"regaled" poems
A sky so blue
Beatific smile of Sun
Swathes the vastness
Welcoming with open arms
My gleeful heart
Reaches out to the sky
Oh so like the feeling
Joyous jig, to celebrate
Unleashed dreams
I release them to the wind
They fly high
Among the blue
Taste of freedom
Feels so great
My dreams have taken flight
My feet on the ground
And my dreams soaring high
A feeling of euphoria
As I kiss the wind
I feel lighter
My eyes are brighter
Hope resides in my heart
With the sky above me
A shade of blue
Oh so true
A new day and hope
I embrace the landscape
Proud I am
To feel this beauty
I am a part of it
Welcomed by bright sunrays
Feel free to express
When the sky breaks into laughter
Playfully indulge in a light banter
You are here
Welcomed by a bright new day
Regaled by the birds’ songs
Intoxicating aroma of Nature
Along with a sky so blue
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
Night,
dark, soft, alluring,
spinner of dreams I want to be lost in,
is a kindhearted courtesan,
who never demanded anything
for all her loving, that to me
was like a swim in the pool
of "Ananda"* I was searching for.
I climbed her door steps
with the silent footfalls of a cat,
all these years for solace,
when the fair lass ,
regaled by my songs evening after evening,
scoffed and taunted,
when I fell wounded
in duels of life, I was forced to fight
to keep my honor intact.
Once,
seeing me left in the lurch,
blood soaked and badly wounded
she led my tired legs
to her house of magic and secret treasure hunts,
blessed me with oblivion, till I woke up.
Her mansion became
arena of silent dances of wounded memories,
till sun appeared above misty mountains
cheering me up with new promises,
but my thoughts never left her.
I spent my darkest hours
in her house,
thrilled by dreams she induced,
in which under moonbeams
princesses gathered,
bubbling fine wine brimmed
in sparkling glasses,
I felt the most loved man
within her tender arms.
I would wait for the night, my sullied lover,
to arrive with her hands of breeze,
to tousle my hair and caress my face.
Night took away my pains,
her lasciviousness is the only drink,
that makes me ask for more.
She is not only mine,
as a courtesan, she needs to entertain
whoever seeks her,
But when I am with her,
she is all mine.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Somewhere between a bicycle
and a seat at a daydream...
I had to make money
so I mortgaged
my woods, my sea, my music
Words--
left
Regaled only with rust
my 1938 Columbia
bike
(sold for a crib)
to an antique dealer
Fat-tires, red-faded fenders
Baskets saddled on wheel
for towel and lunch
Key chain dangling
jingling against jar
of cool ginger ale
Look back at the baskets-filled
afternoons at the park
I was a poet
The road
laid itself bare
For my bike
and I
scrolling through leaves
like words that fell
like hair across shoulders
that I sang to no one
the audience--
air
I know that now
I was not really…
nor ready
I once was a poet
___
This poem was based on a black and white photo of Harry Bertschmann as a young artist,
posed proudly by his magnificent work. First two lines of my poem were my immediate reaction to his painting.
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/05/nyregion/the-struggling-artist-at-86.html
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
Dashing hither, dashing thither,
Dashing in the winter weather,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a hat upon his head
Not some lace cap fit for ladies,
Nor a bonnet stitched for babies,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a top hat there instead!
Never had a hat so fine,
So tall and silken, so refined,
Regaled upon the daily grind
Of prince or pauper in the Strand
Ladies stalled to see it's lustre,
Swooned and swayed before it's bluster,
Fell and fainted in a fluster,
Startled by a hat so grand!
Children screamed in dreadful fright
And yelping dogs began to bite
As crowds began to brawl and fight
And riots claimed the London street
In the chaos thus ensuing,
Folks began to run, pursuing
John the dashing haberdasher
Chasing him from Strand to Fleet!
John was taken to the prison,
Chided by the crowds derision,
There to wait the Mayor's decision
On his wanton heinous crime
Charged with breaching lawful peace,
He paid a fine for his release
And ordered to desist and cease,
He left his top hat well behind
Thus is told the tale of John
Who dared to bravely dash and don
A silken top hat high upon
His noble head in London town
Heed his tale and take this warning,
When you wake one winter morning
With desire to be less boring,
Careful how you dress that crown!
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
i might continue on with that trauma
i might subside.
violation carries with it sensate boons of empathy
blue sky overrun with thanks
arched-back breath
you're afraid to ask me
are your tears painful
but i spear your question with a surplus love
shouting joy
as if there weren't a plea
tremulously groaned
share with me
it isn't just release
sweet freedom laughing out of doors
you and she regaled in bursts
iridescent meaning
hung in curve of lock
nape and open palm
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
The familiar complaints, the cozy ones.
Ambling through the hedges of grievance.
I never know what I'm feeling at any one time.
Usually more of the same. Bragging my inadequacies.
Winter is coughed from the addled coalsmoke sky.
Chimneys chugging ash. Clumps of duress.
Blake's choir of children lying in a heap.
Noontime streetlamps regaled in holly and poinsettia.
A ***** moss enters from the vacant lot, cautiously.
The homeless have been scraped from under the bridge.
Geese call and flee. The snow is flakes of ash,
the sun finally burnt itself down.
Disused meanings are flushed. A carefully wrought
vocabulary we have disabused ourselves of.
Crumbling monologue.
A new grammar forms. Light and Motion dances
from the screen. A panoptican of laughs and serenades.
Sometimes there is a magazine no one has a
subscription to. It is the digest of a human heart
dressed to the nines in thorns and flame.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
The warble frocks and debutantes,
Soprano trilling nightingales,
The extras dressed as elephants
And tenors with their penguin tails;
They mingle at the opera house
With canapés on silver trays;
Then dine on pigeon, goose and grouse,
To reminisce their finest plays;
When Romeo found Juliet
The crowds were on their feet for days,
When mighty Caesar’s end was met,
The press regaled with highest praise;
Such fine upstanding citizens,
So crisply draped, so brightly gowned;
The marvel of these denizens,
So rarely seen, so well renowned.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
Read the words upon the page
Depicting how was such an age
That, then, ensconced in everyday
In truth, permitted Hell to play.
Where age with all it's wisdom gleaned
Should logically be rightly seen
As guidance for emerging youth
Where past mistakes impart as truth.
Though tragically, bereft as seen,
The actuality now doth scream
For youth doth relegate to grass
Aged wisdom's pearls.... as shattered glass.
Dispersed amid the flotsam tide
Lies that which salves salvation's hide,
Lies that which wreaks of God's works, twist,
Dispersed through cold, Alzheimer mist.
The waste of ancient eyes at rest
Expelled, devoid of life, at best
But should a crisis start to burn
Old minds may co-opt young to learn?
History makes the paradigm
That thumps the lesson home, with time,
In squandering the wealth of age
We burn the story, tear the page.
Now delegated to the shelf
Immersed in indignation's self
Old wallow in blue pity's taint
Inhibited by self restraint.
But then the moment comes around
When happenstance, by chance compound,
When youth, of clear complexioned face,
May stumble into mute disgrace....
Thence whilst the Angel trumpets grace
Whence in that vacant, silenced space,
Then flows of wisdom tumble thine
From lips that spake in ancient time.
Knowledge held in Holy Grail
Empirically forth then, when regaled,
As pomp and circumstance decreed
Should all, combined then, .... be agreed?
M.
9th December 2022
Foxglove@Taranaki,NZ.
Dec 8, 2022
Dec 8, 2022 at 10:20 PM UTC
The stranger rode up
as we sat round the fire
it was burning down low
and we were beginning to tire
He tied off his ride
By some brush by a boulder
He was just a young lad
Though in the dark he looked older
We offered him coffee
said sit down, have a cup
We said if you're hungry
There's still food to sup
He accepted and thanked us
Said he'd got lost on the trail
With the north winter winds
Bringing on early hail
He pulled up a stump
I saw a slight flash of tin
I said "you're a lawman"
he just gave a grin
I'm from up in Kansas
was back to my home
Had to visit my mama
she's all on her own
I poured him a coffee
And I told him what's what
I said it isn't the best
But, it's sure as heck hot
I smiled at his lie
And I stoked at the fire
I thought to myself
This man's a liar
I said "in this here circle"
"we may not all be friends"
"so, toss a log on this fire"
"and we'll hear how this ends"
He reached for a log
placed it in, didn't throw
didn't reach for the poker
moved it round with his toe
"The rules of the fire"
"Is that the tender regales"
"The rest of the members"
"with a song or some tales'
"since you just got here"
"and the fire is hot"
"tell us a story"
"give the best that you've got"
He shuffled a little
Took a sip, and began
And it just took a minute
To hook us all, every man
He talked of the rustlers
He'd been chasing around
How they got in a shoot out
How, they'd all gone to ground
He lived life a plenty
For a man of his age
He was just twenty three
But, he spoke out like a sage
He'd regaled us with stories
As the fire burned low
We were all getting tired
But, we did not want to go
He pushed at the embers
Again with his boot
He finished his coffee
And he lit a cheroot
For two hours he talked
Since the fire rules said
that the fire was his
Till we chose to all bed
When we woke in the morning
We found he took flight
He left our small fire
In the dead of the night
The fire was burning
And there was a fresh *** of brew
But the stranger was missing
And our saddle bags too
I was right when I reckoned
That he was telling us lies
I could tell from the way
He didn't look in our eyes
The boots didn't fit
He was just stretching them out
By heating them up in the fire
and moving about
He sure was no lawman
He was a teller of tales
Truths , half truths and lies
He had them by the pail
We packed up our camp
Tried to pick up the trail
Of this campfire thief
With the devilish tail
We knew we'd find him
For liars repeat
He'd come back to our fire
And we'd give him a seat....
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 1:51 PM UTC
Now the first leaves, golden,
Falling, fluttering tranquilly.
Breeze becomes wind,
A slight chill present.
Summer ending,
Fall in the air,
You can smell it, see it,
Touch it, even taste it.
Saturday, Freeway fills with cars,
Flags flying, team colors displaying,
Car Horns honking, people waving.
Mighty Ducks are beating their wings,
Getting ready, who could have known?
That Ducks having no teeth,
Could be so very ferocious,
Tenacious, combative, thrilling.
Tailgating celebrating,
Throngs of laughing people, moving
Pennants showing, blowing in the wind,
Through the gates into the huge arena.
Filling the stands, waiting spectacle’s beginning.
Band blares spirited tunes, people and
Students cheering, Ear splitting, the grandstands
Vibrating, spines a tingling, tension mounting.
Among great fan fare, the Gladiators emerge,
Regaled in colorful Costumes for combat,
Helmets gleaming in the sun,
Muscles bulging young men strut and pose,
In spirited pent up raw anticipation,
Soldier-players moving now as one,
As a well practiced oiled machine,
Each part supporting the other.
Each knowing its own function,
Resulting in precise synchronization.
A time and place where boys become men.
Beautiful young women, under dressed,
Bosoms bouncing, pompoms waving
Add to the Circus flavor of spectacle rising.
Only a game? None in the bowl knows that.
No one cares to think so, it is more than that,
It is war, it is life, it‘s aggression without death,
It is pride without regret; it is a melding of hearts,
And expectations, of loyalties to a common goal,
It is a Saturday in the sun and fall air, a chance to
Yell and cheer for youth in flower, to feel and fear
An inevitable outcome not yet predetermined.
To ebb and flow all human emotions,
To hopefully all, end the day a winner,
Or perhaps display compassion for the looser.
To feel alive, to participate in life’s cycle of living.
Football, just a game? Don’t you believe it.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Snared heart kept, imprisoned could be potential dying day,
Lips regaled in ischaemia, blue blood,flows.....cold,
Face scarlet,temperatures up, pyrexia rules, as she tries too cool,
Mouthing strange babble,
She's talking in tongues,
Beaded mask sparkling, droplets trickle,
Tachycardic, heart beats, trying not to escape this life desperately, Heart trying not to explode!
the forties....roaring!
She breathes, so fast... the forties....roaring!
It's tragic,like everything's trying to meet demand with supply........!
Inadequately,
Currently on remand, waiting for her sentence to be be passed,
Docs and nurses they rally, running with obs,
All taking their roles, while doing their jobs,
Mews activated, doc visits he's, anxious,
Iv antibiotics he orders,
In plastic sachet, hanging up high, hereby, lies the awaited decision, if she'll have the will to live, or will she die...
Hope not!
It's not in an instant, but, recovery apparent, as breathing slows below twelve,
Heart beat, it settles,
Her kidneys show function,
Her temperature chills slowly, 36.5, she's still alive,
Thank God,
She got off the train at sepsis junction!
Copyright Livvi Kent (RGN) 11 /04/2013
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:06 AM UTC
As a non-golfing husband I revel at tales
Of sunshine filled days chasing small *****
Some in the rough others in sand,
All these brave girls fighting nature's pitfalls.
I hear of the times the flock of wild ducks
Hindered a drive that was perfectly hit,
And what of those trees that magically moved
With a subsequent shout 'I just want to quit'.
But then I'm regaled with feats of great skill
Such as the time a Birdie was made,
Out comes the flask, big glugs all around,
Magical moments that no-one would trade.
They say Golf's a passion a lifelong pursuit,
One day may be heaven the other pure hell,
Neither cool mornings nor that full midday heat,
Apparently stops that will to excel.
Yet there's one thing I notice each week,
Yes the real pleasure from playing the game
And what's not to like from those magical views
But without one's good friends the day's not the same.
So to all poor Golf widowers awoken by shrilling alarms,
Then never quite knowing what time we'll see our fair brides,
There's a much higher calling we can but embrace,
'Happy wife happy life' the true gift this pastime provides.
Dec 11, 2023
Dec 11, 2023 at 8:31 PM UTC
So I was hanging with my friends the other day
We were on a sledding hill where we talked and sat
I stood up for a second and one of them said,
How'd you get those marks on your back?
So i sat down again and indulged them,
I regaled to them this very ****** tale
It all started in my living room on a cold winters night
I know that description is stale
So It was hockey night in my house,
At the time no one was home
When I heard a loud knock at my door
I wasn't for long alone
A lovely girl I've known for a little while
Red hair, cute dimples and brown eyes
I invited her in and we began to eat
After we were finished I returned to my hockey night,
I was focused on the game, but she got my attention
I was wearing loose lounge pants, I failed to mention,
She took my member out, and played with it teasing
At this night it was her I would be pleasing
We started off on the couch, kissing each other, on my crotch she began to grind
I bit her lip and ****** on her neck
I was lust drunk and she was my wine
She slid my pants off of my body,
and she looked me dead in the eyes
She said "This here, is mine for tonight, and right now I'm going to ride"
She was so warm and so wet, it almost drove me crazy,
She bounced on me slow and then slightly faster,
She was definitely far from lazy
I was getting more and more excited, she wanted me to take control,
So we moved onto the floor
And I slid myself in and gave her *** from my heart and soul
But alas all good things must come to an end
Even great *** cannot last
So she rode me again, reverse cowgirl
And I released all over her tight ***
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 2:02 AM UTC
Dark clouds, humpback whales, in heat
canoodle and whistle, we hear thunder boom,
sword fish, gleaming silver flash, jump around
the inky sea erupts, in copious rain we are being regaled.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
The rain that fell the night before
had never seen
the sun.
The early birds were bathing
in the rainbows
of the dawn.
Morning came, regaled in blue -
and blazed a trump
of Spring.
It rallied over damp and dark -
berserk with songs
to sing.
The rain that fell the night before
had never seen
the like.
The laughing dew had never known
the magnitude
of sky.
Nor laughter
had it known at all.
" How long
have trees
been green ? "
the answer had to wait
for god
to know his dream
had dreams
The rain that fell the night before
had never wept
a grain.
Had never felt a feeling
that a cloud
could never
name.
The rain became
a mirror
that had never seen
a soul
but knew, somehow
it had one
to savor
the unknown.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 11:26 AM UTC
.
In the absence of her—
The night is long and I am still,
Breathing in the vacant minutes
That fade and fall only to reappear
When least unbidden, when only lost
In droning dream my heart is bleeding,
For final days to come, if only as delusion,
I wait for the bewitching hours of drunken wine
And tearing rose, until it falls, all goes running,
Her voice like apparition comes, so sensual
Are the hours— that long for the body of her
Voice, the crisp cantatas of her woken eyes,
The blush and the strums of her fingers, fey
As they mercilessly play with mortal mine,
In these last, longing hours I am— as I was,
Heir to her voice, now, so— we alone toast,
To my spare thee, red haired 'Green Faery,'
Honored lost, sweet angel of my horror,
“Le Fin Absolue du Monde.”
This praise is my principality, echoes of moors,
Stations, entrenched by murky moat, modes
Of funereal reds— maddening strands of her
Strange hairs breath, false songs, by forte
Nights, wounds, crowning lips of thorn
As they flower and smoke me out.
How do I fear but do not dread,
Regaled in crest fallen silences,
My deathly aubade of days?
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
her languid face stirs slowly
from its lines
and within it harbours an echo of alarm
as the thoughts like distant thunderstorm that rises on the sky
awaken within her
fleeting moments chase each other across her eye
each one bearing the weight of meaning a little further
than the last until the final one gasping
and sweating it lay its burden to a fitful rest
on the doorpost of her denials
like a blood stained accusation
like a scarlet letter
she greases her hands to the task
and works muscle and bone against the tide
but it is a idea birthed in folly
it is a concept of true lies
harrowing tales regaled around table
of men who strove and men who wept
thouse who slipped benith the waves
with desperate plea sent forth having failed
and thouse who triumph plays over and over in old age's eye
but none were ever told
that did not bear her tainted signature
ink and sweat in fine carved lines
on her dusty limbs
she now sees that she too must one day face
fates indifferent game
must one day choose
and risk all at the hand of chance
her hands greased to the task
her true lies shatter resistance
break stone
tales to regale tonight of the maidens
ink and sweat delicate lines
on her ***** dusty limbs
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
1.Thorn
A thorn is nothing
but a wish stubborn,
with an earnest point
to make a deep impact.
2.Her Reality
The core of a nightmare
broke loose, is she,
dislocated in a space
on broad day light
ready for someone
with a yen, for day dreaming.
3.A borrowed Deja vu
He suspects his love life, in vain
is piece of a well orchestrated ordeal,
of some one regaled much in pain;
just a cosmic 'cut and paste' job!
4.Tiger's aesthestics
"A match perfect, for me,
you are a befitting target"
growled the greedy tiger,
as he sighted the gazelle.
5.Unique
Day and night act
so well as the opposites,
yet they complement
ad infinitum,without
any complaint,
and sans even a trace
of pride or jealousy.
Everything, even those
looking diametrically
opposite to untrained eyes,
are uniquely meaningful.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Love me for who I am
Love me for who I can be
Love me for what your
love can make me.
Love me not for who I was
For the past is gone
Regaled to the memories of yesterday.
But love me for tomorrow
The promise of which is your love.
For love alone can make me
Elevate me with your loving
Rain on me, dry as a bone
Starved of comfort
Eyes set on the road ahead
Fading soul calls out
Any hope is a straw to hang on to
For the hopeless a mirage
To survive and sustain
Long before the shadows dim
Parched soul, fill the ache
Return with your love
Magnificent and transcendent
The desert blooms
An oasis in the midst of misery
Life is what you make of it
And I want to make mine scenic
Paint the hues of love
Amethyst and Amber
Garnet and topaz
Like the rising dawn
The beauty of which brings hope
On the horizon of my yearning soul.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
In the absence of her—
The night is long and I am still,
Breathing in the vacant minutes
That fade and fall only to reappear
When least unbidden, when only lost
In droning dream my heart is bleeding,
For final days to come, if only as delusion,
I wait for the bewitching hours of drunken wine
And tearing rose, until it falls, all goes running,
Her voice like apparition comes, so sensual
Are the hours— that long for the body of her
Voice, the crisp cantatas of her woken eyes,
The blush and the strums of her fingers, fey
As they mercilessly play with mortal mine,
In these last, longing hours I am— as I was,
Heir to her voice, now, so— we alone toast,
To my spare thee, red haired 'Green Faery,'
Honored lost, sweet angel of my horror,
“Le Fin Absolue du Monde.”
This praise is my principality, echoes of moors,
Stations, entrenched by murky moat, modes
Of funereal reds— maddening strands of her
Strange hairs breath, false songs, by forte
Nights, wounds, crowning lips of thorn
As they flower and smoke me out.
How do I fear but do not dread,
Regaled in crest fallen silences,
My deathly aubade of days?
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
his presence stained long
after his glitter
wore thin
uncaring that
his hollow self
festered
puerile jokes regaled
spawning an
ingratiating syrup
of slick deception
fashioned by conceit to
fool most
but the astute
who sensed a rank
dearth of authenticity
long lost
to the lure of
common expediency
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
Under the murky water of consciousness,
there are one or more, even a shoal of fish.
On the bank,I sit, a brooding moon on it, reflects,
looks like it swims in the sins of clouds,
My fish-line and hook lay limp on the grass bank,
I've to catch the fish,the line is strong, baits ready,
But I am enamored by the moon's reflected glory
on the water,a lover of the moon, I'd love to catch
as much fish,without breaking the watery moon.
To forgo the love of illusions,keep focused and wait.
deep inside one has to decide,what to seek from life
whether to walk the hard path where wisdom trees line up,
or heartily be regaled by the pyrotechnics of apparitions.
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 5:01 AM UTC
I spent some time on the river and for awhile told people I was a sailor.
I casually explained how I spent my days surrounded by nothing but the blue; battling creatures of the deep and Mother Nature herself in her greatest venue.
But that was only my imagination.
I walked in the woods by my house for an afternoon and for awhile told people I was a hunter.
I recalled times where I'd spent days on end stalking my prey, moving swiftly and silently through the colossal forests I'd grown to call my home; relying solely on myself and my primal instincts to stay alive.
But that was only my imagination.
I wrote some words and for awhile told people I was poet.
I regaled them with elaborate stories woven with imagery and emotion, which were crafted with the greatest of ease. I revealed that with a simple tale I could draw a tremendous crowd, and have the children laughing while the adults sat misty-eyed, reminiscing on days past.
But that was only my imagination.
I considered giving the vagrant on my corner some change and for awhile told people I was a famous tycoon.
I briefly described my youth spent earning my millions with a cutthroat ferocity, but also how I was now defined by my remarkable philanthropy. I was adored by the masses for my role as a model of charity.
But that was only my imagination.
I spent some time with a girl and for awhile told myself I was in love.
I knew that we were happy and nothing would ever change. I dreamed that our love would grow with each and every passing day, while we grew old in each other's embrace.
But that too was only my imagination.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
All was broken
All has broke
And all shall break again,
Unless sweet bells
Doth ring their tune
Above thy love dear Ben
And who was now acquainted with
Thy lovesick melody
Not the bride
Not the friend
But the bride to be
Listen not to the stories told
For they are all, regaled from ole’
With all your heart’s intentions; behold
All was broken
All has broke
And shall break overtime
Apologies, spilled from his lips
Like poison into wine
The bride, heart smothered, with tainted grin
Smiled sickly sweet to see
Not the groom
Not the friend
But the bride to be
Hear not the tales told
For they all regale, from crimes of ole’
With all your heart’s intentions; behold
All was broken
All has broke
And all is breaking now
As lovers ghosts parade the halls
She’ll take her final bow
No paramount could be found
Witness to the scene
When love turned red
Who was dead?
The bride
The groom
And bride to be
So tell not of stories told
Nor of love regaled from ole’
And with all your heart’s intentions; behold.
All was broken
All has broke
And all shall break again
When thou play the game of love
You cannot but end up dead
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC