"queenly" poems
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
19.1k
little ladies
than dead exactly dance
in my head,precisely
dance where danced la guerre.
Mimi à
la voix fragile
qui chatouille Des
Italiens
the putain with the ivory throat
Marie Louise Lallemand
n’est-ce pas que je suis belle
chéri? les anglais m’aiment
tous,les américains
aussi….”bon dos, bon cul de Paris”(Marie
Vierge
Priez
Pour
Nous)
with the
long lips of
Lucienne which dangle
the old men and hot
men se promènent
doucement le soir(ladies
accurately dead les anglais
sont gentils et les américains
aussi,ils payent bien les américains dance
exactly in my brain voulez
vous coucher avec
moi? Non? pourquoi?)
ladies skilfully
dead precisely dance
where has danced la
guerre j’m'appelle
Manon,cinq rue Henri Mounier
voulez-vous coucher avec moi?
te ferai Mimi
te ferai Minette,
dead exactly dance
si vous voulez
chatouiller
mon lézard ladies suddenly
j’m'en fous des nègres
(in the twilight of Paris
Marie Louise with queenly
legs cinq rue Henri
Mounier a little love
begs,Mimi with the body
like une boîte à joujoux, want nice sleep?
toutes les petites femmes exactes
qui dansent toujours in my
head dis donc,Paris
ta gorge mystérieuse
pourquoi se promène-t-elle,pourquoi
éclate ta voix
fragile couleur de pivoine?)
with the
long lips of Lucienne which
dangle the old men and hot men
precisely dance in my head
ladies carefully dead
10.5k
Blessed with matchlessly magical Parents,
Their supremely good, serenely happy raising,
design our thought processes.
Their loving, comforting storytelling skills,
leave indelible footprints and heartprints.
Thankyou God for this Benedictory Love!!!
Blessed with a bombastic Brother,
self-styled natural, perennial itinerant,
Sentinel of sisters life-long.
Sentiments flow unabatedly,
for our illustrious, boisterous beloved younger.
Thankyou God for this Blissful Love!!!
Blessed with delicate darling Sister,
who wears expressions benignant perpetually.
Wiitty, gritty, easy-going habitually.
Evident protected favourite of all surely.
Fondest moments born in her queenly company.
Thankyou God for this Harmonious Love!!!
Blessed with solicitous Husband,
His silent romanticism, macho protective ways,
smoothen tumultuous paths.
Terribly correct and sober better half,
Brokers peace, plots life's happiness graph.
Thankyou God for this Angelic Love!!!
Blessed with an endearing Child,
Whose arrival, auspicious, momentous and miraculous, Rearing the divine and sublime born,
definitely, a definition for the guardians.
Our child, our panacea, promise of better tomorrows.
Thankyou God for this Supreme Love!!!
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
Under this canopy
of dark
gleaming stars
I now sit
allow my body
to take residence
in the aura
of my own
glowing
let thoughts
of reason
slowly unravel
until they
become
one
long
thread
connecting my
mind but
releasing it
to the air
Molecules, like
the tiniest of crystals,
gently whir
energetically
about me
in almost
invisible stirrings
letting the power
of energy centers
take over:
Red,
for my root
for I am
tethered
to this earth
Orange, for
the passion
so strong
and truly knowing
my own worth
Yellow, for
my gut,
instincts open
and a-light
expanding into
universes, broadening
my sight
Then my heart
washed through and through
in shades of green
its own incandescence
filled with verdant,
fiery sheens
It beats a lantern
of vitality
in this ocean of pain
sending a beacon in
the darkness
helping to break old,
patterns
prompt them to
snap like rusty chains
Here it pumps in growth of
leafy, budding light
Guiding my spirit
in ripeness full and bright
I rise up
into the
indigo-turquoise
of my throat
as words burst forth
in surges,
in the salty froth
of ocean spirals
they float,
get pulled by
mysterious urges
Like waterfall mist
just kissing
the tips of eyelash
flickers
these words that
have the power
to calm
or make my blood
run quicker
And then:
the deep purple
of my crown
that tapers into
a shimmering white
and I know
I can now
receive myself,
calm, in queenly
presence of mind
of spirit
in my highest
form of
light
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
Maybe men labored under a yellow sky
bent under barley sheaves they’d cut,
returned behind limestone walls and leaned
to splash water on each other at the well.
