Your soft and whispered voice ripples sighs
while you seduce me slowly in the night...
I drown my soul into your talking eyes
and leave myself to you...shy rays of light
caress your face, my angel in disguise,
and I surrender in your loving sight...
For what could be more tender than your sight
adoring each and every of my sighs?...
How could I not, my angel in disguise,
accept thy gentle kisses in the night,
when each and every shining drop of light
seems to be born inside your loving eyes?
Tonight I could find Eden in your eyes,
while you caress my skin with just your sight...
I'd simply dip in this embrace of light
of moon rays, and enjoy your tempting sighs...
And while you'd love me leisurely in night,
I'd love you too, my angel in disguise...
Oh, come to me, sweet angel in disguise!
Come, let me see the passion in your eyes,
while you possess my yearning soul this night...
Oh, come and open Heaven's doors at sight
with each of my complete enraptured sighs...
And let us step together in the light...
So let this love complete into the light,
and let me see you...drop your sweet disguise
and come fulfill my longing burning sighs!...
Oh, come, my angel! Look into my eyes
and be my dreams' most loved and tender sight,
come make me yours completely forth this night!...
For in your arms alone I’ll spend this night,
while making love 'till sunrise brings its light
upon this sweet enraptured lovers sight!...
So come, my heart! You need no more disguise
to hide away your tender loving eyes,
and proof to that you'll have my morning sighs...
The end of night is nigh...of your disguise
the only thing that's left are your light eyes
and their sight provokes my promised sighs...
Copyright © Liliana Negoi | Year Posted 2010
The lost little Angel was fell into the urban slums
Walking aimlessly with nothing but her broken wings
Blossom into granules of dusts, intangible as a vagabond
Her heaven plucked as the moonlight stolen, the intangible vagabond
Her sanctity made her glowed illuminate those souls who ingested by the slums
However flagellation in disguise filled the story of her wonderful flawed wings
Trace stitches by stitches of her wings
Her world plays deception in those eyes who marked her as a vagabond
In fact she just an imperfect little Angel and they are the slums
Rose from the slums, the wings tore the shield of a vagabond
Introducing Tritina (a new poetry form for you!)
Sponsor Andrea Dietrich
Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2013
This world is cold,
More than any other.
It freezes the wings of angels,
Damns them to their hell.
Only burning in love
Makes it feel sweet.
Wallow in the sweet
Warm care and bitter cold.
Harmony in life and love,
Balance each other,
Like the pits of hell
That beg for an angel.
Bless this angel
Pure and sweet.
The heat of hell
Thaws the wings frozen in the cold.
What is one, without the other?
How can one endure life, without love?
Powerful is love.
An angel fallen
Calling for other
sounds so sweet,
Relief from the cold.
Our world longing for hell.
Shelter from the cold,
Spares the angel
Makes life feel sweet.
A feeling unlike any other.
Feeling, screaming hell
Of an angel
Who has tasted cold
There is not one without the other, life and love.
Endure hell to have an angel,
To make sweet the cold.
Copyright © Alessia Jay | Year Posted 2017
Raised to believe she was beautiful and special
a look in the mirror reveals a ferocious beast,
with empty eyes and a sinister smile. Wicked
thoughts fill the head of the angel
in disguise whose eyes used to sparkle until she became addicted
to booze and her best friend Mary Jane. Origami
swans fill every nook and cranny. Origami
creations, folded neatly from paper, hold a special
meaning to the girl who is addicted
not only to Mary Jane, but heroin, that ferocious beast
that goes around stealing lives like the one of that angel
in disguise, turning even the most innocent people into wicked
monsters who care only about themselves. Wicked
hangovers don't stop her from making origami
swans because they take her back to the days she was an angel,
when her mom and dad loved her, told her she was special.
Now when they see her, they weep at the beast
she has become and long for the days before she was addicted
to Mary Jane, heroin, LSD. They wonder how she became addicted
to so many things when the little girl they raised didn't have a wicked
bone in her body. They wonder who the beast
is that wrecked their daughters life. Origami
swans, folded carefully, precisely, for someone special.
Every nook and cranny full, she fills bags full for her angel,
wanting to give the most amazing gift to her angel,
the gift of time. Time is all she has on her hands. Addicted
to shrooms, Mary Jane, booze, she knows she is nothing special,
she longs for the days before that wicked
man came along and taught her how to fold origami
swans while smoking weed, snorting coke, turning her into a beast
that nobody wants to be with. Now that she is a beast
she can't be with her daughter, her angel.
Her daughter loves swans. It is her daughters birthday. Origami
swans are all she folds, until her fingers bleed, addicted
to Mary Jane, she smokes herself to oblivion all because of the wicked
man who never made her feel special.
The wicked man who got that angel
addicted to Mary Jane, and taught her to make origami
swans was her boyfriend Bobby, the beast who never made her feel special.
Copyright © Roxanne Schroeder | Year Posted 2010
Little girl, you who plays princess with the glittery hat perched on your head,
The ribbons cascading down from its tip, tears from your heavenly eyes,
The scepter of a metal pipe and ball gemstones in your hands,
You have no idea who a princess is. You just pretend.
But really, all you know is a virtual reality,
Separated by electronic walls.
Your path to paradise separated by walls
Of incompetence, little girl. In shame hang your head.
If only you knew your life was a game you already lost, in reality.
When your subjects look upon your tattered dress and your downcast, shady grey eyes,
Go out to your balcony of segregation. Wave and pretend
Their lives are not in your hands.
The world is in your hands.
With them you can slay dragons, knight worthy men, build walls
In your castle, your little realm of pretend.
In it you have corruption and power. Tell them to chop of a man’s head
And that they do, without a glimmer of remorse in their eyes.
Little girl, if only you knew this could never be reality.
The scepter you claim is a diamond, in reality,
Just your mother’s glass necklace, clutched in your hands
To match the long-gone glimmer in your childish eyes.
Throughout the years, little girl, you’ve built all the fake walls
Between the princess of yesteryears and the current fog in your head.
Just remember – you are a marionette. Free will is pretend.
Little girl, you have always played pretend.
It’s your feeble attempt at escaping reality.
But now that your scepter is broken, your kingdom is in your head,
Pouring out onto the paper with a broken heart, a pencil and two hands.
All your impassible, unbreakable walls
Left unbetrayed by your cloudy, lying eyes.
You could never tell the color of your eyes.
On the color spectrum, they fell in lying or pretend.
Little girl keeps building those walls
To put more distance between her own broken soul and reality.
As you grow cold, your pale hands
And arms mimic the destructive bloodshed in your head.
Your impenetrable walls to the secret worlds burrowed inside your head
Little girl’s mastery at lying not even deceived by your eyes, when reality
Dictated that your world of pretend would die in your scarred arms and hands.
Copyright © J. Amorose | Year Posted 2017
(WORK IN PROGRESS)
O ,wherefore thou ,is thy Sestina Angelina?
she is not here ., thy love thy dove
thou angel eyes hover...oft high above
Tis thyself, a gentleman who doth wait
whilst me dreams and longs to view her gracious gait
I shall dwell ,tarry here in the dark
I must appeal to the day ; canst read her sonnets by dark
But , Joy ! Can hear the bells of her Villanelles.. me Angelina
Me beauty uses classical , graceful words that match her giddy gait
Me elegant ,enchanting dove
I shall remain, I shall wait
For thou, Sestina thy Angelina sent from above
I pace the earth with a weary gait
Me mind wanders ; travels to heights above
longing for me heart, me dove
whilst me dwells,tarries, here in the dark
imagining thyself with Angelina
Thy Sestina , as I , here , wait
I cry, here, in the dark
float in thy head above
O where, O where, is thy turtle-dove?
Is she, too ,in the dark ,
Me angel face, Angelina ?
Shall I further wait?
I growest more weary to wait
anticipation marks thy gait
Still, no sign from me Sestina,Angelina!
I will pray to God above,
on my knees, here, in the dark
whilst I await the return of thy dove.
Alas! Hark, do I hear me dainte dove?
Shall I run to greet her,or patiently , here, wait ?
Shall I continue in this dark ?
Where is she? Didst me not hear the crick of the gait?
Special Notice: Angelina not recorded here nor above!
O , me , O me , O why, me Sestina Angelina ?!!
O ,wherefore thou is thy Sestina Angelina; she is not here .,thy love thy dove
thou angel eyes hover...oft high above; Tis thyself, a gentleman who doth wait
whilst me dreams and longs to view her gracious gait; I shall dweel here in the
Copyright McCuen 2008
Copyright © MC MC | Year Posted 2008