"roseate" poems
* * * * *
* * *
*
Faces of friends, of people i met earlier
are glittering stars on this late evening's
dark blue sky...their smiles are tattooed
in my mind...they're hunched, going
lower by the days...slowed down by years.
it must be hard and painful...the arching,
the drooping of the neck, the curving spine,
they endure all, 'til each day's end...they rise
each new dawn...do what they still can do,
lest they stagnate in their aging ponds,
diminish to a state, where food, pills, or
forgotten information are forced on them,
......like drugs, injected into the veins
........................
these wee hours bring back the years...
they have been good...never mind the
hard times...there were, there are good ones
life is a long, wide stream of changing hues,
flowing on and on....my water bears the
colors each new day brings...gray, at times
with sadness and gloom....other days,
blacked by despair...some summers, red,
roseate with glee, or green with life and
hope...blue, when trust is spilling, and
the tranquil sea and sky overwhelm,
with a promise of stability..........white,
when accepting......the unacceptable...
........................
the amber grains and i, are alike
ripened enough to be plucked
be pulled out from an existence...the
signs are known...shown...yet, i wait
for when it is due to happen...and while
waiting, the stalks sway, play and dance
and enjoy the sun and wind...and i,
while i still can...walk, jump, climb hills
and valleys in this mammoth space
of land and water.............called life
...................
the sounds of my days, i still hear,
i am a lute, a harp, a cello...playing
off-key.....out of tune at times,
my strings are my graying hair,
i still can't stop dying the gray
i still want to highlight the dark,
but, one day, all these will cease...
............
one night, my face will be in one of those
many stars...glittering on a dark blue sky
sending a smile, to my loved ones.
...................
(there is no other way,
but forward
all are headed
towards an end.)
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 26, 2018
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
*Life is my current lover.
I swig her ephemeral taste from my cupped hands
worried as the golden, shimmering liquid rushes through
creases and cracks in my jaded hands.
Her mood varies through my stages;
at times she is of doting temper and roseate kisses
but when love evades her, most often than not,
her calloused hands damage the pearly flesh in tender
places,
and discontent paints a surly mood as she digs her crimson
brush against the canvas of my self.
Life is my inconsistent lover,
sometimes doting but most often than not abusive.
So I vowed my eternal devotion to Death.
We escape under the dark canopy of starless wings;
a tryst.
I eat of the forbidden feasts in the Kingdom of Hades,
grains of scarlet pomegranates staining my chapped lips.
Death has promised me perpetuity.
But until Life decides to release me from her capricious temper,
I shall long for the wintry, rainy comfort of my drowsy affair.*
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
The letter I never sent,
I write my valentine on my beating heart,
And send a perennial prayer,
That you could know without knowing.
Petals on your doorstep,
But no signature,
Pink Rosehip on your bedsheets,
Spying through your window blinds,
At someone I invented.
A label that travels as my desperations move it,
How I value the sick,
The unnatural,
The corpse and the comfort.
The will to pull me off the train,
The weight of every station,
The ommitance after the deprication,
And the awkward silence after the cosmic joke.
I lust for that iced libation,
The roseate water of ivy and redemption,
A clay to fit inside my insatiable skin hunger,
A welcomed error of continuity in my own beliefs,
And my perennial prayer,
For an ardent antiphon.
-Unabaitingly, The Romantically Inept
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC
I am caught, in your eye,
and I drown, in your tectonic wave.
You rattle, intimately,
for me, and shake...
You shift,
minutely,
soundlessly,
collapsing, into sprawling patterns,
into formulaic strains, of madness.
Then you madden, me, as you cascade,
into beautiful, and brilliant shades:
Your Rorschach mosaics,
in prismatic hues.
Each gemlike, facet, of YOU, that is you...
Burning out my gaze,
with your radiance,
as you irradiate...
I'd give anything...to label each color,
that infuses, your face...
Scattering trickles of light,
and roseate shapes...
as if your soul,
were a treasure trove,
of the most precious jewels.
Your vibrant emeralds...
your smoky citrines...
your sapphire blues...
your ruby reds,
and your royal amethysts, too
You twist, in my hands...
and, under the light,
I turn, and return, too,
if only to seek,
a fleeting glimpse...of you.
Jun 26, 2025
Jun 26, 2025 at 9:52 AM UTC
The clouds as I see them, rising
urgently, roseate in the
mounting of somber power
surging in evening haste over
roofs and hermetic
grim walls—
Last night
As if death had lit a pale light
in your flesh, your flesh
was cold to my touch, or not cold
but cool, cooling, as if the last traces
of warmth were still fading in you.
My thigh burned in cold fear where
yours touched it.
But I forced to mind my vision of a sky
close and enclosed, unlike the space in which these clouds move—
a sky of gray mist it appeared—
and how looking intently at it we saw
its gray was not gray but a milky white
in which radiant traces of opal greens,
fiery blues, gleamed, faded, gleamed again,
and how only then, seeing the color in the gray,
a field sprang into sight, extending
between where we stood and the horizon,
a field of freshest deep spiring grass
starred with dandelions,
green and gold
gold and green alternating in closewoven
chords, madrigal field.
Is death’s chill that visited our bed
other than what it seemed, is it
a gray to be watched keenly?
Wiping my glasses and leaning westward,
clearing my mind of the day’s mist and leaning
into myself to see
the colors of truth
I watch the clouds as I see them
in pomp advancing, pursuing
the fallen sun.
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Over the horizon, lost in confusion,
came the sad night, pregnant with stars.
I, like the bearded mage of the tales,
knew the language of stones and flowers.
I learned the secrets of melancholy,
told by cypresses, nettles and ivy;
I knew the dream from lips of nard,
sang serene songs with the irises.
In the old forest, filled with its blackness,
all of them showed me the souls they have;
the pines, drunk on aroma and sound;
the old olives, burdened with knowledge;
the dead poplars, nests for the ants;
the moss, snowy with white violets.
All spoke tenderly to my heart
trembling in threads of rustling silk
where water involves motionless things,
like a web of eternal harmony.
The roses there were sounding the lyre,
oaks weaving the gold of legends,
and amidst their virile sadness
the junipers spoke of rustic fears.
I knew all the passion of woodland;
rhythms of leaves, rhythms of stars.
But tell me, oh cedars, if my heart
will sleep in the arms of perfect light!
I know the lyre you prophesy, roses:
fashioned of strings from my dead life.
Tell me what pool I might leave it in,
as former passions are left behind!
I know the mystery you sing of, cypress;
I am your brother of night and pain;
we hold inside us a tangle of nests,
you of nightingales, I of sadness!
I know your endless enchantment, old olive tree,
yielding us blood you extract from the Earth,
like you, I extract with my feelings
the sacred oil
held by ideas!
You all overwhelm me with songs;
I ask only for my uncertain one;
none of you will quell the anxieties
of this chaste fire
that burns in my breast.
O laurel divine, with soul inaccessible,
always so silent,
filled with nobility!
Pour in my ears your divine history,
all your wisdom, profound and sincere!
Tree that produces fruits of the silence,
maestro of kisses and mage of orchestras,
formed from Daphne's roseate flesh
with Apollo's potent sap in your veins!
O high priest of ancient knowledge!
O solemn mute, closed to lament!
All your forest brothers speak to me;
only you, harsh one, scorn my song!
Perhaps, oh maestro of rhythm, you muse
on the pointlessness of the poet's sad weeping.
Perhaps your leaves, flecking by the moonlight,
forgo all the illusions of spring.
The delicate tenderness of evening,
that covered the path with black dew,
holding out a vast canopy to night,
came solemnly, pregnant with stars.
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My soul whispered a secret to my heart,
It spoke of spilled blood upon a rose,
Rouged lips within the garden,
Drops of crimson liquid blush.
[CHORUS]
Nature’s beloved colour is green,
So red speaks of originality,
Blood is a passion,
Scarlet bleeding from thy own,
A claret sun dawning beyond,
Sanguine stained skies.
When the little cardinal sings sweetly,
A doorway opens I never chose,
Visions of a bloodshot key,
A lock rusted with dried blood.
A glimpse through the keyhole,
A pale forest awaits on the other side,
Showers of cherry blossoms,
Falling upon the snow.
Red berries bloom under crystal snow,
Glints of sunlight touch down,
Sparks of fire captured within,
Just beyond this rubicund door.
[CHORUS]
The dreams I am allowed,
Burn and scar my will,
When the door swings open,
Of its own accord.
