Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.22.79.2
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem


"Timeless trust,
   trapped in Selene's pendant,
                   pulsates purity and faith 
           across cosmic threads,
                       when furry hues tiptoe,
                upon freezing auroras
          and saplings of healing,
                       surrender their silence
                                     to aging darkness..."

As ebony dew
ensnares beyond
roseate rains
and drizzles like
honey in dandelion
mists, sprinkling haze,
across those
spruce tributaries of
pristine pines,
I crawl with a
cape of snow,
beneath pearly
phases of precipice,
in the satin
embrace of the 
'Winter Queen'.
Playing with 
weeds and thorns, 
my wanderlust 
amidst intuitions, 
clasps hope 
beyond these
fickling echoes 
of misty hourglass.

During this 
solstice, 
I ride upon my
diamond broomstick, 
surfing across
oceanic horizons, 
and hiding 
beneath those 
creamy folds of
chiffon clouds, 
that curtain 
fated conclusions 
of my cynical 
confusions.

Destiny has 
forever whirled
fortune in an 
unfathomable 
wheel of 
mysterious
merry-go-rounds, 
wherein, sterling 
faith streaks 
lightning, brewing 
solar storms 
in the cauldron 
of life and I 
whisper those
polar hymns 
of fragranced fog,
splattered as 
blue lipstick 
stains along 
slaty dawns.

Slaying galactic 
goblins with my 
sword of icicles, 
I have knitted 
elegant eclipses, 
from the avalanche 
of hydrangea ashes, 
flowing across 
estuaries of wine 
tulips towards 
those gothic vaults, 
that bleed in 
white chocolate
hurricanes of 
hunted heartbeats.

Maybe, 
I'm a forsaken prayer, 
that escapes
humble lips and
melts upon
hateful hailstones,
strolling in brisks, 
slumbering within
bohemian valleys, 
that veil their 
essence in 
insightful 
vanilla rays.
Or perhaps, I'm 
a silent tear, 
oozing from 
soft crackles 
within this haunted
'Heart of Ice',
throbbing with 
solemn sagas
in the arctic breaths 
of Himalayan lilies.
 
As I cradle
seas of skies
in my palms and
stretch my fingers,
dipped in golden
warmth of the
hibernated sun,
invisible to my
naive eyes,
I ponder, will 
this frost-flake
evermore unfurl 
as an elite ode 
of dark fantasy? 
Can the aching 
of my infernal skin, 
ever be soothed
by inhaling those 
myrrh scents
of the first spring?

So, when the
'Goddess of Spirit' sighs,
in an oath knitted 
upon oaks of
glacial infatuation,
my frozen nirvana quivers,
and I seek to
steal solace,
that shall baptise my 
bronze conscience,
with the star-spun 
aura of divinity.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required