"heavened" poems
Hello again, heartless friend.
So slyly in the backgrounds blend.
Your veering vanish, vaguely here.
Your gaze of increments - insincere.
Healer of the hearted scars.
Swallower of the heavened stars.
The paths in which we dream and delve.
Allow the doubling ones to twelves.
Slices of the eternal elude.
Movements of monstrous magnitude.
A hesitant dawdle. A lingered delay.
The mountainous sway is steered away.
Hoarded heaps of hourglass bliss.
Outnumbered by wasted nothingness.
With interludes of want, of miss.
To slowly morphed indifference.
The pendulums that abruptly swing.
The burdens they still hope to bring.
The envied earn of Earth's endeavor.
The better late. The better never.
The eerily empty echoed need.
The blossomed tree from planted seed.
The curse of a continuous grief.
The ever stealthy, silent thief.
The cogs, gears, hours and hands.
The burn of beauty, bleak and bland.
The coziest, surrounding choke.
The whelm from the transparent cloak.
The running out. The ever essence.
The grand keeper. The watchful presence.
The potential of the plainest plan.
The currency of the wisest man.
What horrors - hallowed by the tick.
Will sound for both healthy and sick?
Will compose secrets, never told?
Will fumble flame to frigid cold?
The end stays always promptly nigh.
For the intimate, infinite blink of eye.
I fear your wasting, more and more.
The constant count to twenty four.
Unresurrectable and second to none.
Airborne, regardless of having fun.
As retrospective wisdom blinds.
Our youthful hopes and manic minds.
On and on. From time to time.
Song to song and rhyme to rhyme.
Betrayer of all mice and men.
Less of if and more of when.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 6:39 AM UTC
I would like to go there -
This place,
This somewhere anew.
It would be here,
My love,
My dear love with you.
O’, cherish me there home,
Our place,
For us young to rest.
Forever pure,
Heavened,
Laid upon God’s vest.
For I love you dearly,
My love...
Dec 18, 2020
Dec 18, 2020 at 11:01 PM UTC
I am rich
I’ve used my blood
like an extravagance
An archetype of oralcry
whose silence
smells of cheap wine
A poetman
become an olding messenger boy
O silver tongue of spiritus!
I whoop it up
in all my wealth
like Great Mercurio
twirling his white ribboned caduceus
in heavened air
Bathed & gowned
by the Pifs of Prophecy
Asoak in a tub of soft flashes
I step into talaria
And into my hand
the twined winged wand was wound
I sat on the toilet of an old forgotten god
and divined a message thereon
I bring it to you
in cupped hands
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
For whose License must your Coppered Mouth sing
Which the Lamb and the Owl compose for you
This - define such Friend - thumb your nickered strings,
Then delve Innocence perform those Tidbits true
Perhaps my Finger - or Eye then about
Point to where your Righteous Heart should belong
As you praise your Job; Past Excellence stout
Play your Hidden Muse in search for a Song
Which Customers, their likely Music spell
Helled or Heavened Clefs you both pacify
That this Foundry should acclaim Managers well
As their War-Torn Throats win your satisfy.
Still it was just a Day; As such Day did pass
Back to your Reward; And Reward it was.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
Act I
Enter two navies inspecting a robbery scene, Norman staring at a table on a stage full of empty shuffled tea cups and scattered roses.
Norman: well wouldn’t you see! isn’t this the most balanced tea!
Enter Dover eyeing the table and Norman with sharp inspection.
Dover: what the shambles you mean? (picking a rose up)
Norman:oh the shambles! where’s the gleaming fire within the clear clouds!
Dover:what even caused such a commotion?
Norman: oh what’s the withered moon without the staggering sun! the founded prism underneath the leaves when they hum
the lookers- instead of the rounds could have taken onboard routes!
Dover stands unsure as Norman roams around like he’s on shore.
Dover: what’s buzzing in that wits of yours?
Norman halts all of a sudden picking up the pieces of a broken glass, roses, and stems.
Norman: fine time how it had tethered! if the tea cups hadn’t fallen under ink of roses on their surface! then who’d rip the poor roses out their wombs!
Dover listening to Norman, picks up the labeled teabag’s paper inspecting.
Awfully surprised Dover reads.
Dover: Sugarlime Tea? how’d that not succumbed from thrills of morbid totes! my heavened lord!
Norman halts amidst his tumble around the lowered velvet curtains.
Norman: oh that must’ve been treading on dreadful strings that led to delightful things— thorns in their cups but roses around their mugs just like vibrant flowers inhaled beneath wooden brutes!
swords do twist oftentimes!, just like forsworn letters carved inside hearts oh how the mighty wind had rumbled their grounds their cups! their roses! their mugs!
It must’ve been when the lime in that whiff had hit! oh do come abrupt thrills! to forsaken wills!
Dover shakes his head exasperated.
Dover: not even the hastiest of blades could highlight your lines you rot witted Norman! if anything but, sons of your lips could fill all those bare rugged stones!
End act 1
Jan 30, 2025
Jan 30, 2025 at 12:05 AM UTC
Ever noticed someone's cry,
like the prison it holds,
Where is the unknown present?
You chose to support them,
making them comfortable with the inmost of thy heart,
as a reflection of thy deepest feelings,
to heal those with similar struggles,
Improving their mental health.
These profound mysteries of the unknown are waiting to be unraveled,
But they don't express themselves.
So you offer a hug,
curing their darkness,
resembling a sense of belongingness,
Knowing they'll be loved no matter what they go through,
Even if they're incapable of seeing it.
You're forever loved,
Like the heavens that lie beyond our existence of infinity.
May 28, 2025
May 28, 2025 at 11:57 AM UTC