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"undreamt" poems
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
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Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Ω Gothic Postcard Ω
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold… May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt: JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !
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5
The Key To Success A leaf has many veins connected by the midrib, similar to the Corolla in flowers connected by the sepal, A stem has many leaves, connected through it, even the roots in this design- fibrous or tap are in their own way special, Many stalks form a branch, many branches form a tree but all connect at the base, the trunk, This happens in every tree, but to rebirth has to separate some chunk, The message being conveyed by nature is unity is the key to success in this world where every person is a different type of petal, Land Of The Ganga In this Garth, trees are never watered by a soul, but the river Ganges herself, The trees even after sinking inwards into the ground, continue to bloom in themselves, Filled with myriad species of undreamt trees and the rarest of all florets in the daintiest of bowers The most prodigious banyan tree with about three hundred aerial roots is the main attracter A tree that stores water is one of the hundred phenomena in the Botanical Garden in the land of the Ganga itself
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Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
5 liners Collection -1
you are just girl enough, to be a real man... so stand by me, be a, be my man-girl, shave that leathery face, close and tight, so I can kiss it smooth, in front of everybody. Go off to war, Cyrano, write me love letters of incredible tenderness, poems as yet undreamt come to me raggedy-man whole, just enough girl in my man, to make us both, deliriously, weep publicly. Go ahead man, write your beloved, songs of the wars that worry you so, that you don't show, you think, I don't know, but I am tough man tough enough, plenty~enough, to be yours, not just the woman, but that woman, your beloved. that bulge in your rear pocket, not your wallet, it's just some pocket tissues you've been saving for our reunion. if you are afraid, be not, be relieved, you are just girl enough, to be a real man, and I, *well, I am tough man tough enough, plenty~enough, to be yours, not just the woman, but that woman, your beloved*
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Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
you are just girl enough, to be a real man...
Vietnam, you uncovered my soul Gave me a song, a direction smog Looked at the pandora box I held Unstripped my flames up temples A hologram of the graded existence Seasoned in explosions of burnt haste Decked on buses,ducked in valleys Chilled bays, overly paddled kayaks Such sweet taste of the Halong bay Undreamt mist of the skies stared Fishing squids and bellied jellyfish The soil, the sound,an orotund playlist
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Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
Vietnam Valentines
pretty girl with pretty flowers, do not be afraid to trace the soft curves of your body with your round, round eyes. your monsters hide not there— your guardian angels do. when your night feels longer than the day, breathe the smidgen of youth you have left in you into the birds swimming fluidly with the stars— their wings swiftly cutting smooth ripples into the sky, disturbing the grumbling twilight. you could be one of them, able to go nowhere and everywhere. like air. don’t you want to go home? sad girl with sad flowers, keep your leaves tucked inside your old books, in lacy sleeves, your peeling boots— hope He finds them all there. sing sweetly of the poets of all ages—siken, plath, wilde, whitman— shamelessly climb inside His chest, gently rip His ribs apart, the you that's serenading, softly seducing Him with songs unsung and dreams undreamt. let your baby blue skirt ride up, drip, drip, drip, let His calloused fingers brush your thighs made of syrupy milk, as you smile, and smile, and smile. fiery girl with stormy flowers, the best things in life cannot be confined to a physical shape, cannot be seen, or touched, or heard, or said— yet in your eyes set heavy by damp eyelashes, there is the primal, unconfined, raw thirst, desperately hoping and searching. is it a lost love? an unfounded love? what is it that you are looking for?
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Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
you, Him, and the flowers
While I, that reed-throated whisperer Who comes at need, although not now as once A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof - Ben Johnson's phrase - and find when June is come At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof A sterner conscience and a friendlier home, I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, Those undreamt accidents that have made me - Seeing that Fame has perished that long while, Being but a part of ancient ceremony - Notorious, till all my priceless things Are but a post the passing dogs defile.
