I was anxious to dwell at the door of your dreams. My desire too weak to serve as a continence to your needs. If my love be unrequainted then how can I rise above the hopelessness of my solitude within your embrace.
an ethereal presence slid into the corners of a melancholy day
she uplifted the protagonist as she knew she could
for he was her golden boy; she had loved him since beyond time
his gloomy continence took a rather sharp turn
he felt uplifted, as if positivity had been injected into his brains
hark, who is there? he wondered
his grandmother was the first spirit he considered
she had always been his champion
why should she be anything else but his heroine post death?
he listened for her words
they came not from her voice
but from her heart directly into his heart
he knew he was not alone; she was here
his blessed grandmother, one of his favorite people
of this realm, and now of the heavenly realm
her words resounded into the recesses of his soul
no one else knew him as well
or could uplift him this quickly
he felt refreshed and invigorated.
“she would be lucky to have you,” his guardian angel whispered.
not his grandmother’s voice, but her spirit.
He ran off to ask Dorothy to be his bride.
No one in the world reminded him more of his grandmother.
With her soft brown eyes and her wonderful listening ways.
My continence is sad because of the things we go through;
Seems no one understands, not a soul to talk to;
As we wrestle to cope with life every day;
We pause and wonder if we're here to stay;
We are content when things are going fine;
But when we get into trouble we want to resign;
No matter how often we want to give up;
We sometimes still feel in this life we're stuck;
I understand the feeling seems the pain never ends;
But it's just temporary and a new life begins;
So try not to worry because you're never alone;
The world where we live is surely not our home.
Lost in garnet glow, within crimson shadows,
eyes in you see continence, bold, unerring;
where, in truth, ingenuous virtue harbors.
I see you sleeping.
Yet, unbidden innocent thoughts turn rancid,
craving hunger, withering dreams of honor.
Cold in lust are fantasies born from sorrow,
driveling sorrow.
Ice envelops spurious hearts when love wilts.
Passion's roses, petalless, lie infertile,
endless waiting, hopelessly, always waiting
love to now answer.
Dream in gentle slumber of sweetened ardor;
for, in you is virtuous faithful rapture.
Sentimental visions of love remains, as
virginal hearts throb.
06/28/2020
Intoxicating Poison
Host: Edward Ibeh
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas - Poetry Contest
Amongst the freshness of silence my thoughts are brightly amplified. scaring my mind with tracks of syllables and vowels. Which manipulated in the write sequence needed, fit precisely together to map out plays of events long since discarded into the void of a fragile matrix. Extracting long harboured and self restrained emotions of repressed doubt and fear. Splattering my continence with tall tell signs, of a carefully painted self portrait of hurt and anger, on display amongst a facade of revolving galleries, in motion apon Mr. and Mrs. Patter. Stripping away and abandoning so carefully the cradled and protected inihibitions. Leaving behind a colourful residue building up a foundation of falsely represented pride.
By Desi E.Sherman
It is true, I’ve been so delusional
Straying away from reality
Desperation clouds my mind, and so does the lust
It is evident I refuse to let go
My attraction for you will not let it
I need to search for the words and try again
To free my tainted heart
To escape the void of love that is aching
If possible can I be given something new
I’m tired of standing motionless
Being caught in a parade of devoted inner-torture
Why can’t I see out of this tunnel vison
I want her, please her
I’m thinking too much
I’m fantasying too much
I’m hurting too much
All because I want to gaze at her beauty
Hold her
Be with her
This must burn, let the ashes of this love scatter
So I may leave with a clear continence
XIII. Ethos
Despite that of which is rise.
In the face of what has fallen rise.
Despite those that are rise.
Celebrate that you have risen.
Despite the incongruous rise.
Now that you have believe that you will.
Dream not for they are fleeting.
Upon thy continence be joy.
© veritatem voluntatem 2015
Soul travels the abyss
On its continence visible is
Supernatural bliss
As beautiful as midnight kiss
The neural flame form base is far
More distant than from earth to any star
When base is the soul results are bizarre
It grows in wisdom and power like an avatar
The end of the rise is collapse of time
And collapse of every echo of time
What makes it sublime?
