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"sacredly" poems
I am hungry and it is reflected in the contours of every inch                   of skin every cell a-flutter tiny wings and heartbeats activated within right down to the ribosomes and kidney-shaped mitochondria right up through epidermis woven as threads of softness penetrating your inner hard, dark parts causing them to melt into                 my light I am craving to feel your absolute heart's raging core my aching flesh burning, my heart, wrapped in a love               so pure My need to be devoured surfaces in smoothness, at a glance You feel it acutely, no room for doubt or subtle chance                I am ravenous for muscle-worked arms (arms that could easily try to break) to be supremely gentle as you part my thighs like the ocean and sacredly partake the slickness of your tongue in my feminine grace the stains of my love drenching                 your noble face your eyes on mine as I sharply breathe          need to hold your head stroke your            hair know that for me               the king takes off that garland of gold breaking free of all symbols of status the only real treasure the queen who gives to him, and who he now pleasures      and I let myself be consumed with the reverence of a psalm my love pouring into you healing your hurts,                like a balm in this private landscape we are the most ferocious of tender estuaries in an eternal vista in this hour of somewhere, the sea hauls us in like ancient creatures,      bringing the fossils back to life in lustrous foam as they          inch their way into the spirals     that we feel we could call      home‎
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May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
Tender Estuaries
I am hungry and it is reflected in the contours of every inch                   of skin every cell a-flutter tiny wings and heartbeats activated within right down to the ribosomes and kidney-shaped mitochondria right up through epidermis woven as threads of softness penetrating your inner hard, dark parts causing them to melt into                 my light I am craving to feel your absolute heart's raging core my aching flesh burning, my heart, wrapped in a love               so pure My need to be devoured surfaces in smoothness, at a glance You feel it acutely, no room for doubt or subtle chance                I am ravenous for muscle-worked arms (arms that could easily try to break) to be supremely gentle as you part my thighs like the ocean and sacredly partake the slickness of your tongue in my feminine grace the stains of my love drenching                 your noble face your eyes on mine as I sharply breathe          need to hold your head stroke your            hair know that for me               the king takes off that garland of gold breaking free of all symbols of status the only real treasure the queen who gives to him, and who he now pleasures      and I let myself be consumed with the reverence of a psalm my love pouring into you healing your hurts,                like a balm in this private landscape we are the most ferocious of tender estuaries in an eternal vista in this hour of somewhere, the sea hauls us in like ancient creatures,      bringing the fossils back to life in lustrous foam as they          inch their way into the spirals     that we feel we could call      home‎
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84
The loneliest librarian is in the heart of darkness I saw him, old, bearded on three sides book cases on the open side, a desk he faces outward into the darkness drawing notes at their best. Look away! in the distance an army and her generals gather Up ahead, a conqueror metal jangles, saddles horse Cries the pony boy: I miss my mother let me go back what does this all mean? Studying now, the librarian, notes in check, own pen scratching, no metals only and only his mind and an ink-filled well Spearhead, arrowhead formation a king and his khanate lean forward into the permafrost, snow lashing wind blows against but cannot stop fierce wild will and only the willows weep Cries the pony boy: Radically, may I be afraid of the dead, arms asunder so much love! so much love! what does this all mean? And far, far ahead of this army librarian sits, silently loving nothing, everything beside him he scribbles notes A love letter? tiresome if so upon closer inspection... At the center of the dark dark forest where a lonely man rides in his kayak lantern fixed upon a frame, making his boat top-heavy he bobs back and forth across his body of water he is haunted he is lonely he is a skeleton Now grand general crosses the Styx Ice clumps brushing gently against his ships cold enough to **** a horse, set blood aglow with blue, so cold it could not rot. To valley forge! to valley forge to forge a future. And pony boy cries: What does it mean? my father is gone, gone before this war, he once said, it must be, be, Did he mean... Finally, up ahead, the librarian draws untraceable lines, he knows the army is at his door lonely, shaking, only the conqueror made it and he is almost dead too. Scared, sacredly, he finally hands the librarian his match and sobs, softly, under breath "Time, time is, time without, time too starts anew."
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Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Between the Lines
The loneliest librarian is in the heart of darkness I saw him, old, bearded on three sides book cases on the open side, a desk he faces outward into the darkness drawing notes at their best. Look away! in the distance an army and her generals gather Up ahead, a conqueror metal jangles, saddles horse Cries the pony boy: I miss my mother let me go back what does this all mean? Studying now, the librarian, notes in check, own pen scratching, no metals only and only his mind and an ink-filled well Spearhead, arrowhead formation a king and his khanate lean forward into the permafrost, snow lashing wind blows against but cannot stop fierce wild will and only the willows weep Cries the pony boy: Radically, may I be afraid of the dead, arms asunder so much love! so much love! what does this all mean? And far, far ahead of this army librarian sits, silently loving nothing, everything beside him he scribbles notes A love letter? tiresome if so upon closer inspection... At the center of the dark dark forest where a lonely man rides in his kayak lantern fixed upon a frame, making his boat top-heavy he bobs back and forth across his body of water he is haunted he is lonely he is a skeleton Now grand general crosses the Styx Ice clumps brushing gently against his ships cold enough to **** a horse, set blood aglow with blue, so cold it could not rot. To valley forge! to valley forge to forge a future. And pony boy cries: What does it mean? my father is gone, gone before this war, he once said, it must be, be, Did he mean... Finally, up ahead, the librarian draws untraceable lines, he knows the army is at his door lonely, shaking, only the conqueror made it and he is almost dead too. Scared, sacredly, he finally hands the librarian his match and sobs, softly, under breath "Time, time is, time without, time too starts anew."
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65
Red faced and wasted I saw you naked And fell in love With your ancient body Gone is the impulse to run And all i can do now Is to write simply Lies and truth Mixed together Like oil and vinegar We are fumigating Our own bodies Remove these carbon copies And quietly daydream About the faces of lost Summer lovers Fundraisers say goodbye To yesterday's vacations Just as we long to cry We catch ourselves Smiling for a moment What do the turtles wish to communicate Are we awake in our shells Or have we fallen into the spell of limitation Consternation and ************ Facts and figures receive their adulation While we attract only tender triangulations Please finish up your investigation I blame you for instigating this comedy A catalyst of abomination and dichotomy Which followed me into retirement Let's give banquets back to the government And return to ancient lands Devoted to camels and drunken apologies It's apocryphal Pornographic phantasmagoria Fantastic fan-fictions Describing sacredly sadistic rituals Glorious duality Radically alters our expectations Yet manages to satisfy your frustrations In dissimilar situations We liberate our agitation and consternation Over magazines and barnacles We are more conspicuous Than an empty gap in the sky Made by two constellations Taking a long vacation Intrepid sailors raise their sails And navigate by stars and compasses Renaissance dancers are porous instigators They initiate our imitations We dream of political sovereignty To remediate these tragedies I breathe warfare and cleanse the air Of apathetic non-negotiaters Harboring criminals like butterflies Sometimes the means do justify your eyes Targets never argue And bullets never lie Finances and fiancées Certainly have some value Yet we underrate our skies Miles of lost continents Drift out from your skin We begin an embargo Hoping in the future we will win Metaphysical furniture Effects the state of mind you're in The record players turned down But you heat me up to begin
0
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 4:05 PM UTC
in memoriam
Red faced and wasted I saw you naked And fell in love With your ancient body Gone is the impulse to run And all i can do now Is to write simply Lies and truth Mixed together Like oil and vinegar We are fumigating Our own bodies Remove these carbon copies And quietly daydream About the faces of lost Summer lovers Fundraisers say goodbye To yesterday's vacations Just as we long to cry We catch ourselves Smiling for a moment What do the turtles wish to communicate Are we awake in our shells Or have we fallen into the spell of limitation Consternation and ************ Facts and figures receive their adulation While we attract only tender triangulations Please finish up your investigation I blame you for instigating this comedy A catalyst of abomination and dichotomy Which followed me into retirement Let's give banquets back to the government And return to ancient lands Devoted to camels and drunken apologies It's apocryphal Pornographic phantasmagoria Fantastic fan-fictions Describing sacredly sadistic rituals Glorious duality Radically alters our expectations Yet manages to satisfy your frustrations In dissimilar situations We liberate our agitation and consternation Over magazines and barnacles We are more conspicuous Than an empty gap in the sky Made by two constellations Taking a long vacation Intrepid sailors raise their sails And navigate by stars and compasses Renaissance dancers are porous instigators They initiate our imitations We dream of political sovereignty To remediate these tragedies I breathe warfare and cleanse the air Of apathetic non-negotiaters Harboring criminals like butterflies Sometimes the means do justify your eyes Targets never argue And bullets never lie Finances and fiancées Certainly have some value Yet we underrate our skies Miles of lost continents Drift out from your skin We begin an embargo Hoping in the future we will win Metaphysical furniture Effects the state of mind you're in The record players turned down But you heat me up to begin
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71
IN YOUR lips moving fervently, Your eyes hot with fire, Life seems immortally young with desire, Life seems impetuous, Hungrily free, Having no faith but its burning to be. You could dance laughingly, Draw where you move, Hearts, hands and voices pouring you love. Youth be a carnival, Life be the queen, You could go dancing and singing and seen! Whence came that tenderness Cruel and wild, Arming with ****** the hand of a child? Whence came that breaking fire, Nursed and caressed With passion's white fingers for tyranny's breast? In your soul sacredly, Deeper than fear, Burns there a miracle dreadful to hear? ****** of ****** Was it God's breath, Begetting a savior, that filled you with Death?
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2.2k
To Marie Sukloff--An Assassin
Typically mentally asymmetrical Epiphany integrated Abigale's extremities initially critical seconds few with my tongue tied mind denied guidance verbose fractal matrix scrambling sacredly searching solely for English vocabulary mouth full of sand like id swallowed the Nile dreams had shown me we as epoch scenes long prior, still inside it, to live it, to feel it...... I missed it.