You can see its crumbling curve today, in one
city as old when Cheops' pyramid was built
as pyramids are to us right now.
Jericho, not so far away from Egypt and,
our archaeologists tell us, likely really didn’t hear
the blare of Joshua’s trumpets shuddering down
old Canaan-cursed by-Noah, coaxing walls
to shudder, teeter, list from Israelite raids.
You see one barley-bearer shaking dry,
descend stair-tunnels to his flat to kneel
before his hungry daughter, hungry wife,
waiting for evening’s barley bread to cool.
He joins as they resume their business of the day
to gently set the cowrie eyes in Grandma’s face,
two priests removed the rest of her last year,
but left the precious head to decompose at home
scented in the wall with sweet Netufian herbs,
And now the family gathers near small fire,
desert nightbreeze filtering through the cracks
tenderly to soften Mother’s bony head
with daubs of plaster re-create her nose,
and gaping eye sockets, softening too
those black orbits with white plaster.
Slowly her death’s head touched tenderly
by younger finger tips becomes
something like a human head again,
If not quite living, cowrie shells complete
this vision of a vacant queenly stare
befits a family shrine. When things are done,
small granddaughter now squeals with delight
her own dark eyes reflect the fire-light.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
sometimes the walls
peel down
in tears and metal
as the floodgates
open wide
as the soul is bared,
raw,
exposed
softly humming
its release of pride
heartbeats strong
head up high
queenly stance
bearing storms
ready for the battle
taking form
yet holding on tight
to solace's reins
praying to heaven
for grace in the strain
for soon the cry
to action
will fall upon this
tender land
all that exists
washed away in
a whirlwind
of sand
in the distance
a lightflare
a whipping up of womb
a time for victory's place
in this tempest monsoon
and within my skin
in the flight of
my freeze
my pain opens up
and allows
me
to
breathe
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
I.
Beneath the vine-clad eaves,
Whose shadows fall before
Thy lowly cottage door—
Under the lilac’s tremulous leaves—
Within thy snowy clasped hand
The purple flowers it bore.
Last eve in dreams, I saw thee stand,
Like queenly nymph from Fairy-land—
Enchantress of the flowery wand,
Most beauteous Isadore!
II.
And when I bade the dream
Upon thy spirit flee,
Thy violet eyes to me
Upturned, did overflowing seem
With the deep, untold delight
Of Love’s serenity;
Thy classic brow, like lilies white
And pale as the Imperial Night
Upon her throne, with stars bedight,
Enthralled my soul to thee!
III.
Ah! ever I behold
Thy dreamy, passionate eyes,
Blue as the languid skies
Hung with the sunset’s fringe of gold;
Now strangely clear thine image grows,
And olden memories
Are startled from their long repose
Like shadows on the silent snows
When suddenly the night-wind blows
Where quiet moonlight lies.
IV.
Like music heard in dreams,
Like strains of harps unknown,
Of birds for ever flown,—
Audible as the voice of streams
That murmur in some leafy dell,
I hear thy gentlest tone,
And Silence cometh with her spell
Like that which on my tongue doth dwell,
When tremulous in dreams I tell
My love to thee alone!
V.
In every valley heard,
Floating from tree to tree,
Less beautiful to me,
The music of the radiant bird,
Than artless accents such as thine
Whose echoes never flee!
Ah! how for thy sweet voice I pine:—
For uttered in thy tones benign
(Enchantress!) this rude name of mine
Doth seem a melody!
