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Monthly Archives: February 2017

Your Final Keep

I was at my rancid edge,
‘ere I once felt your tears;
they had been undo borne
upon most desirous need,
frought with some anguish
and of unscrupulous woe;
tears which left you so torn,
pained and suffered amiss,
that did my own heart bleed.

And what madness did bring,
this epic failure of my hands,
that I could not ‘ere hold you,
nor belay the scald of tears;
undone by your sorrow’s wake,
I did not see the causal tide,
‘ere in your slumber of unrest,
burdened you too many years.

In your silent, unframed mind,
you called me, but voiceless,
held softly within your heart
was but my shadowed name;
’til you but spoke the morrow,
‘ere your pain might be ended,
and I could but stay the night,
’til last extinguished flame.

In rise of morning, you awoke,
but your heart still slumbered,
unwilling perhaps to see today,
and I lay empty of your hand;
thrived only by flesh upon me,
you poured yourself wildly on,
as if, by mere candor of flesh,
I could then well understand.

The madness you held apart,
so long, and too oft strayed,
had become your mind now,
and I could bear only of flesh;
and when reason had left you,
your eyes drift soft o’er mine,
seeing me in final surrender,
as you gasped one last breath.

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Posted by on February 20, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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The Awakening Of Ease

Ease has awoken from her long slumber;
let her begin this gentle wash of morning,
‘ere but softly, with rose-scented breath,
upon my lips and, in undulant fold, kiss.

Ease has her gaze wielded lightly o’er me;
and in her eyes, boldly demure, my own,
as she, in lyric ode, sings soft to my ear,
my love is but a sigh of Ease, unadorned.

Ease, in her most precious breath, speaks;
but soft, my name upon her lips’ solitude,
with worded sigh, that I must now attend,
and in my reply, her breath begins ascent.

 
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Posted by on February 18, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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My Love Is But A Steel Sword

My love is but a steel sword,
sheathed to the colder heart,
save unto you, my intended,
light to the dire of my soul.

And you, whose fond words
unclasp my guarded wares,
‘ereupon, in this acquiesce,
hold my love in your hands.

Pray you, unbridled desire,
with the quietus arc of day,
shall then, upon taking root,
flourish e’er wild in your eyes.

 
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Posted by on February 14, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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To Dance Vastly In Your Eyes

And how well am I,
in this frame of mind,
to behold this vision,
a viscerous blend
of man and beast,
torn inexplicably ‘tween
the want of gentility
deserved by your grace,
and the paradigm need
to consume silken flesh,
in reserved timid stance.

How oft it may seem
to be that of my way,
if but your infinite eyes
would see me as rogue,
and not obscure sovereign
for which I am attended.

‘Ere, I must pray you,
do not mock my guard,
nor belittle my advance,
but soft in your aspect,
deliver lips upon me,
and shall I now feign
less than mourning,
but for this, our last dance.

 
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Posted by on February 9, 2017 in My Poetry

 

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