quarters
And sweetly serenade my master
By a grand company of numerous bright
And twinkling stars
As I stand before his balcony 'neath
The moonlight,
Along with a coterie of master
Flutists and harpists,
I shall dance, in a gown of silken spun
White, along the lush green grass
As I sing a sweet, sweet lullaby,
Hoping to stir my lover's ears to listen
And awaken to hear only words
Of longing, a passionate love,
Flowing rapidly and freely from my
Quivering lips, my heart and soul dance,
And just like the fireflies, they both
Take flight, in anticipation of my master's
Quick footsteps up above upon
The balcony's stone steps,
I await his handsome and familiar face
Above, yearning for his arms
To envelop me just like the comforting
Wings of a dove, I also wait
For his strong lips that would devour
Mine with an endless deep love!
I sing,
"Come, my sleeping master!
Show me thy dark and handsome face!
Look down upon me, your lover,
With your loving dark eyes,
And see a lovely picture of a love
And devotion so rare,
As I wait impatiently in my place,
For just a glimpse of thee,
Perhaps just a glimpse of thy very dark
Hair?  Oh, my love!
Come near!
And, do be quick about it, my dear!"
For, I shall never again pass another night's
Peaceful rest upon my empty and lonesome
Bed, if ever you were to never show me
The presence of thy very own dark head!
But, I shall have to pass a cold night's
Restless slumber with only these two
Loathsome companions,
As depressing company,
Sadness and dread,
Tossing to-and-fro
And only wishing that I were dead.
My love!
Awaken and come to me
For how I so loveth only thee!
Should I then climb your stairs and storm
Through thy darkened bed chamber
For just a glimpse of thy dark face
As I eagerly kiss thee,
My handsome sleeping prince,
All over thy face and blackened brow,
I do kiss thee now, over and over
A thousand times, I kiss thee!
Over and over a thousand times,
I do fondly caress thee,
My sleeping prince!
Over and over a thousand times,
I do hold thee very tightly,
My loving master!
Oh, how I yearn for thee nightly,
For I only adore and worship thee,
As I silently linger until the morning hours
Shine in upon the two of us,
With the sun's shining light so brightly,
I rest quietly beside thy bed,
Close, and near at thy knee,
I rest beside thee, my true love,
Under the stars and moonlight.

The edge of a harp's elaborate silver braided chord,
Can be plucked to the same tune as the edge of a knife,
How well can you take the sounds?
And how well can you discern tween the two, if its within the same key?
To the same note;

if a harpist allowed a knife,
the weight of choice.
if a murderer can't truely learn licks of gods,
the depths of hell.

~

Delicant Discordant Convulsions Derive from Deeper manifestations of Darker tones and Chords Caught possibly unConciouslessy

a Slick Slip of premeditated Harmony to which Half-demons (the some cursed to cut) Huddle Heads to Some Sick Soulful Hurt.
one edge, a blade, Hangs Harrowed on, his brother-a-bridge, the Harp String, taut yet Slacked to allow that binding Sense of Husbanding.
one touch ruins Heaven,
one Hell,
one of some touch ruins all.
And in same vein:
they live in sameness.
where the lies hold truth, and in the truth, lies.
where do they end where do they begin, where do I lie.
and why not play a harp with a knife if I'm going to use them the same, yet different.
Atleast there's some home in the
cyclic screeching
~

dont trust harpists.
dont trust murderers.