Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.177
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem

When alabaster twilights 
rain upon celestial roses,
with tear-soaked trinkets 
of ancient aromas ~
I wear their amaranth scents 
upon acrylic wrists, 
and tie my terracotta threads
of twinkling trust
with those topaz ribbons 
of reminiscent tales, 
slowly floating 
in an opal olive fog ~
where a bouquet of bones 
decorates my heart-shaped coffin
and this hoaxed bride,  
veiled in oleander organza, 
unleashes a tryst of vows, 
quivering in vines ~
like an esoteric bane for
those heinous hues 
of the elysian moonrise.

Beneath this champagne chandelier, 
hanging with a million crimson crescents ~ 
dare not ensnare 
this raven-feathered maiden, 
who knows not 
the mellifluous masquerade
of backstabbing mantras;
her initials 
    are condensed from the ink and blood ~
    of those moon-winged butterflies, 
enslaved in raspberry chains, 
and she inhales shrieking ashes of ivory ~
pirouetting frivolously, 
like the last leaf of vengeance, 
 in a blinding black hole 
of piercing petals, 
as her fingertips shiver and speak 
with scentless braille stars ~
stretching across 
those silver-smitten pillow skies, 
that once remembered her name... 

   Here, I quench 
my quiescence of thirst, 
with pigmented poisons 
of thy paper paradise ~
slaying the unspoken, 
with those telepathic swords 
of carbon-glazed cloudbursts, 
where, words remain louder 
       than the sharpest shrapnel of soul ~
and you reep the sins 
   smoking in the surface 
        of kohl incensed lakes... 

I'm the quaking time of Thor ~
his titanium armour, 
a grenade-gold inferno ~
ignited from the nemesis 
of handwritten au revoir, 
woven with onyx silhouettes of those, 
who once stitched scars
in the tapestry of treason. 

But, can this macabre downpour ~
drench me in laments 
of liquid landslides, 
where destiny slithers in spine 
and secrets of scrutiny no longer 
remain as a satanic dagger in my spirit? 

perhaps, this poem is my shrine ~ 
and in the nebulous horizon, 
my chrysalis crown rests... 
echoing wicked whispers 
of eclipsed emeralds
and obsidian oxymorons ~

so hear me in between, 
 those translucent splashes
of scarlet storms and skeletal silence, 
when I'm swallowed 
by the sun, 
as his lost stygian shadow... 
       tasting the liquefied tremors of Bronté tunes ~
  bleeding  l i g h t e n i n g
in vivacious thunderstorms,
    where harps hyphenate
                  magnetic melancholy ~
         and I m
                   e l t  in
  oil-painted runes of regrets...
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required