"hellebores" poems
As Hellebores are to early spring
so was my urge to breathe a rare love.
To Sandwich we would inspire
lost in the Salutation gardens,
following the symmetry of leading lines,
flower beds at their most resplendent,
that we could sense
matching our feetlings
by April at the earliest.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
The world will drown in blood,
Because they seek chaos.
Hellebores are black,
The hell-born are here,
Blood in their wake,
The world in blinding darkness.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Hell is empty,
And sin incarnates walk amongst men.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Not all are red,
They come in black too.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
autumn leaves
and nothingness
seasonal escapade
ache more for less
hills that whisper
junipers without whim
love without living
wounds without skin
mental imposter
corrupted serenity
flimsy enclosures
where art humanity
mountains that shake
hellebores without bloom
live without loving
oxygen unconsumed.
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC