The Pasquinade of Life
I am the Mozart of my name
And I wait for you my Je’amour
To paint the parfai’d affair
And cross the fur elise of time
O vogue of vogues
Love is written in visions of glory
Even where the vogues of fate do not rescind
Nor can my sorrows un nascent
This is my golden Gilgamesh
The epic of my holy phobia
The triumph of a poet king
What is the pasquinade of life?
I have heard Arabic tongues confess
The heart of liberty knows no tyranny
Therefore give death his due and I shall be a king
For thus one shekel of her love
I do not tauntalize the vampires of my soul
Whom rest not nor woe upon the nails of war
Therefore,
I unleash the Venus of my tongue
For I am Ghetto pale with words
O, shazzar shalom, with a kiss, shazam!
And there shall be peace in Jeruslaem.
No Mona Lisa smile shall touch my sorrow
Nor cliché my love with roses pale
For this affair is more elegant than Paris at night
They say at night even poets fall in love on the riviera
I monsieur, in dream of tyranny
Triumph in the tombs of love
Thus I awe with jealous rage
Sweet nymph of ordinary revenge
I am the villain of my own heart
Au revoir
O! ghost of sorrow so bequeathed
I fancy some curiosity embraced with orthodox misconception
I drink to the elysian in your eyes
Thus I devise upon the forge of time
My soul aghast with ravishment
What romance then of poets makes
When their vogues have thus incensed?
I shall vanquish these professed libertines
In bondage and in passion
For
I loved a Grecian girl of exquisite lace
With agarazo eyes
She is magnificent
Her tongue is a blasphemy of gothic love
She is absolutely absolute in beauty
This is the genius of the French noir
Nights in white satin will thus confess my ravishment
For I was born in Toulon.
A fiend aflame in the vogue of suffering
Pass me some gothic and I’ll open your eyes
Beauvoir my mon cheri
As you blush like last summer’s rose
Make love to me in my ancient castle of romaunt
For
I am vexed with Aramaic memories;
As I gasp and sigh upon the memory of the cross
This is my exquisite sunas
For even the voguest Byzantium desert is filled with sand
And Zion shall romance me!
The camels are on the horizon
O! exquisite sands of love
I thrall the chains of fate
Because
For her beauty I am ego vain
Just like Picasso, I am a fiend for simplicity
I shall ascend in death
For
She loves my gothic forte
the slow thought of public vows
Brings me to my knees
Beneath the cross eternally
No vogue of broken hearts to break
For in death we kiss the scars of fate
Bethralled in tongue thy hand has touched
When I have put the hand upon the eyes
My sweet fatigue!
Let not mine eye bethrall the tongue of truth
For one rose shall hint that summer wakes
One rose in death shall not forsake
Its hue of loveliness
Therefore
A kiss of tet a tete and Paris is mine
Your lips move geniusly
As you dominate my heart
When
All romaunt is crucified
Revenge not the sorrow which I must indulge
for
This masquerade of innocence is my les miserables
for
I am a gentleman of thy kisses
Madam, a lunatic of such mundane
Shall languish in the void of fame
One shekel for a grain of sand
And
Yet
She conquered me like Paris at night
Who is the connoisseur of love?
Ah sweet romance!
Now I have the lute of paradise
For even a goddess can break a king
Her name is lady Liberty!
Copyright © Bruce Creech | Year Posted 2020
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