"symphonic" poems
By
rgpage
The cool evening breeze filled with a scent of approaching rain.
Caught by playful window shears
as it passes through an open pane, to reach their
length and breadth toward the waiting bed.
He was a lover of music and his woman,
a passionate man with a sensitive heart.
She was in love with the melodic way
his gentle fingers moved with sensual touch
over her soft silk like skin of art.
He started gently around her ears softly prying
them open with the quiet richness of her melodies.
Each note of his gentle kisses leading her to a sensual abyss,
easing her down from the edge, controlling her descent, to her goal.
Down the swirling dark and light blends of the music rendered from her soul.
She was his instrument on which he placed
his soft loving fingers, moving them effortlessly,
caressing her most sensual delicate keys…Each body part
smoothly rubbed added richness to her sensual sound driven by lust
and loving trust.
Her ******* he fondled, licking and kissing, squeezing and rubbing.
Silently giving thanks, to her creator for such an amazing instrument.
Both of her hands with long slender fingers tangled in the long dark locks
of his hair as she eases her maestro’s head up tighter against her soft
beautiful mounds.
The loving melody continues with his touch now joined with the sound
of raindrops splashing into uncovered metal buckets and cans. The drops
carried on the breeze through the playful dancing shears came through the other end as nothing more than refreshing cooling mist.
Her body was his loving piano, and as with the 88 keys of his magnificent
Baldwin, the sensual areas of her equally magnificent body, when properly stroked, filled not only the bedroom but the whole house with the most glorious ****** notes known to man.
After a while the symphonic ****** builds as he masterfully impales her with his instrument of love coming into constant contact with the one special key of keys. Its special sound as his strokes came harder and faster brought the whole master piece to a beautiful melodic end as the two lovers bath in the rain’s gentle mist…
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
#
*Laying in bed all day
with silky thoughts
in a champagne haze
**An empty glass of water
rests barren on the floor
her eyes light up
as he enters
through the door**
With every stride
across the room
whispered lyrics
begin to bloom
In an encore
from the night before
in her memories
now begins
a brand new score
**Thrums echo
as the rythmn keeps
time inside each beat
slight murmurs crescendo
and a long symphonic
overture erupts**
He draws his notes
in the cream of her curves
Dismantling her inhibitions
soothing her nerves
Tongues in a waltz
senerading to thunderous beats
in a rhythm more shattering
than the rolling waves of the Sea
**Lights flicker
as his eyes roll
visions of grandeur
in tow breathless
they gasp for air
not wanting this moment
to soon disappear**
Driving urgency tenderly drizzle
ending one where the other begins
melting in the stillness
of tangled bodies and limp limbs*
#
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
Sunday, I am eating a
grapefruit, church is over at the Russian
Orthadox to the
west.
she is dark
of Eastern descent,
large brown eyes look up from the Bible
then down. a small red and black
Bible, and as she reads
her legs keep moving, moving,
she is doing a slow rythmic dance
reading the Bible. . .
long gold earrings;
2 gold bracelets on each arm,
and it's a mini-suit, I suppose,
the cloth hugs her body,
the lightest of tans is that cloth,
she twists this way and that,
long yellow legs warm in the sun. . .
there is no escaping her being
there is no desire to. . .
my radio is playing symphonic music
that she cannot hear
but her movements coincide exactly
to the rythms of the
symphony. . .
she is dark, she is dark
she is reading about God.
I am God.