It is stressing omega at that time
Watching her I enjoy
When she cries tears of joy
This I build for me but after all
I can share it with hers’ blissful soul
The vector never changing and absolute
It is the measure of love’s magnitude
The omega point is the centerpiece
And like it her body, mind, spirit are masterpiece
Love’s Innocence
If eyes could only look one time on love’s clear continence
By humble brook of babbles waters
By moss covered morning rocks
To watch you seated on the moist surface
And pass your hand across the moving water’s grain
To see you and all your purity designed by God
And as for me with my precious luck
Enough to pass this spot by chance
To witness such beauty to exist like this
And with all of nature to explore the glory of such innocence
A moment captured in eternal bliss
Love’s mystery
Created on 5/11/15 for “When Love Was Innocent”- Poetry Contest - Sponsored by: Justin Bordner
Young girl runs to the pond shaped like a heart
Her own heart
Is hit with passion as if by a dart
Her soul with love is painted like work of art
The wind blows through her hair that smell sublime
Same wind blows through willow whose boughs are twisted like essence of time
The beauty of the lake in morning light is in its prime
Day goes by fast and soon moon to the zenith will climb
The moon drops light like tears to the heart shaped lake
For her lovers presence girl’s spirit will ache
Her eyes are reflected in depths of the lake
The awesome visage of the eerily beautiful moon shines above that lake
The depth of girls’ eyes
Resembles the continence of the moon in midnight skies
As girl tears fall to the heart shaped lake that below lies
The moon’s light beams like tears on their own adorn those skies
The waterfall on the lake caresses girls’ soul like warm embrace
It is the vision of the consciousness positioned in last fundamental place
Their view of magic and philosophy are two of many elements with greatest element in high space
And greatest element mesmerizing visage is reflected on girls face
Building your space,
you were dying daily
invading the acoustics.
How the continence
was going to help-
living with scars of explosions ?
Mutating into a full-fledged
saintliners, an inner conflict
becomes a profile.
Crawling to a stone
a crayon draws a cell
without incendiary rhetoric ?
Decoding an icon
becomes a daily ritual. From
where will come the write ?
Satish Verma
Asphyxiated by curled hands.
Punishment for tainted moon,
it has floated down to
darker side of continence.
You push the body in wall,
Coal burns in the eyes.
The shadow at last, leaves the body.
The high priest, goes for the copyright
and nerves explode in the books for
annular bulge of pride.
A simile was needed for a grain of sand
by cutting your wrists
and pouring the blood on the knives.
SATISH VERMA
Asphyxiated by curled hands.
Punishment for tainted moon,
it has floated down to
darker side of continence.
You push the body in wall,
Coal burns in the eyes.
The shadow at last, leaves the body.
The high priest, goes for the copyright
and nerves explode in the books for
annular bulge of pride.
A simile was needed for a grain of sand
by cutting your wrists
and pouring the blood on the knives.
SATISH VERMA
in the hospitals white
walled memory
many stories are placed
drawn and sewn in
stories of healing and pain
tears of birth and death
whispers in the ear
with medicine under the tongue
but all are blanketed
in the silence of the walls
white continence
or is it black
no one can see in another
persons heart
when all the beaded rosaries
have been counted
and all the saints candles
lie in wax on the floor
there is nothing left
but for the janitor to
mop up.
far beneath the steeples of cobble stoned london,
he moves without the parting of a shadows grace.
from morning to morning he carries no longing.
under the heavy hymns of the luthern organs
he breaths amongst centuries of dead and
thoughtful saints
he can see thier forms in the darkened hour,
their drawn out robes crested and wrinkled.
the emblems of holy words dust covered and faded.
now once again he must part the letters
in tombs of mortered regret.
resurrection of the coffin figure to wander and speak
to whom he may, walking through herb gardens,
carried by tombstone... gravestone october winds.
which blow hollowly causing his morbid child to flee
all those memories of her.
now he must refrain from the glow of the brass
lanterns and pale jugulars his clavicle redemption.
as through the arterial streets of london the
bloodless form of his opaque continence
mourns and is drained of all mineral colums.
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