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1.6k
Closing
for Richard, the boy who narrated life Today, leaves are falling. “One day Aaron will watch the falling leaves.” The first day of school arrives.   “One day Champ’s mom will take him to school.” Life is the story of life, says the narrator. Life expands. The story lengthens. The intertwined threads begin to pull apart. Life is surface and sheen, laughter, tears, opaque signs. The story strains after fictive frames, the hero’s epiphany, the villain’s inner pain, and undreamt creatures beyond human sense. And so myth and magic give form to stories that we no longer star in.   New worlds take shape where the story creates its own life, an escape from "the shock of recognition." In time the threads converge again.   Life’s pattern breaks and needs a new plot. The stories yield their human meaning— maybe we were in them all along. The story ends and life goes on. Life ends and the story goes on.
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May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 6:21 PM UTC
Life Is the Story of Life
you cannot wish love into existence (or how it came to be) came and was asked, make us a star. smiled and whispered to the mother night belly black and and their star, unequivocal was given came and was asked, for a cooling fooling breeze. smiled and whispered to the clouds, rush past us faster and shed us thy ease and so refreshed, gave up hands high grace salutes came and was asked, why be alone, whisper for her to love you smiled and whispered this I cannot nor would I want to do came and was asked, why be alone, whisper for you to love her smiled and whispered this I cannot nor would I want to do whisper what you will but love is a wondering and a wonderment eternal a perpetuity of never knowing, perfect surety is not love it is a why without an answer, a question's question imperfection why you love today, maybe a continent different why you used to, or first to, and tomorrow's raison d'être as yet undreamt, unrealized, you can whisper many things into being, but beings in love are motions special, and entitled to a category special admixture of reason and lust, hunger and thirst, needy to be needed needy to be giving, the balance whacked, constant change its formulae called vagaries, chemical imbalances, e-motions should I whisper, call out for love, making it so, there would be no why, without the why, what worth this be so when you do whisper I love you, admit it is a question and an answer simultaneous, it is a whisper of certain uncertainty
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
you cannot wish love into existence (or how it came to be)
To my young eyes To my innocent heart I remember the world was a blueprint on canvas It was a dream undreamt It was a song unsung As if in a crib, I looked about me at the stars of the cities Constellations of people hung about Their wounds and aches, joys and laughter, were the myths Like the Zodiacs, groups of these people Could define a person Yet believing myself undefined, I strode out from shelter Fearless Untamed, I ventured to find my purpose A purpose that would shake the mountain Rain down the ash of winter Smother the pits below my dreams Cull the nightmares that stoke my fears I waited I waited, I waited I tell you the waiting became my purpose Finally, there, in the clutch of time, I found my calling I will tell you all of the waiting I will tell you, don't wait... Don't wait for the door to ring or the latch to unlock Do not wait for the song to play or the band to sit Open the door Be the composer Be the pilot of your dreams, be the chieftain, be the god While waiting for what I could be I saw everyone else become With the zeal of their hearts I saw them build, I saw them grow This one built a nest That one stitched a doll Now the doll's a mannequin and my waiting missed the change I waited for the waiting to end I waited for the wanting to decide I waited for foe or friend I waited until there was nothing left inside Where is the zeal of my heart The timbre of my soul I lost the sight, the sound, the love because waiting took its toll...
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Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 8:45 PM UTC
Zeal of the Heart...
it starts with a chug a push of steam leaning into the next chug more resolved even desperate building momentum with each turn three thoughtless words leave the station blowing spiral exhaust picking up sentences along the way passengers climb aboard destination cars riding click clack click clack lyric tracks as they squelch an urge to peer ahead for the blind belly-gripping corners hiding morbid thoughts of finding themselves somewhere in an ominous tunnel with a villain from chapter 3 but they come anyway paying good fare with cash and unbartered time reserved for such a season as this infinite itineraries through countrysides and comedies mountains and mysteries prairies and poetry highlight endless whistle stop fantasies predestined by curious minds throwing line by line hypnotic leisure into the rhythm of the wheels beauty is revealed through the picture windows of books yet in the midst of gorgeous landscapes undreamt dismantling jumps hardened steel guides in these words: *...I would have been referred to religion, the cemetery where questions of faith are answered....* the pleasant journey comes derailed on the slip switch possessed of both genius and sadness for cemeteries are only death if they are the end of the vision tombstones create blind men of brilliant skeptics when Lazarus lives the tomb is empty and the end isn't faith puts the train upright setting the switches to forever bypassing graveyards and riding to the unquenchable light.
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Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC
The Reading Railroad
While I, that reed-throated whisperer Who comes at need, although not now as once A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof --Ben Johnson's phrase--and find when June is come At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof A sterner conscience and a friendlier home, I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, Those undreamt accidents that have made me --Seeing that Fame has perished that long while, Being but a part of ancient ceremony-- Notorious, till all my priceless things Are but a post the passing dogs defile.
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1.4k
Responsibilities - Closing
I have spent many years sheltered by love Shielded from the world’s villainous beings Beyond blessed to live a life undreamt-of Your hands guided mine through ev’ry teaching Unknown that greed and hatred lingered near and that money took a devilish form. All I knew was to put the silver spoon here, to rise with the sun, butlers by the swarm You told lies- hid me from reality The sight of such a place scorches my heart The devil struts the streets safe from chivalry Children go unnoticed- lost in the dark What happened to God? Where are the Angels? All you told me has put me in danger
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May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Reality
The darkest night eclipses the brightest stars Eons in solitude Addled by a sky steeped in navy Ships with no direction The soul drowns Sinking deeper by the hour, by the minute, by each passing second As it is engulfed in the tar of a languid existence, There is a vision in spirit awash in a burst of light Luna bathes all who see her, who trust her As the darkest soul, full of dreams undreamt Is blinded by light's quintessence Yet, at once able to see the truth that is now exposed And with eyes wide open, naught but a glimpse was caught A glimpse of an angel
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Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
Ode to an Angel
I live, In the lucidity of dreams Undreamt Eternally naked, In front of a crowd Yet, dwelling In a trench coat style I'll bare you my soul, Yet hide my face I prefer my words, on the wind Felt, Never heard A fading voice In the chamber of Never Unlocked In the realm of things touched I remain untouched Unkown Reality holds no fascination for my eyes I went blind when the hopscotch grid got washed away by the rain I live In the lucidity, Of dreams Undreamt
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Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 8:19 AM UTC
Undreamt
Unhinged circus, Requires perfect masquerade, Before gymnasts leap, Into Cinderella's world, Spiralling into fame. Before presenters go on stage, And broadway groups dance, Into undreamt wonders, As actors rise and fall, Her maple core remains. As years elapse, Girls become Women, Perfect maple figure unscathed, Always anticipating moments, Of celebration, love and sorrow. But most of all, I still can't fathom, How the dressing table speaks, Invaluable untold stories.
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May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
Dressing Table
i speak to the night and she always speaks back lending me whispers and words to rend my weaving thoughts in that moment between dreaming and sleep; the one that lasts a life age near the precipice, the one that undesirably breaks you free ever so slightly and then suddenly (maybe) rips you away from the world that melds the real and unreal the true and the false the dream and those harsh undreamt realities that exist in all times, but never seem real when you’re free of their clutches. we are one, we are all connected our synapses are linked, our electrons shared, our every thought a memory, shooting through space like lightning and written in the stars on our darkest of days
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Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
look up, look up //
At night I lie under the darkest cloud I lie in a storm I lie in brightness I lie alone. At night I miss I miss the loud I miss the quiet I miss chaos But, I don't miss. arms entwined around each other I see them but I don't see me. silent whispers and unspoken looks I see them but I don't see me noise and chaos is what I have and what I want similar in their definitions however, in a parallel universe. But then I see him and him and him and him I see them all and I see me I see darkness and I see hunger and I see no spark I see both seeping the drastic differences absorbing the realities dreaming the dreams. I see me, and I see them both thems are different but I'm not. When I want to be them I see the other them and I see me and then I realize that the them could be either. but the me, is me.
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Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
A dream undreamt
planted in foundation firm, upright she grows hardened by bullying winds, fragile she froze spring sunlight begins to thaw her icy trunk undreamt beauty within, temporary funk nurtured and nursed back to life, the impact shows meant for more than shadows, pretty she pose structure, strength, and semblance; groundwater bestows brilliant and confident contrasts wilted, shrunk I, unraveling; opening; flourishing. stretching toward light; jaws dropped, she fearless arose petals so pretty, her true colors expose stem entwined with stories; her purpose no bunk floods, fingers, fierce feeling; she stood never sunk wavering character, but bold hope she chose I, unraveling; opening; flourishing.
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May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
flowering
I could fly if I tried ○ To where fey delight lies ○ And in the moonlight rest before ascending higher yet ♥ Fair or foul, none would elsewhere stare ○ Because see, I am up there bare ○ Dizzying dives of despair shared ○ While breathtaking climbs, with flair, part cloudy veils ♥ Oh, how my wings would, like the sun's echo, glow ○ Sparkling eyes would the course of tomorrow know ○ And with nary a care, choose to forego woe ○ I'd swoop and swirl and soar, to through shadow, flow ○ And still dancing unmoored, dare to follow dreams yet undreamt. ♥ I could fly if only I tried All the way to where happiness lies But why bother When all that rises must falter
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Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 6:30 PM UTC
Flight
The rain has passed yet we are all still huddled beneath our dark umbrellas Shielding ourselves for fear that when we look back Things will not be as we left them And if this is life let me face death as if it were a silver bullet, So that I might watch it reflect the young rays of light Onto my face, And send me blind into the hands of tomorrow Have you forgotten that your god speaks to you through your own sullied lips, From his throne nestled deep in the folds of circumstance, Built of love and undreamt dreams, Or perhaps of flesh and blood If one is not the other, And that he is often called a soul? Your children stand alone atop frozen cliffs, They do not feel the ground crumbling beneath their feet, And where there should be iron cages protecting their fragile hearts There is but bone, So easily broken Crushed by shoulders holding up the world by its bootstraps, Or what is left of them, Little more than what is left after flame has reduced to ash All but the smallest of creatures to start anew And we beg them to start anew We beg them to wash away the bodies, The open mouths that once spoke, And were considered wise. I am tired of running around in the confines of my existance Your words are spoken, Speak them not again, And give all that you have left to those who still believe in magic
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Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 6:56 PM UTC
Modern Frustrations
True lies like undreamt dreams, are unbelievable if believed, undiscovered discovery, and UnLoved Love are Understanding if You don't Understand.. Unknowing Knows All Beginnings must End, then Ending Begins by Unemptying Emptiness, Nothing is Full and All is Unfulfilled By means of Contradiction, I laid out the proof, words are just words still nothing has been said.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Its time for Telepathy
I told myself a new entry would break the wall between where I am and can be, yet reason's gone and what is left to take is none other than the beat that drives me. Two years since our last flame quickly burned out and here we are: with the same laughs and gaze, that captured our wants but drove our own doubt, which strengthened the air to blow out the blaze. I know I can be the one to restore your faith in trust, truth and undying love. By distancing yourself from times before we can share something to us undreamt of. No other words spoken can be more true than what I  have shared each and every day I spent in bliss and utter joy with you, which in turn made you too feel the same way. Don't say you can look past all your smiles without knowing I've moved and touched your heart. My honesty in all shapes and styles should be enough for amity to start.
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Jun 10, 2011
Jun 10, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
Ten pt. II
in silence we ponder the vast unknown in darkness we wander far from home unanswered our questions seethe within unbroken the cauldron of our heart's lament unloved we fly from one to another undone are the rules by which we were governed unfeeling we break the ones who would care uncaring we shatter the image they held unwritten our story unspoken our words unbidden our longing unleashed with our tears unbroken the cauldron of our hearts lament undead yet un-living unending torment what if we wonder unheard there once was a dream undreamt undisturbed unvoiced the call unanswered unheard unspoken a dream that once was a word unwritten our story unspoken our words unbidden our longing unleashed with our tears unbroken the cauldron of our heart's lament undead yet un-living unending torment . http://oi57.tinypic.com/9qwewk.jpg . .
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Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
Heart's Lament
It was your words I missed the most, mesmerizing and delight in early September morning, spilling from fragrant, pink petals like dew in late summer, every conversation an undreamt dream warm and wonderful. ©desireddreamer
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Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 10:35 PM UTC
Words
If I stay s  i  l  e  n  t, will you talk to me again?
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Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
Undreamt Lullabies (10w)