Damask petals on the wind.
How warm and gentle that spray of blood,
Like a hundred tender kisses,
And the golden keys to Heaven.
I glimpsed the gules of true heraldry,
A suffused spirit at the dawn of memory,
Imprisoned by a cage of vermillion frost,
Warmed by a glass of spiced wine.
[CHORUS]
A roseate palace at the end of a long walk,
Painted titian by my tear drops,
Caress a florid complexion,
Carmine not my own.
Roan stones dusted,
By the fall of Angels light,
Make-believe incarnadine carpet of,
A mirrored auburn dusk.
I settle back into the maroon night,
The darkness flushed by concealed art,
Bay canvas touched-up with unreal imagery,
Indifferent to the passing of my former life.
[CHORUS]
Rubies fall from ruddy clouds,
These gems are not for me,
Reddened glass has come to pass,
The moment of my undoing.
[PAUSE (Epilogue)]
Red is not for me,
Red was not meant to be...
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
At the dawn of a new day
During the morning's first blush,
I sat with Sentiment.
Who was in the past,
And at this time, wonderfully affectionate.
You see, Sentiment and I,
Have always been companions,
When we were together he'd always hold my hand and
He always held tight when he held that hand
To show, I won't be abandoned.
"You're sweet." He said
He bowed his head and added
"Sweet as roses."
You can imagine my roseate cheeks then,
Suddenly flushed with the pigment
Of a high-colored rose.
And my smile fighting to be as wide
As the world and all the emotion felt
Between the lovers
And the lovers who couldn't handle
The cards being dealt.
But not sentiment and I.
I look towards him,
I smiled as I replied,
"Nothing is that sweet."
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
This poem comes from a dream.
Sun—as February ordains it
roseate—early
twisted inordinate—in gray blanket
Snow has sifted to the pockets, wrinkles
the cuff of his woolen cap
An old hand rubs stubbled cheek
Snow flickers and falls again
in a dazzle
As he groans and stirs—
sparrows sing
As he struggles to sit—
sparrows sing
As he exhales into the chill
he considers the lilies of the field
Their luminous curling petals rise
steam or hope?
or just white smoke
wandering from the tiny fire
He sits a while to listen
to sparrows bickering in the bushes
then bursting into song
They have their audience
Across in a court of broken glass
and toppled stones
a room— still partially intact
Kindling gathered
Marta melts snow for tea
peeling potatoes in her lap
Stops to blow on hands
Marta’s heart—decent, visceral
like her hair—bun, kerchief
like her words—few in the failing
like the wounds of her smile
And Mikhail—harnessed
to the sounds of service
Orderly rhythm in ruin
hush hush hush
of a broom stroking cobbles
Mikhail—his hands wrapped in rags
old warrior
now, restorer of places to live
Stops, removes his cap
squinting sunlight into the channels of his face
Then turns toward unsteady shuffling behind him
“You shouldn’t.”
Tears interrupt
reaching for the broom
“You shouldn’t do this for me.”
“No, no, Holy Father. It is little thing—
a little thing I do.”
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 11:09 PM UTC
Ere, in the northern gale,
The summer tresses of the trees are gone,
The woods of Autumn, all around our vale,
Have put their glory on.
The mountains that infold,
In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round,
Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,
That guard the enchanted ground.
I roam the woods that crown
The upland, where the mingled splendours glow,
Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.
My steps are not alone
In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play,
Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sun, that sends that gale to wander here,
Pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile,--
The sweetest of the year.
Where now the solemn shade,
Verdure and gloom where many branches meet;
So grateful, when the noon of summer made
The valleys sick with heat?
Let in through all the trees
Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright?
Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze,
Twinkles, like beams of light.
The rivulet, late unseen,
Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run,
Shines with the image of its golden screen,
And glimmerings of the sun.
But 'neath yon crimson tree,
Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame,
Nor mark, within its roseate canopy,
Her blush of maiden shame.
Oh, Autumn! why so soon
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad;
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave thee wild and sad!
Ah! 'twere a lot too blessed
For ever in thy coloured shades to stray;
Amid the kisses of the soft south-west
To rove and dream for aye;
And leave the vain low strife
That makes men mad--the tug for wealth and power,
The passions and the cares that wither life,
And waste its little hour.
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I let go
Of all I ever knew,
To taste the anticipation
Of his promised storm...the breath of his
Kiss pooling at my feet,
Velvet darkened desire,
A crimson silken-stain,
Bending the clutch of flesh, a chaos unleashed;
Sliding in cushioned madness, bleeding
Slithering tongues, tasting the moans
Exposed in the wet of me...
Thunder's primal heat fell, surrounding me;
It's warm, weeping liquid
Dripped across my lips, opened
In moistened invitation,
Searing me hot; as
His breath whispered,
'Taste it, lick it, hold it',
Taunting commands
Slaking teases wicked...traced in shimmering lines
Across roseate tipped *******
Blushes afloat in satin caress...
So sensuous,
The rose,
A **** silhouette, drenched warm,
Swallowing his reflection;
Her untamed passion
Braced for unbridled *******
The depths of flesh, caught in the trance of his midnight storm,
Mesmerised in a bliss-rush,
Pulsed with the vibrato of his tongue slide,
Licking the night tender, forging the opening of my purest delights;
Where boundaries blur...
Dipped in the dew of flesh, I ache
For the heat of his touch, where
Moans taste like honey to his eager tongue;
A tapestry of erotica
Birthed as fire between hungry thighs
Exposing me, shuddering his name
Beckoning him deeper; buried
To my spine, bent and grasping, holding the warmth of him,
Sweet love
Spilled upon cool sheets...
Passion, swallows heat and rhythm in the crevice of my heart;
Submerged in echoes of yearning,
Blanketing satin; and
Misty eyed heat simmers beneath the folds of dream,
Where I pour myself like rain under his skin..........
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:28 AM UTC
My body is frail . . . I'm growing old,
Each step is accompanied by groans;
My hands and feet are constantly cold . . .
But my heart aches much more than my bones
I squint when I witness dawn's first light
When all of nature in gold is trimmed;
My eyes are no longer clear and bright,
But the flame of love has never dimmed
Time has taken its toll on this frame,
The roseate glow has left my face;
All those youthful passions have grown tame,
Yet, I'd still welcome a warm embrace
More important now are simpler things --
Like companionship and loving smiles,
All the joy that togetherness brings,
Someone with whom I can share life's trials
It's a bit late to make long-term plans,
So I'll settle for a hand to hold,
And a lonely man who understands
The blessings of love as we grow old
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 5:01 PM UTC
You stood there, probably cold,
in the frozen foods aisle.
Actually, you had a peacoat on.
When I first saw you,
I only saw your back.
Your hair looked wiry and blonde,
I thought you were aged and frail.
When you turned around with a gallon of milk
your face surprised me.
I was swept up in awe and stared too long.
Your eyes-- blue, kind, and calming--
rested on pillows of roseate cheeks
that looked recently swept by winter winds of New England.
You looked at me, too, but with an austere expression.
I said, "I hope the tempest of your mind
soon finds peaceful resolution in tranquil waters,"
in my head.
She walked past me
her audible rhythmic steps
made with untied,
disheveled
boots.
A beatnik
simply keeping a beat.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Driving off on the side roads precarious and dense
with firs holy beneath the florid specter of roseate afternoon,
purified with rainfall on the montane bladed rocks
holding together cliff face edges of highways.
I'm present with my black coffee humming while
folk plays on the radio and my sweater from the
consignment shop is still captured in spellbinding redolence
from the girl of my dreams. Nearby, a hidden path boasts a cliff commanding flowing pacific waters pronounced with gold
among mountains obscured in shadow.
Companions cross the valleys reciting sutras and tracing fingers through this blessed land, treasuring the trees, firesmoke ascending from beyond assembling woods thick and overgrown.
Doe and rabbit bounding from rocky terraces alert and surviving instinctively while riverside cabin homes hide a while yet from the long driveways and cozy mailboxes hand-painted or made of wind-bent tin cans.
I'm flourishing slowly and with periodical decay in this garden growing while I grow and life is beauty and spasm devils as am I, this I know.
We're matches momentarily lit in the weary hands of stars
to guide them in the darkness.
My hair will gray from death we jest
and I will live before I rest.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Across a million faces
in a thousand different places
I find you in blossoms of flowers
like am a captive of your magical powers
I find you in the depth of my heart
even if we are completely worlds apart
in cold days mocked by soothing patters of rain
pattering right above the echo of my pain
I see you here with my eyes shut
in the emptiness, as my mind is dead alert
*I hear your voice in whispers of the wind
maybe you're invisible to me since love's blind
you might be right here as well, trapped to this moment
on the same wave at war in the torrent of torment
bearing painful blisters of regret from burns of desire
enduring stifling emotions that won't retire
reeking of an excellently brewed obsession that won't expire
and since you were my breath I can hardly respire
even the hardest of scotch and wines couldn't lift me higher
out of the abyssal deep doldrums of this mire*
**I smell your scent of roses at night beneath my sheets
and as I walk feeling isolated along these crowded streets
at every single thought about you my confused heart beats
while in my palm where your fingers fitted, cold emptiness slits
I see you in the hovering birds of prey as they bask in the sky
flamboyantly spreading their vast wings as they fly
under the sweltering haze of Sun where I burn for you
in recollection of your entrancingly licentious sigh**
*everywhere I go, in different places
I see you masked upon a million faces
I feel you in the roseate blossom of flowers
in every second of every minute of my hours
for am still a captive of your enchanting powers*
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 4:48 AM UTC
*I can be a star that shines through your night and day
a painting that sticks on the feathery canvas
the radar to your ship, the enduring campus
the words that are so difficult to say
I can be the one leaf in windy seasons that never falls
but sticks with you till the very moment eternity calls
the beautiful melody that never ceases to sing
the serene filled drone which may never sting
I can be the careful and graceful bird that never perches
the unnoticed but concerned eye that always watches
the willing helping hand in your times of need
the much desired friend in need,a friend in deed
I can be every joyful and melancholic poem you've ever read
a roseate flower whose frail petals never fade
the green thick dense canopy to always bring you shade
the one who makes your twisted world a better place
I can be wide spectral smiles to colour your love locked face
A friend against foes, a kiss on your cheek,
Or a secret in your palm to hold you whenever you're weak
I can be more than just a phone call and text
a mechanic who gets the wreck of your broken Heart fixed
Or lifeless images of glowing eyes and tearful emotions,
and the eternal rivers of hope flowing within to Oceans
I can invent the technology to teleport you here
be the keeper who whispers sweet somethings in your ear
the destiny you've always wanted to have
I can make that dream lad you've always wanted to love
if only you give me a chance,and to the rhythm of life rise to dance
walk barefooted through thorns, I can take the bull by his horns
I can be the Madonna whose bloom conquers all seasons
and outlives eternity if only you understand my reasons*
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
∅☢☯✰✿⚥∅☯✰✿☠☯✰
Religion, you harlot and ****** of the masses
I smell the stagnation you bring upon earth.
Gold becomes lead, in stained roseate glasses
diluting, corrupting, negating its worth.
Hierarchical structure and pseudo-anointing
seem holy— but prove antithetic to Christ
whose transparently sure apostolic appointing
began a new age, and sufficed.
I renounce you, religion. Your temples lie fallen…
the future arises from ruins, ever new.
Mere human unrighteous momentum must stall
when the truth spins around into view.
He was scorned, he was vilified; slain for your sin
Abrahamic philosopher, healer and friend
yet perceived as demoniac right to the end.
His beginning is here in your heart. Never fear:
Dead religion must perish for true love to win.
Hermeneutics imploding—His coming is near
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
A delicate breeze wets my cheeks
Painting a desire across my breast
A ****** canvas for us to dance
Buried shapes in a reflection of one chance
Your alluring eyes meld into me
Your roseate lips ablaze my desire
Tracing and spilling as you inflame my needs
Provoking my urge
I draw you near as we empty the air
You peel away my imperfections smoothly and enticingly
I roam your virility spreading and streaking
As you dip inside my heated mouth
Glazing and rising as you distend
I suckle and tease your liquid love
You clutch my hair , I rake and roll your whole length
As you tremble you pull me near
Your masterful fingers ,discover my pink sheath
Pinching and releasing my heated abyss
You entice me as you roam
Imprisoned into my bones
Flowing as my lady unfurls
We peel away the fluster
As I enter into your shadow
You infuse into me
Rippling and releasing
Tracing the peaks of me
We build and merge together
We raised and we surged
Into a flood tide of forgotten dreams
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
I did sight a dreamy face at twilight,
Who showed me a distant grace at twilight.
At the boulevard, blues did fade away,
Roseate is every place at twilight.
The smell of engines, the scents of delights,
Sweet fragrances leave a trace at twilight.
Here and there people roam around lovely,
There are many kinds of ways at twilight.
So many glowing faces and one sun,
Asking, watching is my gaze at twilight.
With a warm and cozy way of glowing,
I see many lovely plays at twilight.
Writing is the bard Mâhî at twilight,
Painting are the rosy rays at twilight.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
With Ma Lil **** Dill
one bilabial fricative smacking
tongue thrusting (lizard like)
indefatigable prelapsarian
Garden of Eden dwelling primate
doth pine with two lipped treating zest
for Eve fun juiced a tasty droplet, wrest
ting kitty meowing Mz er loo,
sans verboten fruit Yukon die vest
via jump starting
a hovering damn
electric kool aid acid test
Hair and there, a bare naked lady attired
in her birthday suit, the sexiest
plump ***** roseate
sear suckered ******* trickling milky nectar
when casting shadowed umbra at rest
thirsting, unleashing, vaunting,
et cetera viz prurient quest,
whereby this rambunctious
***** bull lever severely oppressed
condemned with life sentence
of ****** solitude, nest
souled (sorely testing
agonizing Victorian modest
tee primly and properly
tortures carnal temptation lest
surrendering syllabus "C" ) even jest
a jot, cuz tis pure torture restraining
feral, hormonal, integral hankering
to stoke libido at Parochialism be hest
thus, aye feel unfairly deprived,
no hello kitty will be guest
unsure how helpful "getting off my chest"
works thee unnatural tethered
****** suppression, perhaps best
left unmentioned, encumbered
with jiggly, flabby droopy breast
works, and unwanted love handles
state of reined swiftly tailored
harried stylishly groomed
FitBit bridled uncertainty I attest.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 10:00 PM UTC
We walked under a canopy of pink
Looking beyond the cherry sky,
When our hands met I caught your wink
Made my little heart fly,
In the boulevard of blush we kiss
Under the green giants drizzling coral mess.
I peeked into your coffee brown eyes
As we walked under the street light,
Glowing like a jar of fire flies
Smiling radiant and bright,
Your fingers sketched my face
Kissing me without leaving a trace.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
I'm serenading God
perpetually these days
language arising from
the roseate lips of the heart
a flurry of sacred sounds
borne on a chiffon breeze
to His celestial ears
no space left
not even a breath
for anything less than
love
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
“Antipathy of Abandonment”
I have been desolate like the dock at dawn.
You shall never know of my torment
The ghostly convolution in my head,
I will never be as well as another,
Now more distant than ever,
Neither ship nor upsurge can I ever survive,
Again more distant than ever,
Further than ever before have I been,
She has shown no regret for the infliction,
In the melancholy that’s ****** upon me,
As the black cruor drips within my heart,
Crevasse of detritus as I tried to swim to shore,
As the sea mingles its ornery abhor,
With each passing surge I await you,
In calm rivers hope to find thee before me,
Without in the end your being,
Of you coming suddenly would be exhilarating?
To know my life wildfire of roseate days,
Swishing brine of the ocean sedates to sand,
As my breath is unobtrusive to antipathy of abandonment,
By AG 03/2018 CR
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
I know I'll never have you again
'Cause you're not the same
Person but that doesn't cure my pain
It's a shame
I know we couldn't last forever
I know I was such a baby
And you was so soon a lady
I know I soon fell out of favor
I know you played me so much
Broke up someday in March
I know you moved on so fast
I know you left me with thirst
You're lips were red wine
I know they were sweet
For a butterfly I met on the Street
I know sometimes I crossed the line
Together all our dawns were roseate
I know yours is the fragrance in my closet
I know you were as soft as wool
I know our love was a rough course
You think you feel no remorse
I know you see this as Bull'
I know that you covered up with lies
In the name of a weakness for my eyes
I know you always hugged me tight
Only when we'd had a fight
I know I still love you lots
'Cause you're the constant variable in my thoughts
I know you know all that and more
I know you know I know you know
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC