© G. V., 08-02-2013, All Rights ReservedContest: EpicSponsor: PDPlacement: 1st - Thank you.volant peau = leather steering wheelThird Fate: Atropos was the 3rd fate (after Lachesis and Clotho),and she determined the end of life of the mortals.durst = verb Archaic. simple past tense of dare.thither = therecometh = comesBesought = a simple past tense and past participle of beseech.1. to implore urgently: They besought him to go at once.2. to beg eagerly for; solicit.verb (used without object)3. to make urgent appeal: Earnestly did I beseech, but to no avail.Benedictine = The oldest recorded sparkling wine is Blanquette de Limoux, which was apparently invented by Benedictine Monks in the Abbey of Saint Hilaire, near Carcassonne in 1531.uniforme = French "uniform". The difference is that the tone of the French word is on the 1st syllable, to maitain a perfect Iamb.
Below is the poem entitled Besought of honors durst which was written by poet
A. V.. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Giorgio A. V.
Besought of honors durst on edge to live
what cometh through insights and traction's hold
the wrought not to deny or to misgive
hence thither's naught to doubt in mountain's cold.
Above the limits race where speed defines
what pre-existed on the drives and pikes
betrothal wraith among all deaths consigns
and sacrificial power chords she strikes.
Therefore the strenuous of engine's wrath
unfolds trajectories of epic drive
tangential dance upon demanding path
his hands on peau volant, race-concert thrive.
How tall a man should be on sovereign roads
that challenge souls impertinent to rave
on sacrificial offering that goads
third fate's lithe dancing steps atop his grave?
Untamed the turbocharged propulsion roars,
the engine hollers its titanic torque,
celestial ticket bought in skies to soar
Dom Pérignon is his champagne's last cork.
Intruder of the mountain's nightly gale
the peak performing turbocharger breathes
combustion thrusts the engine to travail
how glory turns mechanical and wreathes!
It's after midnight and the slope's romance
redeems red droplets on his uniforme
his slight of smile exceeds the ambulance
since ten to one besought, killed in the storm.
© 08-02-2013, G. Venetopoulos All rights reserved
(Iambic pentameter, Epic)