2.1k
’Tis said that when
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of wo,
Like warriors by an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The ****** Earth
Gave instant birth
To springs that ne’er did flow—
That in the sun
Did rivulets run,
And all around rare flowers did blow—
The wild rose pale
Perfumed the gale,
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.
So when in tears
The love of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
By the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow—
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the heart whose hope has died—
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,—
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,—
The rare and radiant flowers of song!
2k
Love has given up.
It was the wrong religion.
And London did not melt into the Thames.
You teetered on the edge of a golden world,
and then fell suddenly—
accused of sortilege, ****** and treason.
And at his pleasure—
or was it mercy?—
Was it for the sake of your seven years,
or perhaps for the little daughter?—
in which flowed the royal blood, spoiled by *** and lineage.
Whatever it was, no matter.
He would spare you the pain
of being burnt at the stake.
Instead, to be executed like royalty—
dispatched by a French swordsman.
The prophecy must have been of little comfort
as your ladies helped prepare you to meet
Death, newly betrothed.
A gown of dark grey damask
floated over a blood-red petticoat.
Your mantle was trimmed with ermine.
Queenly, you stood and addressed those who had come to
watch you. And then you knelt and began to pray, and
quickly and mercifully, the blade
carried out its trajectory.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
No, do dread my glance ,im Helen.
im the purest creature of rage ****
a lapse glance alas , a doom .
a dream of Luth's sealed gloom.
sinister glare of Gomorrah bright.
soured sight of sere flower blight.
im venomous kiss of sweetest lips.
deadliest breath of daughter of Rappicini.
come fair son of light and beauty.
date me with naive lurking desire.
receive my poisonous breath satire .
i will sail thee near a pestilent fountain.
im the sinister Titania and Bottom and more i contain.
behold you not with my innocent beauty .
perverse is my nature intend but my name holy.
dost cross the path to purity on mount Sinai.
cause i shall rule and Helen the offspring of my ****
is lure untamed fiend,feed her she behold with leech.
no, one of my breath is a blast to thy life to leash.
my glare is illuminated like azure Vegas.
my nectar Pompeii larva of past .
my beauty is heaven flame it charms .
come; rich, beauty ,savant and fame.
for thou dost not behold with immortal Ichor.
sip deep my breath.
and meddle you with my luring glare.
im Titania i hang over my head a dagger.
upon which thy blood stream to the Bottom.
thou thinkest to entwine me ?
no,lo King Cophetua and the beggar maid.
and my judgement hell fire .
Thebes is in rout but Capaneus bid dust.
what dost thou want ,thou Sophist ?
no the sojourn of thee is Zeus Kirma.
beset for worst as the writ Apocrypha.
come thee savant ,come thee poet.
bekneel before the sacred attire .
heaven bow before the holy Dionysus.
for we beset you with frenzy ,ecstasy, and drama.
all behold the same destiny.
but elixir yonder in Kimmerian trinity.
try not you for eternal bloom .
cause error at Achille right heel.
but Maqueros, Lazarus , and Leviticus.
all will queenly glance at our Caduceus.
behold you not my beauty.
but behold you with our Pow wow.
behold you ! say Amen RA.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Shy cup of Latte 🍵
Shy cup of Latte, savor of mine
Sat with ease as unto a regal saucer--
Upon my heart's amber throne
Hearth to a grandeur sublime
That trembles the first bright gleamer,
Of the early morning sun.
Portions enchanting proceed--
From your pearl purple scepter
Bade on high,
Onto lofty summits of lovesome regard,
To reign my walls for ages untold,
As Empress to a citadel ever yours
Violet petals doth my path carpet
Gracing my careful fervor stroll--
Onwards,
Upward
To the edge of your sweet repose,
By the smooth rims, encircling
Your gently steaming streams of splendid love
In a bid to peck a sip so healing--
Kiss your froth in heartly devotion
As unto a ring queenly royal,
Of she whom upon my love delights,
Let mine soul be merry in this stead,
With its essence to joy in this blessing
Ringing spurts of gratitude--
and whispers of promise
I sound in chime to myself
"I, then --
Be an endless song
To which I ever call for her hand in dance."
She, then --
Be my heaven-vested cistern
My shy cup of latte
A fountain cup so sweet
It never ceases to pour.
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
I am sick of the way I'm treated.
Tricked, thrown in the trash like a piece of chewed up gum.
Being cheated into thinking utter lies.
I am no marionette any longer.
I live by my own rules
And I break them as I please.
It doesn't matter if I am cast from the little island of society.
I've been living on the rocks anyway.
I'd rather be independent than popular and queenly.
I leave behind the liars
Evil-doers
Users
Abusers.
I'm sick of it and I'm sick of you.
You're the flu, he's cholera, and she's AIDS.
Give me my freedom vaccine now.
The side effects aren't important.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 3:11 PM UTC
Naughty Bougainvillea
flash
their gypsy red burgundy parasols
like Creole maidens
from New Orlean French Quarters
their wild beauty
adorns Floridian gardens and
ocean courtyards
But, they are no match for
the Queenly Gardenia
Her soft, ivory, alabaster *****
exudes a scent found only in Paradise
As she unfolds her exquisite, royal,
Saraswati petals
I wait blushing with bated anticipation
for a whiff of Heaven itself
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
I have a secret pastime
more an idle, sometime whim,
to kiss with deep intensity
someone who isn’t “him”.
Now, a kiss may be a little thing
I’m not talkin’ with a guy
but within the lips and tongue of one
who’s double X, not X and Y.
I don’t seek all Sapphic pleasures
though adore the light diversion
of seeking out a lady
to satiate my sweet **********
Within her scented aura
as her lips begin to part
and our fingertips entwine
sends a flutter from my heart.
The flutter blooms within my breast
as my stomach flips and ties
a satin bow within me
when I look into her eyes.
Two girls, pressed together,
generate a special fusion
gentle, warming wetness
a red lipstick collusion.
Our slipping mouths well watered
her hands within my hair
my arms about her yielding waist
a fleeting love affair.
A tableaux of our queenly ***
lost in transitory joy
of mutual female adoration
momentarily sans boy.
Vive la difference!
Contrast, in everything I do,
the slide of long French kisses
I’d sure enjoy the taste of you!
Ladies, I encourage you
seek out a willing playmate
forget all sexuality
and bend a little on the straight.
Who wants to travel through their life
without succumbing to the wine
of all those luscious, juicy girls
who want to mix their juice with mine?
I think of it as simple fun
no rules or lifestyle choices.
When I scent that perfume on her neck
desire flames, rejoices!
So, embrace the little pleasures
as your path of life unfurls
come on, get close, and pucker up
‘cos I love kissing girls!
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
The shadow of long-ago noblest of souls
now ghosting
the battements of this
mouldy tumbledown palace moans still,
albeit silently
about the time there was wind
blowing out of control in her royal mind.
Oh there was storm but she held the reins
of the hurricane
that could strip grain bare
if she so wished, and he whom she loved
was there in the room
handsome and bold, she decided to speak.
She was never afraid of tomorrows yet
she trembled
beneath the weight of this
queenly affair, there was something she
had not known
for a very long time
and that now arose to entangle her heart.
The Queen turned of a sudden and asked
for a kiss, oh yes,
she then received the tenderest
of gentle embraces
which would not be forgotten for the rest
of her life, but was
she liked for herself as a person, or not.
Fate though dictated that she never marry
any one man
but be wedded to all,
and such a hard
immensity of role meant belonging soley,
being in charge of her nation
was where mission ever held precedence.
All knew their place, so she lifted her head
as royal a ******
as ever had been, and yet
she was always to ask in her deepest heart
did he kiss her
because she was his Queen,
just to gain favour or did he really mean it.