8k
Nov 2016 - The Fall Line
~
*all the lines of man-made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting,
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution,
remaining hopelessly empty,
defining the watery soluble
inequality of null*
~~
The Fall Line
first heard the phrase months ago in Argentina,
standing before the c-shaped Iguazu Falls
the fall line
where the crystalline basement rock
erodes away the oncoming soft sedimentary,
there, where,
a waterfall is nature-gifted
so intuitive, so obvious,
what else to call the water's owned edge,
line of demarcation,
where we grow captivated,
mesmerized, knee weak,
traumatized and tantalized
knew that instant when spoken,
The Fall Line,
saw inarguable symmetry to so many lives,
would be a someday poem
selective service phrases stored and
someday up recalled,
a thousand, maybe more,
waiting for the confluence of
time and place,
to be a mother
letting my fluid sac burst,
giving birth to a concoction symphonic,
the emotions waterfalling, cascading,
the precision, vision seconds,
when words
pour, gush, surge, spill,
stream, flow, issue, spurt
~~~
silently crafted in the weeks and months prior,
the unconscious drowning in ache and pain
of suffocating drudge sludge of everyday living
*all the lines of man made yellows,
so tempting threatening...inviting
the subway platform, the street curb,
the highway divide
the double parallel equal sign that has no solution remaining empty, defining the inequality of null*
the vision infection of the majestic fall line,
so accessible in an instance of overwhelm,
cornea implanted, the sounding call of sweet blissful
whatever
one more additional addiction unshakeable,
jumping from fall line to fall line,
it's the game I am played,
but the controller
is not in my possess
**for the joy stick that drives my actions,
toys with me,
the human fool jumping
from fall line to fall line,
unsure of what he desires,**
salvation or saving
11/26/16
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
This
contained
energy
Will be the
******* end of me
In my symphonic body I paint a note too hard to reach
Still I speak as though im at the peak
Staring down at fallen leaves
Acknowledging to myself if I was to actually leap,
I would already be on the ground
No sound comes around as I scream from my mouth
Temptation to change perceptions of me are too big to ignore
They beget more of their own kind than before
And now im staring up at that note from my bedroom floor
If I could reach it
In the right key it might open a door
And let in fresh air to sink into my pores
This
Contained
Energy
Could be the end of me
But I promise I wont let it
I will strive to fly higher until I finally have spent it
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts
I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow
Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace
Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please
Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while
Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
when i want inspiration to write poetry
i watch a heaving tempest of kisses
they have a better flavor
than cooking shows
what's prettier than pretty pretty
in pigtails
shaking her delicious
derriere whipped Soufflé?
i'm kissing butter princess
witchy ****
spread lickity splits
eating her
with a big wide **** eating grin
like an open face dagwood
whats more poetic than that hopeful glaring
of
Adonis's plumper in paradise
filling Cleopatra's slathered meringue?
ga-ga-ga-gag me, daddy
merciless, pa-leazze
fluttered big wet talking eyes
like pools of blue honey
getting it zigged zagged
hard against a redraw mouth
throttling fluted gullet
while eager throat gasps
a symphonic music of the spheres
in relentless staccato chokes
lovin her big devil **** splashing
all gym built wonder-boy
a litter of ****** and tongues
licking pig greedy
rapturous milkshake waterfalls
whimpering
mmmmmm
oooh big daddy
oh my ****** god
pillar of colossus
you Tunisian donut you
pierce me like a spoon
through summer guava
who screams like that eating lunch
but a half ate apricot?
better than a football game
I'd rather take her greek
more fun than math or small talk
preferable to a pat on the back at work
or a ridged procession at a funeral
oh beautiful dark fig
squatting crotch candy
bubbling tapioca ***
queen of
spun sugar ****
all pyrotechnics
and fluttering sinews
if you asked most
do they watch ****
they'd grow smug like a senator
or punch you in the mouth
outwardly high-minded
refusing the blessing of a
video **** parade
of pirouetting vaginas
and glistening areolas
for the glory
of the secret ************ ceremony
the *** moralists
only good for a secret ******
living their lives
with passions submerged
and nothing to confess
except for guilty offerings
as they wander through dreamland shopping malls
wanting to know
Victorias ***** little secret
seduced
but not caressed
by
a mouthpiece for castrated dreams
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Post-azure, cloud splashed sky,
washes with the suns descent,
breaking into melodies of sunset.
Fracturing into a blush,
the richness of the spectrum
makes itself known.