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Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 8:40 AM UTC
yeah ****** sounds fine.
The quiet nights spent alone Cold as the iciest winter Wandering wondering If things had happened in reverse, Would they be somewhat better? True Affliction Unwise decisions Regretting forgiveness that was once given Faulty thoughts Impaired judgments Logic flawed with justifiable reason Transgressing to levels uncertain A tornado of doubt destroys every light in sight With every dreadful memory that resurfaces Of the darkest times in her life The anxiety clouds her mind Uncertainty glares from behind her eyes Scars of past loves, past exes, past wounds, past lies They cover her face Shown in the bags above her cheeks The darkness behind her pupils And the depression contained in them A midnight black A dark hole only caused by deep sorrow Unfathomable Heartache Overly afraid of the unknown How will she learn to let go? As if instinctively hesitant of others intentions She treads vigilantly amongst Those of even the utmost caliber Stern refusal to release her guard Such little remaining to give She clings sacredly onto the last of her To think, Never again will she slip and fall Blindly into loves tainted cage Never again will she be trapped in loves locks Like an animal untamed Internally shattered in a zoo of impure emotion How will she decipher the wrong from the right person? Passively awaiting The next bearer of alleged variation When history has too often chosen to repeat The differences in being different Eventually turn out to be exactly the same
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Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
The Differences in Being Different
Drenches half music blues Paints my eyes his drips of two's Like a software of compliance Superior-what's inside Interior-Inferior-Exterior   Calmness-Family-Bless Providence--resilience   Anxiety you can tell at a glance In a state of anxiety   Nature calls cleansing rinse A world of society Sacredly* Tiredly World Inconsistent What is at state? No greener pasture Present the future Craziness high anxiety fire More jobs to hire Paints- birthstone- sapphire Picture memories to capture   Anxiety like sanity Paints wellness next to Godliness Eyes weaken but your heart Glistens*
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Jun 22, 2023
Jun 22, 2023 at 5:04 PM UTC
Paints our world Anxiety
Because the galaxy was blue Because the universe was me and you Because of our hunger for a world not ours Because of the deficiency within our stars The consistent lack of artless voids And shifting second nature grins Such bliss in connection- rift to avoid But they have come and crawled within Because of the absence in pure communication Because of the split between two fleeting creations Because the skies have all gone down Because the spirits put us under the ground The psychedelic tides became too strong Her little voice lost in waves far past Ouija spirits sacredly summoned and Sinister laughter cracking her glass Because the earth twisted her bones into a mobius strip Because the pure boy had begun to slip Because of the way we couldn't make sense of it all Because of the subconscious swaying to falls Alone now in tear drowned terror, the manipulative beast The little girl whimpering in soiled sheets He orchestrated the world into ****** gatherings Our souls succumbed to iniquitous happenings Because they craved for more than they had Because they had no choice but to become mad Because they hadn't set their imprinted place Because they allowed the demons to show their face I called his name in lulling tones As I laid still upon the bed And wondered what would become of my bones If they could not get the voices out of my head Because of free will, he came to me for peace Because of the misleading thrill and rapid retinas decrease Because the voice quells to his sweet earth Because the reason for death had been rebirth What it was to be consciously dying-- Afraid for eyelids shut; inducing eternal sleep Lullabies hummed so softly lying To be so far, to be in too deep Because we were finally safe when all unfolded Because we made sure nothing was left untold and Because we had brought each other back to shore Because of the desire to stay once more
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Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
Muted Mutilation
Because the galaxy was blue Because the universe was me and you Because of our hunger for a world not ours Because of the deficiency within our stars The consistent lack of artless voids And shifting second nature grins Such bliss in connection- rift to avoid But they have come and crawled within Because of the absence in pure communication Because of the split between two fleeting creations Because the skies have all gone down Because the spirits put us under the ground The psychedelic tides became too strong Her little voice lost in waves far past Ouija spirits sacredly summoned and Sinister laughter cracking her glass Because the earth twisted her bones into a mobius strip Because the pure boy had begun to slip Because of the way we couldn't make sense of it all Because of the subconscious swaying to falls Alone now in tear drowned terror, the manipulative beast The little girl whimpering in soiled sheets He orchestrated the world into ****** gatherings Our souls succumbed to iniquitous happenings Because they craved for more than they had Because they had no choice but to become mad Because they hadn't set their imprinted place Because they allowed the demons to show their face I called his name in lulling tones As I laid still upon the bed And wondered what would become of my bones If they could not get the voices out of my head Because of free will, he came to me for peace Because of the misleading thrill and rapid retinas decrease Because the voice quells to his sweet earth Because the reason for death had been rebirth What it was to be consciously dying-- Afraid for eyelids shut; inducing eternal sleep Lullabies hummed so softly lying To be so far, to be in too deep Because we were finally safe when all unfolded Because we made sure nothing was left untold and Because we had brought each other back to shore Because of the desire to stay once more
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44
emptiness floating on a soft breeze;          gently sweeping the surface,                    the world is ingested. envy, the one wholly pure remnant,          is sacredly held by the breeze;                    it becomes everything. proceeded by greed of the empty,             the worldy consumption is                   everything as nothing. existence is jealousy alive within a             gust of melancholy winds,                      sifting through the infinte abyss of everything that is             whole; the entity of true                      whollyness residing within the boundaries of all that            is confined by emptiness:                 everything as nothing. logic and analysis aren't existent.         time rests in nowhere land.                              envy is god. may the lord repent me for my sins?
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Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
Envy is God
You stand before me the opposite of a reflection you are heads and I am tails as beautiful as I am ugly as sacredly spoken as I am blasphemous the angel to all of my demons as electric as I am static the spark of passion locked within my apathy The only thing I've loved more than I neglect myself
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Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
an antonym for me
Pay attention! rap rap said the big fat bus, with the big fat bootay. i say i have something to say to you! a wee bit of advice to you you so sweet young lasses out and about on hot summer nights in camaros and vans and pintos and mustangs. and mom's station wagon's. # 1 when that eager young lad's hands are a crawlin' all over you. yes YOU missy, your sweet nubile young territory, the time will come when you shall want all these shennanigans to STOP! so i give to thee some wee words of advice. #2 Be firm with your delivery. Do not waver. Strong even voice, increase volume if necessary. to the Kind sir, the, young lad.. say! i do not beg you, i command thee ... be sure to understand! keep those roving hands to thyself. for you can rest assured, this playground is closed! this is a no nookey zone! #3 blue ***** you claim, they are a ailing you? for you i give this sound advice, say! introduce yourself to your right hand, and ifn' you be a wantin' a menage eh of three, invite your, left hand to come along! #4 Be firm and be sure, you are sitting on a sacred fortune of gold, don't let them miners be gropin' around, be a gropin' you. it is only for you to sacredly unfold your divine femininin-ess. if you want to do it, do it... but search your heart long before you do.   at least think you are in love before taking the plunge. first loves are sweet and last long in hidden recesses of mysterious minds. take your time, 30 and more, is the age we big fat busses with big fat yellow bootays come into our own. no rush. nowhere to go. all the time in the world to get there. there is, i assure you, no rush.
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Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
Big Fat Yellow Bootay gives Young Lasses Advice about Groping Hands
Pay attention! rap rap said the big fat bus, with the big fat bootay. i say i have something to say to you! a wee bit of advice to you you so sweet young lasses out and about on hot summer nights in camaros and vans and pintos and mustangs. and mom's station wagon's. # 1 when that eager young lad's hands are a crawlin' all over you. yes YOU missy, your sweet nubile young territory, the time will come when you shall want all these shennanigans to STOP! so i give to thee some wee words of advice. #2 Be firm with your delivery. Do not waver. Strong even voice, increase volume if necessary. to the Kind sir, the, young lad.. say! i do not beg you, i command thee ... be sure to understand! keep those roving hands to thyself. for you can rest assured, this playground is closed! this is a no nookey zone! #3 blue ***** you claim, they are a ailing you? for you i give this sound advice, say! introduce yourself to your right hand, and ifn' you be a wantin' a menage eh of three, invite your, left hand to come along! #4 Be firm and be sure, you are sitting on a sacred fortune of gold, don't let them miners be gropin' around, be a gropin' you. it is only for you to sacredly unfold your divine femininin-ess. if you want to do it, do it... but search your heart long before you do.   at least think you are in love before taking the plunge. first loves are sweet and last long in hidden recesses of mysterious minds. take your time, 30 and more, is the age we big fat busses with big fat yellow bootays come into our own. no rush. nowhere to go. all the time in the world to get there. there is, i assure you, no rush.
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105
And t'is is truthfully why I am here, my love: I belong to thee, sacredly, entirely, and soulfully to thee-yes, only to thee! My eyes brighten at every sight of thee, my mind delights at the thoughts of thee, my pulse fastens at the views of thee, my blood curdles at the scent of thee, my veins rustle at the gaze of thee-and hark! Hark now, dearest-how my heart leaps, sheepishly yet excitedly-when'ver I recall thee! Ah, and how t'is feeling trembles and fidgets as always, as thou stareth back-gladly and with a smile so handsome yet animated and playful- sweeping straightly back into my soul. Like t'ose stupefying, sentient glazes of summers- blowing silently with the rustic gallantry of t'eir ruddy oaks, my heart is elevated with defiant, but affectionate branches of terrific, terrific love for thee! Oh! And t'ese thou but needst to know- t'at both my virtuous-and vicious lusts-crave only thee, as well as how my pure joys rely on thee! As despairingly as how my soul was born for thee, my life was crafted for thee, my hands were paired with thee, and thus so graciously are my young feet- my toes, my ribs, my lungs, and the very limbs in which my spines might dwell, and be celebrated by thy gentle, manly breath. Oh, how thou, my Western prince-so delicate and blessed with all the might of my very being-thou hath, my love, since the very first been my gem, my bronze, my silver, my gold, my charm, my pearl, my diamond, my light, my fire, my treasure, and my lifelong dreams-as thou shalt always be! And so art thou the perfect accord to comply with all such of my mine; as thou art but the freshest bloom of my ****** years, as innocent as t'is nature's peaceful labyrinths- but youthful and starry like the fruit of my most curious- yet ardently succulent imagination. And how I am so devoted to thee, my love! Just like the stars are to the moon above.