Elizabeth's shadowy ghost will ever ponder
that unanswered question
in this hazy place as she wanders awaiting
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
And when the sun bled o’er the hills,
the moon, she held her breath
and watched as all grew silent, still
to mourn the queenly death.
And as the burning throne she took
from on a lonely height,
I felt her eye upon me look,
a soft and dewy light
that seemed to promise everything
in wisps of pallid fire:
a thousand hopes, now quickening
in shadows of desire.
But all these dreams, they barely keep
for one night in my head;
I wake to find their remnants–heaps
of ashes in my bed.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
O! Bake me a cake of your lovely
sweet ****
And I'll eat it, savouring every bite
How I'd love to collapse my face right
into it....
That throne upon which she sits
The sheer arrogance magnificence of
it.
O! I've been up her hills
And down her valleys
But I ain't ever seen anything
Like her two cheeky Charlies.
O! I love their lazy swagger
Would love them served to me on a
platter.
Her wonderful pert and Queenly
bottom
Her splendid imperious behind.
So you can keep your views on
Donald Trump
And fundamentalist religion
Me! All I want are thoughts of you
And your beautiful curvaceous
bottom.
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 12:07 PM UTC
**How graceful are your feet in sandals,
O queenly maiden!
Your rounded thighs are like jewels,
the work of a master hand,
Your navel is a rounded bowl
that never lacks mixed wine.
Your belly is a heap of wheat,
enriched with liliies.
Your two ******* are like two fawns,
twins of a gazelle.
Your neck is like an ivory tower.
Your eyes are pools in Heshbon,
by the gate of Bath rabbim
Your nose is like a tower of Lebanon,
overlooking Damascus.**
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
She on the Twentieth
Street liveth
In a plush penthouse;
And I in my own rustic crib
Live by my ancient nib;
And for love, I'm no mouse.
The dollybird useth iThings
Those by Apple made,
While I by my little things
Run my blessed trade.
Though no kingly life
I do presently live
Nor have now fortune and fame
Great, high queenly dame;
And I mayn't a costly gadget
At the moment avoid
Like that dear iPhone or tablet;
Yet make not my affection void:
I can be a commoner,
But do need nay a coroner.
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 1:36 AM UTC
When she stepped out of the shower
In pale wet skin
And splendor
She wore water like a queenly robe
Dripping *******
Made of gold and treasure
Such beauty deserved
To be inscribed
Something no man should forget
In case I couldn’t memorize the bite of her
Kiss
The trembling release of her depth
In case I might forget the flavor of her
Cries
The excited rasp of her breath
I needed a photo of that naked pout
A vision
Never to forget
“Don’t take my picture,”
She warned me
In ferocious warrior tongue
Daughter of Nordic barbarians
Beauty unlike anyone
What did she think I would do
With the image she might surrender?
Sell it to the highest bidder
For thirty pieces of silver?
Send it to perverts and *** addicts
Specialists in self-pleasure?
Post it on church walls
So celibates might be tempted?
Raise it upon a flag
For an entire nation to be offended?
“Don’t take my picture,”
She warned me
In ferocious warrior tongue
Daughter of Nordic barbarians
Beauty unlike anyone
But I defied her fierce instruction
Spit from heroic luscious lips
Picture snapped
In a flash
Naked beauty captured
At last
And
Never saw that warrior again.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
#
*Praise not the barren, praise the rich consummate flower,
Fair only to those without sight, so full of internal power.
None nobler with an unlimiting petaled command,
Given by the earth’s love to all the native land.
Given a successive name, tall, short, light or dark,
Drawn from those once hidden away in the human Ark.
It is now, as when on the holiest of land
No less joyful as it spreads around my willful gland.
Covering the breach, and lengthening the strand
Rising like the Prince of Consummation’s imagined height,
Coming tumbling downward with diminished fight.
To unbetray the plot free of public scorn,
For this is our only blessing until his blest return.
To all those heaps which one petal does nigh bind,
Blown off, and scattered like tumble weeds that unwind.
What strength can you or your designs propose
With naked friends who round you upturn their toes?
If the flower is doubtful of how it should you use,
A foreign object would more satisfy its queenly news.
The proud stamen would assemble a friendship ring,
Foment the battle, and support the coming King.
Nor would this royal party ever unite
When in the flower’s arms, it strains to set it right.
Or if understood, the gripping interest soon shall break,
And by odious aid, make the reed return to the weak.
All sorts of vessels, by their successful arts,
Abhorring the panting, encountering their altered hearts.
From love’s incandescent rule, and a heart beats nature’s cry,
Thought, passion, common-wealth and health all belie
As the flower is the champion of all the public good.
As into her arms falls another chief of royal blood,
What may not the suitor hope, and to what applause
Might such a King regain by the flower’s cause.*
#
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
In this restless desert
things are not as
dry as they seem
for after the plentiful rains
the temporal grass has spread
as quick and alive as wildfire
Looking velvety to the touch,
it waves in synchronicity
as the wind sweeps through
its sharp blades
like a tender stroke of hair
from a lover
wildflowers peep
their heads of color
over the shoots
in vibrant frequencies:
crimson, yellow, purple
I want to run through them
festoon them upon
my queenly being
not actually touching them
just reveling
in their existence
I want to become vested
in the accoutrements
of simplicity
wear them upon
my essence
in tiny points
of effervescent love
particles of colored joy
that mark me with pointillism
so that when I am sitting
in the cold lonely of the night
I can embrace them
in their royal glory
and be caressed by
the loyalty
of their
spark
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC
We both are passengers,
Aboard the Ship of Love.
It helps us pass through,
Both crests and troughs.
The waves are so harsh,
Risk running aground.
So we would just grasp,
Grasp each other's hand.
For dear life we may care,
Could we ever be separated.
Loving you is not a child's play,
Patiently waiting is your lover.
Never doubting our faithfulness,
Kraken of confusion scare us not.
Doubling the sweetness in love,
Expecting dreams to come true.
Zestful we must carry forward,
Years to follow up in our lives.
Keep away only till we meet,
Halting not before marriage.
Under construction this stays,
Healthy bridge is being built.
Xeroxing each strong pillar,
Volunteer for own relation.
Jerking away each problem,
Most of them will be solved.
Opportunity that knocked,
Queenly way we treated it.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
I can see through this darkness
A tunnel of nightmares,
Plaguing so freely
Who could reject them
Who hang so queenly?
Is it a matter of time
When the sun will leave us
And the night forever rule?
I dream of butterflies
And sunny skies
And happy endings
And excellent beginnings
Are there no happy people left
But the upset ones
Who wear the sweater of grief
Is there no one to help
The weak and the powerless?
I dream of blue mornings
And purple evenings
I dream of happy children
And golden songs
But here we are, in the deathly throngs
Who are we to dismiss it?
Who are we to embrace it?
We are none, but human.
I can tell you a thousand things
That I would rather be
To extend my wings as a bird
To sharpen my claws like a cat
To leap ever so proudly like a leopard
But there is one thing I am
And that is human.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
My Mother do not worry...
In my heart
Is a song that builds
A silent church
Lighted by stout arms
Of candles,
In my lips is a bell that spreads
All the sounds of love.
Reaching beyond the heavens;
In my eyes is a star chipped from
The halo of sun
And embedded as diamond on that queenly
Brow; in my veins are chords that hum a thousands melodies in awaited
Moments; in my breath is fragrant as the flowers veiling your absence.
A butterfly to these sighing leaves;
In my fingers in touch,
Spread out to revered doubts in chamber
Of approaching darkness, sun, rain, wind
And bird are one
Earth and moistened seeds
From my fragrant soul;
All worldly gifts have I
If only you're here beside me,
My beloved, jewel and part of my poetic gifts.
My Mother do not worry...I am still here with you.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC