"transpires" poems
I.
The moon sings the languid flower,
to bloom at midnight hour
Harmonious feast transpires -
luminescent choir
Petals mirror la hue de Luna,
but pale below her glow
Though the desert sweet aroma,
is fragrance plus photo
Neither causing nightly failure,
in idyllic charm
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
II.
The moon a long gone distant rock,
yet pulls on ocean tops
Cereus lures with sweetest tricks,
and stings with countless licks
Battered holy asteroid face,
woos flawless solar gaze
And even though it causes mire,
lunar eclipses fire
The cactus thrives in driest sands,
and chokes in fertile lands
Alluring lonesome wanderers,
promising mere water
The lucid beauty bewilders,
as much as it can haunt
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
III.
You, once my cereus and moon,
were drowned in my love well
Perhaps, I was this to you too,
though your hole I’d not delve
However, what was first velvet,
morphed into devil’s horns
Winter shed those thorns in my chest,
now spring gifts hope and more
The icy grips of each winter,
provides spring fuel to spark
In fact, those powers are greater,
together than apart
IV.
Although we've gone on our own ways,
I wouldn’t change the past
For each step was necessary,
to find true love at last
We were once greater together.
I’m now greater apart.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 10:33 AM UTC
How lovely is the freckle upon the fire child,
How beautiful are these sun kisses.
What a summer that transpires under blue eyes,
What virtuous hands to clasp mine in camaraderie.
To all the sparks, the red heads, the gingers, the orange licks of heat:
Continue to burn, for it is amazing to see.
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 2:48 PM UTC
The rhythm of life is like an endless melody
and goes on regardless of where we might be.
Throughout the day and all during the night
it never stops tho’ it’s not obvious to sight.
When the sun rises and again when it sets
that rhythm of life all things never forgets.
With each coming and going to and fro
we’re all part of its main working show.
In birth and death as in growth and decay
all creatures have their moments of play.
In the heavens above and on the earth below
one after another they all must come and go.
With the ebb and flow of each wave in the ocean
it’s apparently like a ceaseless rhythmic motion;
tho’ they’re caused by the moon’s gravitational pull,
and is itself also subjected to being either new or full.
In the four seasons of the year and all the changes they bring,
as the earth revolves around the sun, affect every living thing.
By these regular distinct cycles each lasting its period of time
it’s a universal ongoing phenomenon and never ending rhyme.
Whether we like it or not it embraces us all in its sway
and our affairs in this world enjoy their night and day.
It makes order gradually come forth out of chaos it seems
and helps us all to survive and even realise some dreams.
We all have certain basic needs and so many wants or desires
and flowing with the rhythm of life all in harmony transpires.
If we have unnatural obsessions by which our mind is caught
then it’s freedom with a high price that is actually most sought.
This rhythm of life has an existence and power of its own
and all that does ever happen by it unmistakably is known.
When we become in tune with its reality and stay in touch
all that goes on in the world will be to our benefit as such.
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 3:01 PM UTC
“We love what we don’t know, what it’s lost already…”
Jorge Luis Borges
I hang on to your portrait, in front of me;
among candles, copal, and all those things you worship in a mexican altar to the death.
You are my invisible jaguar,
you appear before me, between dreams, and I fell alive.
Full of wounds,
lacerated by my absence,
I put your portrait in front of the altar that my mind has conceived,
and you seem to hold the paradise's secret in your hands,which are made of ashes.
Then, according to the mexican & catholic tradition,
like a rural priest,
you start to draw a cross, made of the ashes of your magic, sacred hands.
The smell of the whole,
sacred being that exists in this spiritual plane,
lays on your profile, so beautiful embodied in your portrait,
which I prefer above any other reflex.
Finally, when I think on your lips,
is when I stop believing in anything else,
and just keep on holding the devotion that I worship to your portrait...
Then I chase each single one of the naked,
flaccid,
vulnerable memories of you,
trying to protect me.