0
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
For Him
And t'is is truthfully why I am here, my love: I belong to thee, sacredly, entirely, and soulfully to thee-yes, only to thee! My eyes brighten at every sight of thee, my mind delights at the thoughts of thee, my pulse fastens at the views of thee, my blood curdles at the scent of thee, my veins rustle at the gaze of thee-and hark! Hark now, dearest-how my heart leaps, sheepishly yet excitedly-when'ver I recall thee! Ah, and how t'is feeling trembles and fidgets as always, as thou stareth back-gladly and with a smile so handsome yet animated and playful- sweeping straightly back into my soul. Like t'ose stupefying, sentient glazes of summers- blowing silently with the rustic gallantry of t'eir ruddy oaks, my heart is elevated with defiant, but affectionate branches of terrific, terrific love for thee! Oh! And t'ese thou but needst to know- t'at both my virtuous-and vicious lusts-crave only thee, as well as how my pure joys rely on thee! As despairingly as how my soul was born for thee, my life was crafted for thee, my hands were paired with thee, and thus so graciously are my young feet- my toes, my ribs, my lungs, and the very limbs in which my spines might dwell, and be celebrated by thy gentle, manly breath. Oh, how thou, my Western prince-so delicate and blessed with all the might of my very being-thou hath, my love, since the very first been my gem, my bronze, my silver, my gold, my charm, my pearl, my diamond, my light, my fire, my treasure, and my lifelong dreams-as thou shalt always be! And so art thou the perfect accord to comply with all such of my mine; as thou art but the freshest bloom of my ****** years, as innocent as t'is nature's peaceful labyrinths- but youthful and starry like the fruit of my most curious- yet ardently succulent imagination. And how I am so devoted to thee, my love! Just like the stars are to the moon above.
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46
I am in love, and in love with him; I'll love him t'night, under th' moonbeams; And who shall say-t'at he's really mean? As far as I know, he's funny and keen; I am but trapped, between his West' worlds; Too polite for poems; too tactful for words. I'm alive no more, by my Eastern wings; Only a poem at nights; but none on mornings. I seekest only him thus, with such eyes so blue; A promise faint still, but delights so true. I loved his yesterday, and shall do his tomorrow; I loveth him like t'at-within th' very here and now. Ah, but shall he ever perfectly know- T'at I singeth his songs, and painteth his rainbow? And should t'is lasting love ever transform; I too wouldst change, I'd take any form. I may not be within his green leaves; But I'll 'ways be t'ere, even in his tears. I am to be th' queen within his throne; And owneth his secret, intended for my eyes alone. His skin is even brighter than t'is sunny day; His blue eyes were mine in dreams, and th' whole of today. I am th' lover of his goods, th' charms of his bads; I loveth him happily, and sacredly; in flesh and in all my head. And whenst my soul he began to tease, All I ever wanted was to share his kiss; And by him I feelest but peace, No dire annoyance, just one secret bliss; And 'tis his lips t'at shall be my taste; What a love t'at groweth-but never is in haste! Ah, and I wanteth to taste just his watery breath; So let's just hope t'at t'is world hath no death- At least no death before he is mine; Th' one I hath yearnt for, th' one on my mind; And perhaps love canst be direly ill; But none canst presume aught; nor what I might feel. And whenst but cometh th' shriekings of fall; Still 'tis his voice, t'at I loveth at all.
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Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
In Love
I am in love, and in love with him; I'll love him t'night, under th' moonbeams; And who shall say-t'at he's really mean? As far as I know, he's funny and keen; I am but trapped, between his West' worlds; Too polite for poems; too tactful for words. I'm alive no more, by my Eastern wings; Only a poem at nights; but none on mornings. I seekest only him thus, with such eyes so blue; A promise faint still, but delights so true. I loved his yesterday, and shall do his tomorrow; I loveth him like t'at-within th' very here and now. Ah, but shall he ever perfectly know- T'at I singeth his songs, and painteth his rainbow? And should t'is lasting love ever transform; I too wouldst change, I'd take any form. I may not be within his green leaves; But I'll 'ways be t'ere, even in his tears. I am to be th' queen within his throne; And owneth his secret, intended for my eyes alone. His skin is even brighter than t'is sunny day; His blue eyes were mine in dreams, and th' whole of today. I am th' lover of his goods, th' charms of his bads; I loveth him happily, and sacredly; in flesh and in all my head. And whenst my soul he began to tease, All I ever wanted was to share his kiss; And by him I feelest but peace, No dire annoyance, just one secret bliss; And 'tis his lips t'at shall be my taste; What a love t'at groweth-but never is in haste! Ah, and I wanteth to taste just his watery breath; So let's just hope t'at t'is world hath no death- At least no death before he is mine; Th' one I hath yearnt for, th' one on my mind; And perhaps love canst be direly ill; But none canst presume aught; nor what I might feel. And whenst but cometh th' shriekings of fall; Still 'tis his voice, t'at I loveth at all.
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38
Inside the immolation of my flaming mind almost roasting in its own juices, thoughts trickling down into physical matter and into the lush cusp of words, words that twist and turn and curl around my tongue as they wind their way into realms divine and sacredly profane, entwining the alchemy of lost magic with the fabric of stars-- Yes, in this trance of absolute divinity I stand within my own sacred love temple ready to take in whatever comes in highest form ready to unfurl and release it into the breathing spaces tightly packed between the tapestry of this existence so closely interwoven within the stellar, cellular matter of our beings of earth of constellation of fire of sea Here,   I need to not only cast my thoughts into the vastness of air not only paint the night sky with sounds that emerge, so guttural, from my deepest knotted chords but actually consummate this force within consume it and be consumed bring it to light with my own sacrosanct manifestation… blast it forth in shoals of white conjure it from the source, pristine     fight the fight for truth, for love            and all that's in       between
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Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:37 PM UTC
The Lush Cusp of Words
If you’re not being stretched, then could it be that you’re… suffering an ungodly attitude of your own Life’s complacency? When looking around, do you see the discrimination, intolerance, injustice, hatred, poverty and other societal ills affecting us? Is God’s Love evident in actions of everyday living, so Salvation is really sought, by those, you… hope to spiritually influence? Can others even tell, that Christ’s essence, upon your life has been… sacredly and divinely etched?
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Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
Poem: Life’s Complacency
. . . Hello ex-Hubby, I meant the handsome dystopian boy, currently, I'm writing you the sin I remembered that craved the most, when I dared to penetrate my colorful virtue spot again. to ride the last whole night car with you in a hurry, and forget about the evil you, hating women, dressed in your dark flurry. I embraced those tiny white palms in my head. when they refused to touch me back and ride ahead. instead of losing interest and forget about reverence you physically, I kept my fingers crossed secretly, under the car seat, next to the prestigious scent of yours. Your North African amber eyes that refused to match mine, to get lost between their depressed universes and shine. I prayed along this magnificent time, to God so he could with his 99 mercies make you fully mine. The lava that burst divinely out of your Tunisian delicate betrayed my senses and lit the full hungriness towards your beguilement. I encouraged my half stability to make it through a little bit far from you, my hallowed brew with every single meter that we've passed I fluctuate amid the idea of capturing you devilishly or sacredly, between making some blood contracts with the devil itself, or donate as much money as I could, for the sake of being together, burring ourselves on an old bookshelf. trichotillomania; the colorless ferocious ogre, that used to assault my bright aesthetic soul, as a tight fatal choker to remind it chastely, of the imperfection portrait of mine. and pursue its pride with a fiery scourge, matted with brine when I started to rise my jaded fingers to covet those golden cheeks. I failed! the deficiency is capturing me The keloid I hated the most as I carry my dramatic havoc away, a little bit away, from your inner fray pathetically, I turned my whole feelings against my well ignoring the idea of love Subliminal and its spell facing the windscreen that harshly afford me a great frustration trying to cover my hope with trash sack and provocation. I failed, escaping the life blackmail, convincing me to practically disbelief on you. But I kept myself as holy as I dared to. despite of my Viscera's beating, crumbling and shrinking. I kept my grin harmfully, blinking. under your realm seeking for a light of your anger that will console me again. and bring me home. Happy Birthday! . . .
0
Apr 12, 2024
Apr 12, 2024 at 12:03 AM UTC
The Keloid
. . . Hello ex-Hubby, I meant the handsome dystopian boy, currently, I'm writing you the sin I remembered that craved the most, when I dared to penetrate my colorful virtue spot again. to ride the last whole night car with you in a hurry, and forget about the evil you, hating women, dressed in your dark flurry. I embraced those tiny white palms in my head. when they refused to touch me back and ride ahead. instead of losing interest and forget about reverence you physically, I kept my fingers crossed secretly, under the car seat, next to the prestigious scent of yours. Your North African amber eyes that refused to match mine, to get lost between their depressed universes and shine. I prayed along this magnificent time, to God so he could with his 99 mercies make you fully mine. The lava that burst divinely out of your Tunisian delicate betrayed my senses and lit the full hungriness towards your beguilement. I encouraged my half stability to make it through a little bit far from you, my hallowed brew with every single meter that we've passed I fluctuate amid the idea of capturing you devilishly or sacredly, between making some blood contracts with the devil itself, or donate as much money as I could, for the sake of being together, burring ourselves on an old bookshelf. trichotillomania; the colorless ferocious ogre, that used to assault my bright aesthetic soul, as a tight fatal choker to remind it chastely, of the imperfection portrait of mine. and pursue its pride with a fiery scourge, matted with brine when I started to rise my jaded fingers to covet those golden cheeks. I failed! the deficiency is capturing me The keloid I hated the most as I carry my dramatic havoc away, a little bit away, from your inner fray pathetically, I turned my whole feelings against my well ignoring the idea of love Subliminal and its spell facing the windscreen that harshly afford me a great frustration trying to cover my hope with trash sack and provocation. I failed, escaping the life blackmail, convincing me to practically disbelief on you. But I kept myself as holy as I dared to. despite of my Viscera's beating, crumbling and shrinking. I kept my grin harmfully, blinking. under your realm seeking for a light of your anger that will console me again. and bring me home. Happy Birthday! . . .
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72
I dream of you, by a white oak tree. I dream of you, i dream of you, i dream of you. There is a ribbon tied to the tree. I don't know the connection, but suddenly it is lost. You open your mouth and there are words flying through the air, gaps between your teeth, pauses in your ribs, and i still can't see your face. I dream of you in a white shirt, beige trousers. Pretty bland, holding out your hand. But i am not on the ground, i think you cannot see me, I am flying up here, my darling, up where i am free. I have no tether, i am not portable, I am free. I dream of you, i dream of you. I dream of you where there is no keyboard in my hands. Where my fingers can touch you, Where i can connect to you from within and without, and you can feel my skin to yours. But there are words floating around me in the air, I cannot breathe, I am scared. I dream of you. Silently i dream of you. Obstinately i dream of you. Sacredly i dream of you. Ritually i dream of you. Petulant i dream of you. As only dreamers can do, As only lovers can do, when dreams are love, and i am a bright red balloon.
0
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
Bright Red Balloon
To think its even palpable Is laughable In papal Purchases Of lurching Murderers Searching The versus For versions Viable To the venial Ventricles Of vengeful animals Toppling The tiny trees Just with their being A seething species Finding peace In the pieces Of enemies Scattered in the streets I wish i could say There was disbelief But i got a subscription To weekly casket wreaths And im singin in the rain Refraining from profane Crackling in the rain Of my reign over sane Waning in the basements Flooded with the muck of lakes Drained sacredly In the same **** I go silent Before violent outbursts Squirting the words On the wills of birds Chirping the verbs Of disturbing slurs That i never heard If asked But im keeping you on blast To unmask the crass Endeavours of an *** Fighting fire with fire First and last to laugh Burning blurbs on your maps Every time your lapped And lapsing in the trash Itching the rash Amassed in your lap And slapped in the face A disgrace to the pace Of a space in the haste Of wasted hate Too late to change Into shorts today To show the **** On your legs As your girl Cries when she begs For me to *** in her face But its okay She knows her place But do you In the back of the line In the grey and the blue Whispering to you To stay and acrue Humility In militant pedigrees Of satirical phalacies From your knees You need me The truth Go ahead Its on you ...
0
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
spewtoo
I catch glimpses of places visited, made home, rushed past, or settled upon to stay within others. Fragile words, bold thoughts, color formations streaming hearts brought forth reborn from decay Lovers lightly fanciful bewitching with Eros behind novelty movements at play Caution what ifs? meeting from bridge to bridge over semblance Witnessing beauty quietly withheld in awe sacredly untouched among archaic views.
0
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
Storing Sight
i could build a cathedral out of all the words i want to wrap you in and kiss upon your lips i could construct villages out of all the hopes i keep sacredly out of reach i could fill a mausoleum with all the promises i have received with open arms only for them to leave me just as those who gifted them i could write cities and forests and galaxies into existence using only the words that come to mind when i hear your voice or when i feel the gentle comfort of your breath intermixing with mine when our universes are only a few heartbeats away from colliding i could build a life with you and that’s what leaves me speechless
0
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 1:03 AM UTC
The Architect
Scared to open these tattered wings of mine In fear that they'll fall off Putting on this dim halo For all to see Feeling nothing at all But an icy darkness Instead of my usual warmth Whatever happened to The holy angel I used to be You took everything away from me From my lock and key memories That you sharpened And continuously used against me Down to the pure white cloak That I use to wear so sacredly Who knew that Eventually I would encounter the devil himself
0
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 12:29 AM UTC
Beaten Angel
Outside the white walls, symmetrical pillars, and broken windows do I find solemn within these saints and sinners and colorful people trudging down the hallways of unwashed history and flaunting peso bills all over the skies of painted jazz The one that is running to the bottom of the staircase holding a box of cigarettes and a mouth full of curses- striding all over the barlights of blissful BGC and numbing taste of bitter alcohol in Taft- wandering on the streets of neon traffic lights and a plentiful of terrible people. The one that is contemplating heavy metal (!) and bring suitcase for a living-walking faster than a madman of a classic 1980’s horror flick but talking like a dead man, grudging and grumbling his collar, mentally inspecting his fat books and depressing academic memories, calling on the birds of personified freedom weeping beyond his words and scratching his head with that awful haircut looking for a blessed be redemption. The one that is like Sheila, hands on the wheels with glass-plated stilettos and terrible taste in music, bruise and battered chin, wounded shin and complete with broken dreams –flattered her way up to the pool of stingy bureaucrats and hateful hateful daughters of sacredly publicized personalities continuously eating her tossed salad and puffing marijuana to suffice her thoughts off dull memories and empty void of a brain’s one’s gaped hole. She can’t be bothered to find peace in her ******* because one must work hard to the top of the social strata! The one that is gifted with prophesy and hypocrisy of pretentious façade writing broken poetry- creating **** films for a living while dressed in his chelsea boots and pain-bearing insecurities of beautiful nightmares and leather bags of no significant purpose but to seem delight on all these saints and sinners and colorful people Spilled out of my random thoughts and shapeless blossoming rainbows of emotions and grievances in all things I find goodness on the beautiful surface of that white wall and stubborn-looking beardless hip-hop heads with overpriced headphones and greasy Drake shirts and magnificent bomber jackets from angelheaded fuccbois with mom-washed jeans skinny trousers left them much to be desired and compounded inside the school of design and arts.
0
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
A box of people and a plentiful of colors
Outside the white walls, symmetrical pillars, and broken windows do I find solemn within these saints and sinners and colorful people trudging down the hallways of unwashed history and flaunting peso bills all over the skies of painted jazz The one that is running to the bottom of the staircase holding a box of cigarettes and a mouth full of curses- striding all over the barlights of blissful BGC and numbing taste of bitter alcohol in Taft- wandering on the streets of neon traffic lights and a plentiful of terrible people. The one that is contemplating heavy metal (!) and bring suitcase for a living-walking faster than a madman of a classic 1980’s horror flick but talking like a dead man, grudging and grumbling his collar, mentally inspecting his fat books and depressing academic memories, calling on the birds of personified freedom weeping beyond his words and scratching his head with that awful haircut looking for a blessed be redemption. The one that is like Sheila, hands on the wheels with glass-plated stilettos and terrible taste in music, bruise and battered chin, wounded shin and complete with broken dreams –flattered her way up to the pool of stingy bureaucrats and hateful hateful daughters of sacredly publicized personalities continuously eating her tossed salad and puffing marijuana to suffice her thoughts off dull memories and empty void of a brain’s one’s gaped hole. She can’t be bothered to find peace in her ******* because one must work hard to the top of the social strata! The one that is gifted with prophesy and hypocrisy of pretentious façade writing broken poetry- creating **** films for a living while dressed in his chelsea boots and pain-bearing insecurities of beautiful nightmares and leather bags of no significant purpose but to seem delight on all these saints and sinners and colorful people Spilled out of my random thoughts and shapeless blossoming rainbows of emotions and grievances in all things I find goodness on the beautiful surface of that white wall and stubborn-looking beardless hip-hop heads with overpriced headphones and greasy Drake shirts and magnificent bomber jackets from angelheaded fuccbois with mom-washed jeans skinny trousers left them much to be desired and compounded inside the school of design and arts.
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7
You walk in to my dreams as though I never ever lost you. All your faults and doubts have left us and i feel ineffable to be embraced by your presence. You do not touch me. You wouldn't. You know well you have touched me enough. My heart sacredly reads the language of despair you flash me with a subtle look. Ive always known your scared. You know this too that is why you are here. My love is strong for you. You see the gift of tragedy in my eyes you left with me. The neglection was not apart of your plan. The recognition of this hurts you in your gut. I try to mask the truth. I am confident i can achieve this. I want to protect you. You feel wrath towards experience and dimensions but they are you. Your inability to carry out your intentions has imploded and holds you to me. It was always pain that bound us Barbara, wasn't it. I drop the maternal cloth I made in your absence. All wounds are exposed. Your stare is strong. You look at your work at a distance. How else? I feel your nervous but I know your just as brave. Your taking it in slowly. I know you are getting closer to yourself now like you said last time. I only wish light for you. I promise.
0
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:29 PM UTC
Barbra
Snow trickles down all around me. Slowly, riding down my skin, after it lands. I raise my hand to catch a snow flake. Knowing how fragile it is, I look from a distance. It's all around me like you are. But, yet, I feel the need to keep a distance just to keep you but yet just touching you is hurting you. I want to touch you to see you   the closer I bring you to me the more we both hurt trying to protect this thing that we have that we hold sacredly to ourselves.
0
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
The Distance
Keenly sharpened lashes black the soul Shroud the awful secrets of portals Two brown pretending eyes pulling in The sun, moon, light, every remaining hint Yet prey's feet split the difference over floor Soles stick to stone, *** warms, heart exposed And the blood kept sacredly entombed As prey migrates wildly out of vein Til the gun dogs swap kisses In familiar red Keenly sharpened garb draws the edges Grants malevolence a silhouette Encroaching ****** deviance Dances her hips so sweetly you forget
0
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
Energies|Gun Dogs