Notes About The Poem
Hi my dear sweet souperszz,
here again, navigating through life with this soul-bleed ~
from the heart ...
For Rob Carmack's Contest,
~ King of Terrors ~
Venom and Psyche
I am the Heartbeat,
of gold drenched Sun-blades;
telepathising with the topaz tremors
of tumultous rain,
channelising the chameleon waves
through those thermal thistles
that vibrate with change ~
enclosed within cloistered claws
of diminished dreams,
that delude with nothing -
but the clementine hexaverse
of your hateful heat
~ O, 11:11 dahlia angel-waters ~
superficial to the stupefied demons,
perhaps, poison is another poem
palpitating with perennial pain,
remembering the fragments of past
through hallucinating tongues ~
that speak not in faux-leather fluency,
but remain a verse without revisal
in the clan of claustrophobic prisoners,
being the slave of my barbaric bleeds,
tied to the torment of this
u n t o u c h e d Psyche
I never honed the impersonated art
of secluded sympathy,
neither those snake-bitten stars
could ever replicate
the wrath of this sepia wraith ~
strangling the strangers
in my synonymous syllables ,
breaking through
bohemian saharas
and black velvet blurs,
as eagle-feathered citrines ~
drape the devil,
vivacious beneath
those onyx sunsets ~
sequined with sinners,
and slipping
within the stardust vortex,
vehement with
my violet-skinned
si g n a
tures ~...
my monarch
of moonflower mantras,
heed to the obsidian oath
kissed by The Venom ~
the King of Terrors ,
of my kyanite veins ~
roaring with ruthless rage,
as I honour your web of woes
with these wordless Hands of Horror -
there is no f a c a d e
that can protect you
from the timeless
withdrawal of sapphire-soul
for, with every phase ~
I have recognised
my favourite fallacy ~
the esoteric elegance of grief,
faltering through
fingers of faults
within the flowing fantasy
of free-waltzing feral-fire ~
because I do not concur
the contemporary calmness,
glowing in
the lavender breeze
of prophecy crystals ,
rather ...
I own my spirit ~
like the life-lorn Lioness,
embellished with the teardrops of t i m e,
the one,
with her calligraphic crown ~
curating quotes of peace
through her untamed temperance,
pulsating the emerald essence
of clock-painted eyes ~
in the palpitating voice
of these pearlescent
~ p o e t i c v e n t r i c l e s ~
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