On a tangent of change,
amorphous clouds bleed
amber glow
and bittersweet combinations
of reds and yellows.
Vermillion streaks through,
and a few cloud folk turn titian,
like sumptuous surreal apricots
rotting in the sky,
that seem to augur
encroaching darkness.
Billows on the horizon
leak crimson,
like spilled wine on table cloth,
and pucker out
like blooms of flaming roses.
Fire refracted
coloured cousins of the sun
are dancing all about.
Here is the anthem
of wild transformation.
Here is cause
for quiet celebration.
Here at this fluent juncture.
Here at the closing of day.
The whole of the ocean below,
is the skies tremendous mirror.
It's reflection is variegated,
into variations a thousandfold.
Multitudinous, and ever differentiated,
distortions of above
ride the crests of waves.
Each apex is a new story.
Each new story,
just as soon as it is told,
comes crashing into trough.
Each finale is the ****** of beginning.
The dynamic roar
of the oceans ever-changing topology
is rife with meaning.
Colossal symphonic wonders,
the primordial song,
releasing upon: the uni-
verse continual,
sending the manifest
to move, with the give and strain
of immaculate design.
Here ensconced
between the safety of light
and the mystery of night.
Here at the oceans edge.
Above, shades of catalina-blue, in conversation
with the outer most cosmic-black
dismiss earlier brighter hues.
Tinged by the infinite nature of space,
the jeweled dome darkens.
Overhead, the first stars appear,
sky transparent to beheld blackness.
Luxuriant, pulling horizon, attracts
violet into it's unfolding theatrics.
Bloodied clouds turn purplish, then black,
a darkening rawness allures,
decaying with vivid beauty,
tragedies of a rouged romance
drug down into shadows play,
searingly alive, extraordinarily actual.
And then, the hush of dusk.
Darkness is felled, like silence.
Scintillating stars
strengthen in the nights
surrounding abyss;
giving radiance definition.
Dynamic Beauty
Lives In Transition,
Oppositions
Compliment.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
You breathed tenderness
Into my bones
With pumpkin spice kisses
And waves of sunshine,
Leaking through locked fingertips.
And for moments, gone too soon,
We were one hue;
Red and orange in deep tones
Making music
With the rhythm of every inhale
and ex.
A symphonic masterpiece.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC
Neither Nightingale or Crow
Neither Whippoorwill or Sparrow
Perched on phone lines, never trees
Still those birds have the right to sing.
Target of bad boys’ B B Guns
Splashed with water canons
They fly til they can fly no more
And tremble in the shadows.
Their feathers have a bit of shine
When sunbeams fall just right
But all too often that just makes
Them that much easier to find
And targets them for hatred rocks
Thrown by those who only
Recognize a Woodpecker
And a Robin Red Breast.
Too bad their music goes unheard
Most often it is beautiful
If they could sing with the other birds
The music would become symphonic.
ljm
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
As I scale the slope
I note the melody of the wind
With its sweeping symphonic shifts
My nails grind against granite
Before flaking and falling into the abyss
Yet I persist
Upward along the lone path
Where the air recedes like tides
And frost forms fellowship upon my eyes
Before seeking to turn my sore limbs, frigid
Icily assuring each ache is anchored in anxiety
Which stems from the worn clothes of society
Yet as I climb, the fabric is discarded
Like old styles of yesteryear
Now basking in all my naturalness
I finally summit, my thoughts thankfully descend
My heart lifts up its scepter and then my chin
Beating with Brilliance it grins
Furls up it sleeves and wordlessly begins
The work of healing from within
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
It is early.
and the world hangs silent, but the birds chirping their chime,
An angelic choir of vibratos
And tenor beaks
humming sweet
to the early tangerine crest of sun
slivers a powerful bar of light over the peaks
to a newly brilliant horizon.
Sweeping the dredges of darkness away
as the stars fade
like coal dust
back again, packed into their cupboard of night
one by one,
lanterns snuffed and sent
into the vibrating blue
as if the whole sky should erupt into fire
azure, hallowed morning pyre
Encircled by the gradient hues
of coral pink and castille yellow
Mediterranean teal
A symphonic
cacophonic
**** of birth
Good Day, Sweet mother earth.
Squeezed through the valleys
canals
allies
every nook and forlorn cranny
kissed with her blissful photonic army
And the infantile creatures cry with glee.
The dewdrops clutch the blades
the tender palasade
of petals
remembering their darkened escapades
slipping tender rain
to feed the dirt,
the lonely detritus
elixirs of the lovely night.
And the world bursts into a veritable
kaleidoscope of life
With a trillion pairs of eyes
accessing the mother dream
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
Trusting steady for flower petals floating on moonlit beams.
Fractured cracks running into sewn seams of honey-colored threads.
Layering sunlight of emotions,
Rip-tide oceans hold your boulder heart open.
Velvety warm blankets shimmering with lavender energy,
Of a silence unspoken.
A roar within of a constant fiery flame.
A warrior armored with stars and an army of willowy trees.
Song buds upon lip, striking a symphonic flowery melody.
Eyes sparkling, you captivate with an alluring smile.
Flowers intertwined within your raven locks.
Summer night of fireflies and dancing bees,
Forgiveness never a weakling of knees.
Soft spoken heart beats.
Sun-fire but shaded with purpling blues.
Steadying hands even though your lips may frown.
Ever present is the sleepy shadow of a sugared temptation,
That only the befallen will know.
A darkness muddled into the after-hours of dawn.
Self-pity wars that your feet danced into nothing, no more.
You let the colors become vibrant yellows, even greens.
A warrior surrounded by atmospheres of light,
Tinged with the milky blue hue of night.
Oceans come and gone but forever in your heart is song.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
Melodic…Mesmerizing…Symphonic words.
Taking me away, whisking me off my toes,
In my mind, my head tilts back, my arms transform to wings,
As clouds form and the angel sings.
The clouds, they move, and twirl me to the sun,
It’s blinding, blazing beauty blissfully moves me,
Not just physically, but emotionally.
I cannot let this be, my words will not be undone.
I cannot allow this vulnerability to consume me.
Tears shall never fall, arms will never wrap around me.
I will never be the weeping lady,
That so much, they threw aside.
Forever, they will try to break the clouds below your feet, to make you feel obsolete.
Clouds of love, clouds of dreams, clouds that make you want to cry,
Clouds blur the vision, clouds will lie…
Clouds shed tears you will never catch,
Clouds will never find their match,
Neither shall I; matches make fire, and fire makes you cry.
Melodic music, is what they speak,
Like sirens, I will crash the wreck that is me,
Wreck inside, I will not be transparent,
But I believe, perhaps blissfully, that I can be, oh so much more,
But I can’t keep closing door after door.
The way that bed of clouds did make me feel,
Drills around my brain in a desperate drumming beat,
I yearn for that feeling, yet fear it all at once.
How can you fight with ones own self?
Yet hope for the best?
Brooding, introvert, but that’s not me,
It’s just what I know I have to be.
Who’s to say that living in a bubble is wrong?
Yes, it will burst, and those inside feel forlorn.
You can find those inside again, all by yourself.
No world-wind weapons of intrigue to entice you to lay down your soul on a table,
I am not weak or feeble!
No one shall lie with me for they lie about me.
And sigh, I will let not it be.
I am happier alone,
Forlorn, lost and oh so sad,
Happy, in my day, however each day may be,
For who knows what tomorrow may bring,
And that’s just the one thing,
A kiss, A feeling, is it worth it all?
Please my dear darling, never ever fall.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
lust is pink
dark and cloudy
casual in its appearance
beautiful in its persistence
as those reddish waves crash upon my shore
lust is soft
clear and winding
round the bark-less trunk of my torso
rustling the leaves of my hair
as my roots begin to stir
lust is loud
quiet but growing
symphonic in its metaphoric
crescendo to the top of the page
lick my thumb, flick back to previous sheets
and try to figure out where the music started
lust is music
slow reggae from a stereo in the morning
heavy metal blaring from a passing car in the afternoon
turntable cranking out Sinatra in the evening
tape deck cracking and splitting the indie rock
that curls around us at night
lust is strange
wistful and insistent
tugging at the corners of my jacket
as i remove the layers that protect my jawline
so you can taste the soft skin there
scarf unwinding, falling to the grass
and the cold flees from our shoulders
frightened by our moving hands
exploring the obstacles across our bodies
lust is here
obvious, apparent
even to me
in my awkward awareness of the raindrops
blistering my warm skin
and lust becomes silent
as we swallow the sound of the tension between us
put the words to our lips and bite
in your mouth i find four letters
l u s t
and i take them from you
m i n e
give them back
lust is generous
and so am i
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
*First light in the Hudson Valley
Arbor Day of April, 1970.*
Adrenaline coursed through our young
bodies, our hearts on fire with purpose.
As we rode our bikes, walked, or jogged miles
to our rural high school, red-winged blackbirds
called out from the misty swamps.
Beautiful but invading, acres of purple loosestrife
were rapidly taking over their wetland habitats.
Harbingers of the forests, blue jays issued
warning cries from deep in the woods,
where blights were killing our trees
with increasing frequency.
Three of us rode together, cycling in relative
silence, until we came to a meadow
selected for our early breakfast picnic.
We feasted on special fruits and cheeses,
hungrily stuffing in rare treats.
One friend began to send iridescent
soap bubbles into the chilly air.
Up they rose, up over the soft, puffy cloud
of her reddish curls, and into the dawning sun.
One bubble landed, unbroken, in the cold, dewy grass.
We stared at it, somehow understanding that here
was a delicate metaphor for our own fragile planet.
Approaching our school now, we breathed deeply the fragrance
of apple blossoms from commercial orchards all around us.
The spraying of pesticides had yet to be banned.
We were sleepy in our classes that morning;
most of our teachers understanding that we stood
now for something worthwhile, that we believed in,
and they smiled with kindness, some even with approval.
Our principal agreed to an awareness-raising slide show
designed for our fellow students, teachers and parents.
An intelligent man, he was admirably tolerant of the wave
of changes that our generation brought with us.
Smoke stacks, polluted water, and dying wildlife
flashed onto a screen in the darkened auditorium,
accompanied by the vivid symphonic power of
Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring'- a score so revolutionary
that a riot broke out at its premier, in May of 1913.
We had no idea then how much worse things would become.
All these years later, we each do our part, blessing
the efforts of our children and their children,
hoping fervently that we are not too late.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
The first time
I heard them
I swear,
I was to listening
to the most beautiful choir
in four-part harmony,
swaying
or angles wings rubbing,
& perfectly, playing
a common file instrument
angled, such a unique sound
symphonic & splendorous
they are all around
this free concert
an offering of
Mother Nature
chiming at once
uncaged,
& calling on the ladies
in perfect unison
sounding like church
telling one another
of sunlit hours
say the flowers
fending off evil spirits
allowing me to travel
into the dark again
leaping over obstacles,
alerting me to danger,
still in their silence
I am protected
by this harbinger of luck
a most powerful portent,
of coming things
they sit silently in the quiet,
like a copper cricket weathervane,
as the poor man's thermometer
spinning tales effortlessly,
in the wind calmly
watching over us
a shivering in the night
save you, are mine
my Native American totem
or God's Cricket Chorus
foretelling of Sorrow
of coming rains tomorrow
ex-lovers and death
a shrill creaking
stridulating in song
Oh, I fear that day,
your music should go away
please dear uncaged cricket choir
I truly ....
hope you'll stay.
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
My love, you see makes my heart sing
With musical notes it composes
Cause you do play on my hearts strings
My masterpiece laid before you
upon a bed of roses
I won't waste my precious time
& dance around the truth
For a symphony plays its song in me
And your beauty is my fountain of youth
My wife, you see - I hope you to be
My wife, you see - how lovely
My song, you see? Will never cease
It'll play throughout eternity
For the instruments that lay inside
Will never stop, nor ever die
For the beauty I see, instills in me
An everlasting energy
So hearken unto me, my sweet baby
Cause I'll never leave nor say goodbye
My song, you see? Makes my heart ring
Adoration does your heart bring
My masterpiece that will never cease
Is finally composed
I hope, my dear, that our union is near
& I'll become your king
My wife, you see? I hope you to be
Say yes to me, when I final-ly propose
Now we're here right at the end, my dear
A musical crescendo
As it plays, I do hope you say
That you truly love me and that you'll always stay
This song I feel, is very real
And its not an innuendo
Now on my knee, as you can see
Will you marry me? I plead and pray
Marry me, my wife to be, and let our duet play
Forever and ever entwined together
Mr. and Mrs. Gray
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 12:01 AM UTC
Wild child space travel gypsy
drunk on the cosmos
churning a sensual pattern--
melting suns
with a carefree wink
as stars pour into her eyes
like a garnet shiraz
spiraling
in tidal waves
splashing in a crystal wine glass
caressing
her white light lips.
Planets dip and dangle around her hips
as the weight of the nebulous nectar whispers
lullabies to her eyes
as her incandescent hair contours
to copious glistening constellations
rippling across her tired body
like ice dripping on a warm chest
vibrating indigo moonlight jazz
enrapturing millions with her simple act of symphonic yawning
as the dusk light dawning over faces
embraces souls stirring--
her purring hip cat dreams
leave people like us with mouths agape
as her voluptuousness nape hushes
us with a supernova explosion of peace
oscillating between
each of our spirits.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
~
Your beauty sings harmony
with a cantata sunrise,
euphoric melodies in viola
and piccolo lingering
‘pon a lavender haze
of periwinkle whispers,
symphonic poetry
afloat of dawn’s breezes,
ecstasy in tangerine desires,
wafting concertos of passion
as I listen quietly
to my day once again
beginning with the perfect
lyrics of your smile
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
Behold bright symphonic Blast!
Halt the snail bite damage of youth.
There is none to resist the place and time of one who missed the equal avenue.
Dropping before your phantom, dispirited dew, before shadow portrait drops.
Swine with silver throats!
Corpse of embers preamble multi-various multi-vacuous semi-forte polar rhythms.
Sequencing selves in wood and wire. Pinions at drifted tempo, quavering for poly-syllabic idioms,
In sectioned hostels for their sense and glory restrung.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
good boys can wait their turn
have me when I'm dead and ready
right now im physcotic
only care about narcotics
this raging traffic inside my head
symphonic, I'm overdosing
always going
catatonic
because I'm a doll hooked on adderall
you wish I'd fall
I know you wanna see me off the ledge
but I'm 6 feet tall
in my fur coat stillettos golden halls
turning gray alleys and we can't breathe
we can't breathe and death's a tease
******* thief
if you ask me
and what I wouldn't give
for a bad boy to just be good
treat her right, one night
to hold a hand with no claws
kiss a face, no bite involved
all these boys from outta town
already dead, and out of ground
giving me heartache, fade in, blackout
it's too **** late
just wanna sleep
take another pill, live-in hell
it's all you ever wanted
la princessa fell
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
My mind blazes with an inferno of music.
Notes created to play
Point, counter-point, one to another,
To flame into blazing fury.
Tiny tinkling notes crash
To low sonorous tones.
Metallic vibrations lead to
Unearthly bursts of melancholy discord.
Not for the pretentious musician
But for the appreciative of symphonic quality
Such that would ignite a Phoenix.
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 9:39 AM UTC