I think of you,
so profoundly and vividly right now,
that my skin transpires,
bleeds,
my muscles are tense,
and my mouth recites your name with all and its last name.
I wish that, under a supernatural power,
you're also thinking of me, at this precise moment,
and that some thought can touch me below my skirt,
and make the skin of my white buttocks to bristle.
White –Blanca in Spanish-; the name of one of my childhood’s friend.
And the same color of your so polish, european skin.
The rainforest of your sacred Chiapas.
I need you excruciatingly.
Like a dagger into my body.
I will like to see your portrait being devoured by the flames,
but I do not have the courage to throw it to the fire,
for its image will become strongly painted in my mind,
and the effect that you exerts towards me it will be more powerful.
Dangerous.
I had a dream a couple of hours ago,
it was me,
so earthly,
being blessed by your voice,
and the tattoo you have on your left arm, being kissed by my simple mouth.
Our skin,
together,
united,
white,
is the wall where the moon lays on,
Lays in our bodies making love,
in a black hammock,
conjuring with our pneuma to the whispering of the rainforest...
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
So many sellouts claimin' they real when they only want a mass stage appeal
****** swear they be down for the hood? but how while living lavish in the white neighborhoods?
This ***** turned scooby doo ****** where the **** are you? You loosin' ya black views
How the **** you gone say slavery was a choice I remember when you had a voice
Ever since you called Bush out it seems like got drained out
Gallons of blood a spiritual transfusion ***** ya loosin'
Ever since your lips ****** on that white ******* **** **** them Kkkhardashians say it louder once the mic enter my hands enemies get the sweatin' cuz of my verbal weapon
yeah ya been coming out makes me doubt
No wonder why they call you gay fish half of them ******* is really *******
In the celebrity world where boys is girls and girls is boys seduced by the evilness that swirls life ain't about diamonds and pearls
Pandoras box dusty as **** so no need to throw a fit Kanye I got a black polished AK' forty seven ready to send you to heaven
No ladder leaning on a stagger soon to end up a plastic bagger
Coroner's dinner deaths the winner while ya visions growing thinner
**** what ya stand for I take you back through the "wire" throw gasoline all over you then light a fire burning your empire
**** your kids and ya legacy none of us admire
Your coonery I'll crown you with thorns full of barbed wire til your soul transpires
Yeah punk ***** so
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
I say **** kanye **** kanye **** kanye yea yea eeeee
Also **** them white ***** kkkhardashian once again letting you know how they do brothers in
****** go crazy or end up in the pen or another gender trend
**** making friends **** chasin' ends
And if you wanna join kanye ya casket ready soon to be tucked in ....
Night night you ***** ******* die slow
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
Step by step it flows
Unleashing trapped desires
Edifying body and soul
Unifying humankind in entire.
Reaching within depths untold
Possessing, with grooves so bold
With rhythmic waves and strides
Varying from tribe to tribe.
Dancing is a rite
Not a mere reaction to music
Dancing is a language
Spoken in the voice of the body
As music transpires with bodies
Bodies of beautiful maidens
Bodies- voluptuous, with sweat
Leaving our warriors gasping!
Dancing to the beats
Dancing to the rhythm
Dancing in the heat
Like horses never ridden
Dancing is a bond unbroken
An expression of feelings unspoken
Well spoken by the untrained
Well grasped by the unlearned
Birthing in the cries of Ogene
Riding on the waves of Udu
Floating on the wings of Ekwe
Gliding in the ripples of Oja
It is the essence of our tradition
Passed from generations of old
We express it proudly
As we answer the call of Igba.
© Raphael Uzor
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
It's a confusing puzzle,
But still holds true:
You can't live with me;
I can't live without you.
Life is but a journey,
I chose to go through with you;
But now that you won't have me,
It's hard for me to continue.
Fate is a bitter cruel harpy,
With her sisters she conspires
For the death of my Love,
As your Love for me transpires!
Hope is a painful therapy,
It burns while nursing Time's stabs;
But the scars strengthen Experience,
As it assists to keep Reason's tabs.
Love and Reason are antithesis,
That can't co-exist;
But their affinity is such
That to be together they persist.
Perfection in Love is when
There is room for Reason;
But when Reason and Logic court,
Love calls it Treason!
Love is unfair and immature,
And still as pure as a dove;
But there's no use of Reason,
With the death of Love.
This poem is an analogy:
Which in life stands true;
It's no use of me loving you,
If there's no hope for you to love me too.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
elemental [ˌɛlɪˈmɛntəl] adj
1. fundamental; basic; primal the elemental needs of man
2. motivated by or symbolic of primitive and powerful natural forces or passions elemental rites of worship
3. of or relating to earth, air, water, and fire considered as elements
My skin shapes itself around the scars seared mercilessly
Into my mind, soul and body.
I breathed you in.
The salt and tobacco, overwhelming
As I recall your twisted embrace
Enchanting, and toxic
Suffocating my soul, diminishing the blaze.
And I must rekindle myself
To find that place,
where you can’t be.
There is a part that wants .
To feel your presence, once again.
Holding me
Back down, into the dust that shapes,
and folds under
Crushing waves.
Of water
as they are colored by the suns flames
here resides an ever present rage
The fibers of forest green are darkened beneath
The weight of wet
assimilation
Transpires, enveloping you into a distant memory
Of nothingness
My scars seared on like armor
Remind I burn through air
And earth
Transcending creation,
Destruction’s my curse
You, as the maker
Took more than I was worth.
Maybe you knew in the wisdom
That sometimes comes with
strife.
The life you had given
Was not yours to claim.
These walls I built for water
stand sturdy, scorched by pain.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 6:30 PM UTC
With my windows tenderly open,
the moonlight, a pale marble phantom I admire
The dark light rests beside me,
unveiling a vivid urban gleam
A jet black silhouette transpires
He whispers in the dark
Porcelain lies, radiant yet feeble.
His words achingly deceive
the lights that disdain me;
belittling my affectionate delusion
Pitch dark silence, I weep as I grieve
My tears filling in everlasting secrecy of
this tragical devotion blurring out the stars
You speak with a passionless passion
Yet my world doesn't fall apart-
It makes the whole universe perish.
That night, the stars seemed to blemish.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:04 PM UTC
The reason there aren't so many vampyres
around these days is they don't like TV hype
and the intrusions of TV news crews. It transpires
that vampyres prefer late hours and like low light levels
because they're egregarious and don't like to be seen inebrious
in the middle of their heinous, intravenous revels.
Also, unfavorable reviews about transfusions
and the confusion caused by AIDS, at this juncture,
has definitely reduced the appeal of being seduced
by some crazed and gurgling Transylvanian
bloodsucker lusting to puncture the jugular,
or any other available vein again,
especially when you don't know if they've disinfected their fangs
or only licked them after draining their last victim.
After all, vampyres were brought up in castles
when there weren't antiseptics for gargles
and they haven't been taught prophylactic criteria
against such apocalyptic viral bacteria.
And if you've ever seen vampyres with condoms
on their teeth, you'll know what I mean.
It's a scream. Everyone finds them hilarious. It'd be easier
to die laughing than to go down with anemia.
Also, like everyone else, vampyres hate ridicule.
No-one likes being seen as the fool.
And the other reason vampyres are scarce now
is that there are so many genuine muggers, hoods, crims,
druggies, financial leeches, homicidal maniacs,
psychopathic liars and genocidal tendencies to conjure up real fears
out there, that there's not much room left for quaint old-fashioned vampyres, poor dears.
But do you know something? Even though they were naughty,
I miss their occasional **** I know it was gory,
but those kisses, oh boy. We got into the femoral artery inside the thigh. It was ***** But when AIDs came along,
that was it. Definitely bye-bye. Nobody wanted to die.
These are the facts.
So these vampyres were starving and they reverted to bats.
Did a midnight flit,
and that's the end of my story.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
I’m stuck at a crossroad,
where my mind, body and spirit are trying to meet.
They are trying to move at the same pace,
move on the same beat.
But they fail to do so.
They are always nearly in sync,
but they always stop in their tracks before meeting.
Almost like an acquaintance who looks familiar but you are hesitant to say hello.
That ‘hello’ never transpires,
that ‘hello’ never meets that familiar looking person,
just as my mind, body, and spirit never meet.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
The world is full of beautiful mysterious mazes,
And each breathing soul, including us, is solving it.
All of us are trying to reach our destiny,
which we are clueless about and seek.
Just when a small streak of light transpires
showing us where our passion lies,
we set forth towards it, to see for ourselves,
if it is the key to our life’s purpose,
if it is what we want to become.
Reaching there, we find all the resources
we need to build the castle of our dream.
Block by block, we build the castle of our goal.
Once done, we spend some time at the castle,
enjoying our creation, making the best out of it.
As we spend some time at the beautiful castle,
we realize we want more from the maze.
We set out on a different journey, a different field,
this time exploring the unexplored.
We, once again, dream of a big castle,
a castle filled with bigger dreams and happiness.
Block by block, we build again a beautiful castle.
After seeing many days and many nights, living in the castle,
we wish and aspire for something bigger.
We keep building huge castles,
trying with all might to figure out
what we want to be,
where we want to be,
what we want to do in our life.
Years roll by, we have built many breath-taking castles.
We have had many adventures, many failures, many successes.
At about this time, the secret of the maze becomes
visible to the human eyes,
we see the road not taken,
we dive in, building the magnificent castle,
the castle of our dream,
the castle of our destiny.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
Fixating on the emotions you provided
But only for a second in time
Before you had me falling between the cracks
With a touch of your hand
Moments pass at accelerated speeds
My heart flutters.
Vibrations rush through my perplexed mentality
A loss of affection transpires
Beneath this dark facade suppressing my energy
A troglodytic character exposed
The inception of just another fantasy you implemented
Like any other dream I envisioned
A borderline ecstasy of pleasure.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
Awaken from the dreams
Nightmares all around
Caustic waves of infidelity
Sinking
Skulking
Sinning
What transpires at nightfall
Is epitomized into everyday life
Different being
Vampire
Carnivore
Folk-lore
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
Revenge,
that drove my mind insane,
diminished peace,
and replaced it with echoing chaos.
Revenge,
that filled my heart with hate,
venom in my veins,
ice in my soul,
fire in my eyes
and bitterness in my tone.
Revenge,
that made those moments rot
in anger wrapping up deceit.
Letting me dwell in darkness,
chaos and pain.
Revenge,
that makes more malice
to my hand.
So, I lay upon you to scourge.
Revenge,
that makes me feel like a villain,
with a prison sentence that never transpires.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
Effortless dust conspires with the ephemeral wind's devious desires
Lucid time transpires, while the illusion of life prevails then expires
When I need you, you're elusive, fleeting and distant
When I have you, you're abusive, cheating and resistant
When I leave you, you're reclusive, retreating, and nonexistent
When I bereave you, you're conclusive, defeating, and insistent
I rely on you to pass, mend and heal all my wounds, and cleanse the stain
I admire you in class, am reminded on full moons, and lose you in the rain
Blatant slaps in the face, blessed with you to waste, then we ask what you're worth
Silent gaps lost in space, stressed with a virgin's chaste, been by her side since birth
Eat the scraps fall from grace, obsessed with the taste, so many hungry facing dearth
Burned maps without a trace, pressed to make haste, as you tick down upon the earth
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
Wrinkled lips leak twisted tales in your chiseled space between realities
The kids all listen to your great advice
Heeding your misanthropic words and singing your praises
*"How right and noble it is to feel so glum and strive to strike down smiles with the tongue
Ma looks on as the children skin Pa to the bone
Better to receive than to give"*
They scream in monotone
I sit back and watch transfixed as this transpires
Thinking on my unforgiven sins and sipping your elixir
Koolaid from the kitchen served in unwashed broken dishes
My only desire is for you to finish spinning your stories
**The lies pour forth from the intestines of a sick piglet holed up in the morgue
You couldn't be real to save your life**
Your dead eyes drip crocodile tears into my glass
I watch it mix slowly and think out loud:
"You reside in Florida so I guess its appropriate"
But every puddle has it's bottom and your breath is wasted sobbing
When you're sinking just to try and float
So if you'll shut the hell up I'll be much more than happy to slit your ******* throat
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
In the cold of my car I shivered,
as the engine ran,
I sat still hoping to
dispense with the chill,
but my will said, 'accept it you are a wimp and an old cold one at that"
I was wearing my hat and my coat with light gloves,
I loves to wear, they separate my fingers
from the cold,
knitted grey and bold,
they let me hold,
objects of metal like keys to hearts, objects of stone like me very own heart,
objects of desire, that I keep secret until something transpires
which warms better than fires,
on a dark and lonely night under the stars bright, wait was that my tire?
Oh where did I wonder off too,
as I was in thought, now lost,
my wit, not sharp as the nail in my tire, the cost,
on a dark night in November, as six speeding police cars swoop past me,
on an urgent mission to stop a crime, their sirens wail as I am a
counterintuitive pantomime against the noise that assails me while
I am changing
a tire but remain the same,
metal tire rod tool in my hand, stone cold heart beating, against my ribs,
as I labor in disbelief that where I live is across from where I stand,
and with all technology you have to get on your hands and knees to
change a tire, I sneeze, I am not sure which is worse,
my situation or these verse,
which decorate the night, not like stars,
as when spoken aloud every other word is profane,
while two homeless push there wares by me and laugh
with disdain.
For in these transactions they have more street cred than I,
and I would give them a bitcoin of my thoughts, but they
are two and I am one, alone and without a cell phone, and
this poem rolling around like lug nuts in a hubcap, as frost
creeps closer than the creeps who wish to reap of my misfortune.
Of which I now have some, that I can mix with theirs and then
I notice their bloodthirsty stares, so I begin to recite this poetry
and expound on the woe in me and send them packing covering their
ears with out attacking my hapless now three wheeled car.
When I was done I was nuttier than those lugs,
"good news" it was too cold for bugs,
and with good conscience you, from this, can unplug.
©DWE112013
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
Are these tears of blundering laughter
or heckles of contempt
that spirit on these haggard few
to rhapsodise our era’s curtain calls?
They who brought us mounting debt and conscientiousness
which seems only to be healed in the appeasing fluorescence
of 24-hour supermarkets and the purgatory
of weekends spent at home?
Such stifling, nervous coughs
are head as responses of
today’s domestic questionnaires
Gung-ho reformative advances
and calls to “pull up our socks”
Mixed with the state-sponsored fortune-telling
Rationed out to boys languishing on the dole.
Which All falsely transpires,
intimidatingly revealed as being
About as appealing as vacuum cleaners for the soul
aimed at the resolutely bored to tears.
Despite our fears
the sun will come streaming again
through fresh fir trees
which decorate contemplative, sheltered lanes.
These last, frostbitten years
seek replacement with halcyon days
in order to suspend dogmatic disbelief.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves:
Pessimism is ****
Even in the most roaring of times
we remained despondent and calculated.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
Nothing matters.
Therefore, everything matters.
The world is devoid of meaning,
except for the meaning we give it.
Whatever we do, whatever transpires,
all is an act of
*holiness.
We are creators, we are the ones who create.
We are He, we are She, we are all, we are none.
All is change.
Permanence is found in impermanence.
There is no death.
Only a change in form.
I sit and ride the wave.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
A rose of glassblowing transparency...
air-born as the color eyes see
when closed to the sun.
Petals pressed open shatter in place...
as red silk intermingled.
The color of passion and alarm,
that an earth transpires--rose...
occasioned by that transpiration.
Put to amnesiac white wings--
aftershocks of contrast...as blood to
snow, and all its angels.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
Terrestrial flame, inner pandemic
Euphoric feeling, pain so miasmic
Anatomic design, enduring torture,
Return now my sorrows, dark, true and pure,
Searing red tears, dreadful desires,
Obscuring vision, blackness transpires,
Fading views of the world, moment of truth,
Bestowment of death, trouble of youth,
Lament is the few, who whisper the name,
Obedient to fate, the wanderers blame,
Obsessed with the blood, hearts final cry,
Dawning his last moment, he wonders why,
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 10:27 PM UTC
We were always bored
Looking for a piece of the action on
Ash tray floors and bong-ridden windows
Ambitious, ambidextrous fools
Trying to reach the icy heights at flaming fifteen
As we got older
Now we're too busy to just sit
And stare at the wall
We should've just stared at the wall
While we could
But we were too busy climbing
Overcoming building blocks
Now that they're stepping stones
All the doors we really need are locked
We should've stayed grounded
In trampolines and pavement chalk
Biding our time in the
Occasional tightrope walk
But to have it all when you want it
Is such a drug
So we pushed each other off
Just to feel the flight of falling
We tried so hard to make the pieces fit
But one puzzle solved
Is just another with more anguish in it
Taking left-hand paths
Just to prove ourselves right
Filling unknown vacancies
We were explorers in the night
As we got older
Now we're to busy to just
Wander in the woods
We should've just stayed in the woods
While we could
But the page has turned
The properties of sin have left us
Stranded in empty lots
Drawing straws for who and who is not
Passing notes and paper planes
We should've been holding hands
Connecting dots, embracing pain
We could've formed a circle band
Kings and queens and peasants
We were them all
But the trinity was dissolved
By geometry's laws
We tried so hard to make the language fit
But one riddle solved
Is just another with more questions in it
When genuine thoughts begin
To get abbreviated
You better pray you're not
The one who's deviated
Cause as we get older
We become too busy to
Recognize the truth
We should have recognized the truth
But it's no use
I don't know what happened to us
But I thought the underdog
Always got the glory later
So I saved my moments in a box
But the contest for youth fame
Is masked by drama's feeble gain
Cause what transpires long after
Is a race for cheap laughter
Better cross your fingers
And stand out as a loser
Lest you become a cabaret
The second you begin to change
I tried so hard to make myself fit in
But one problem solved
Is just another nihilistic moment
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 10:36 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel
that what I have
so closely
right next to me
is so very far
there is distance
that cannot even be
named
while inside me,
a wildness
that cannot be
tamed
and I long to
break free
travel to far-off lands
get closer to
myself
as I take the spirit-reigns
into my own hands
And all the while
as I wait
trying to find that
perfect moment
for escape
I gather the warmth
and light around me
wrap it around as one,
close energetic blanket
let it charge me up
refill the spots
that have become
empty
rejuvenate that
private inner sanctum
that so few can see,
those who know
and understand
the irony
for on the circular map
marked in cities, towns
and roads
are the ones physically far
who hold me so very close
the ones who know my mind
the workings of my heart
who help gather me into wholeness
when the seams threaten
to rip apart
They know
the meanings of the ways
that this heart spills into verse
and I see how physical proximity
can be a blessing, or a curse
because when it's an illusion
it cuts right to the core
stirring up pure loneliness
bringing longing to the fore
a heightening of confusion
when the door slams in your face
and you wonder why, in your home
you can feel so out of place
And so I bless this map
mark with pins my states of love
countries and landscapes of kindness
felt through the airwaves above
and with my own love in return
I immerse all the beautiful souls
We all share the struggles and victories
provide calm
when it's out of control
I cast forth my heart to you
Let it crackle through the wires
its electricity connects
and like magic,
sweet
love
transpires
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 1:39 PM UTC
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain.
I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 9:16 AM UTC