A golden halo crested jagged peaks,
It’s kiss of morning splendour
Tasted like a Valley-fruit cocktail;
Yellow-orange fire rising over the glass,
And, full to the brim, sloshed streaks
Down the mountains. Citrus venture
Splashed the spruce and the soft shale
With orange juice hues along the mountain pass.
Morning breathed a soft sigh,
Just enough to raise the hair on
My arms. Standing over Heaven, its gates
Of carven oak and sharp pine musk;
El Dorado is the majesty of the sky.
A golden city reflected upon
The ground which I stand, the lakes
And the streams in a land of dusk.
Golden leaf, silver spoon, still distraught
Are those that don’t realize beauty cannot be bought.
'till time is no more
I will glide upon
grace granted and measured
out to the rhythm
of the celestial spheres
within the conflux of
the creator's peculiar light
which cleaves betwixt particles
to penetrates beneath the surface
of this crystalized cardiac
and exposes the sculpture
of the master craftsman
the great lion tears
scales from blind justice
which fall moldering upon
the carven image they
once represented
at a roar the firmaments
are rent as
an obsolete contract
grace granted and measured
Beneath the August tempo a lovely summer day
and a tantalizing breeze of a million flower-sway
Green and verdant pastures pushing up so spry
touching lofty candors of heaven nigh and nigh ;
Its an eyelet pure and simple sending such a thrill
flowers potted in the soil, blooming fast at will
Beneath the August tempo a lovely summer day
and a trembling rose of valor chasing blues away
Skies with milky shades of white and crayon blue
drinking up the heat and pouring beauty'-spew
Mountains proud and tall echoed with enthrall
sending me a shiver while standing straight n' tall
Before the day is done I want to refuge by the forest
as the eagle flies the summit with a call of deep unrest
Pick a branch inhale the odor of an odorous lament
beneath the August tempo, I groove my carven tent .
August 15, 2018
i see myself in you and its kinda strange
coz thats the only time i love myself when im in dire straits
ya see i have this diesease sometimes i lie awake
and wonder why im a piece of **** with all of my mistakes
but one day i'll change it i'll make it and flip this
until that day im making a difference making
a conscious decision to take what im given
no slave to the way that im liven
and these are more than words this is my testimony
most if it i wrote for you so when im gone ya never lonely
they say only god can judge me but who is he
i feel at times that by design for real the only god is me
but im a basket case who cant escape the darkest place
inside my mind you'll find my heart replaced incased in armour plates
half my traits are like a dog just looking for a car to chase
barking mad starven carven scars upon my arms and face
and this is hardly fake but something that i can't erase
my darkest days my casket waits to take me to a calmer state
Wonder
my chair
is a flying chair
not fleeing as you
might think
but soaring
into greatest heights
to sights my soul
may drink in words
to carry back
and ponder on a while
to see the Kubla’s pleasure dome
or Petra’s carven city.
place them in the baskets
beside the parlour stove
then over time
I call them out
warm and lit by fire
to see the alliances
they’ve made, within
the treasure trove
at wishes bid they
weave a dance
depending on the mood
and oft with but the briefest
glance, a magic story may unfold.
There stood an old chest of mine
in the attic with empty bottles of wine,
covered by the woven nets of spiders
and layers of dust and darkness.
I unlocked it to reveal the treasure
and dusted out the darkness,
it contained memorabilia of my lost age.
I took out some toffee wrappers,
the ones cherished long ago,
Cadburys, Lotte, Nestle,
I once chewed them all endlessly......
Out popped a bunch of lolly sticks,
and a set of black paper clips,
beside them were lying my
carven pencils and inked papers.
And beneath them hid my
captured moments,
I pulled them one by one for
these moments forgotten long before.....
Inside the chest's lid
hung my colourful ribbon,
and there was a little mirror with
cute little stickers on its sides,
And all these stuffs made my childhood portentous....
She was fashioned of nothing, wind and whispers, and sighing air,
Yet she floated visible and taunting there,
Faint phantom with ethereal, wispy hair.
And she said, “Come sleep with me”
In a voice like murmured, sombrous sea
On the shoreline of Eternity.
And I yearned with longing, thirsting for her liquid kiss,
In a night of drawn-out, clinging bliss…
Still she hovered, teasing the air, and whispered this:
“Beware, it’s understood
In a bed of carven ebon wood
On a black silk sheet we’ll sleep for good.”
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