Avalanching in this benighted place.
Hollow noise like the roar of an angry bull.
Emotionally desolate, importune of answers.
Feeling castigated, in bleak. Veer not from me oh dear God.
Embedded in avalanche.
I bellow for luminosity.
Seeking comfort in coldness
Heart shattered, sighs echoing. Forgive me for my sins oh dear God.
Broached in a new world of wretchedness I never knew existed.
My visage turning into the seven seas.
Far offshore
As I ebb away with the tides. I fix my eyes onto you oh dear God.
A silent prayer,
Cloak my tribulations.
Let there be oblivion.
And this gloom a phase. Make me whole again oh dear God.
Gestation period
A grotesque routine
Queasiness
Excruciating. Give me strength oh dear God.
Avalanching in this benighted place.
Feeling castigated, in bleak.
Importune of answers.
Why me? Hear my cry oh dear God.
SO GRANDE LOVE
allure, passions, loving
dedicated importune, caress submitable retaining
Love for her
~
So I sore Love Her
surly do
undeniable
02/24/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
Not long I need to let mine heart to shrink
From thine earnest appeal wherein did sink
And firm beneath its heav’nly charm it live
With glorious joyance thence loth to upheave.
So gently thou this time me importune
That any keener soul of love must croon,
But see how alters brisk one’s erstwhile dearest
And heedeth not entreaties that thou makest.
Mayst thou complain I furnish this with art
Of garrulity to reproach, than thou wert,
Thee for thy ways capricious unto me,
As my sweet fury ne’er can I show thee.
Yet cautious I whisper to realms inmost,
Retrieve the passions though alone we boast.
His lively taste for romance
Was born of a superior conception
Or perhaps a critical quintessence
If not indeed a preconception
For we cannot in haste conclude
Nor precipitate be to preclude
He loved with a silent passion
Allowing only a thin sparkle
Of his earnest attention
To illumine the spectacle
Unlike those who importune
He craved not a penny of her fortune
He made mental tributes galore
'Penned' many a memorable missive
And like the great poets of yore
Whiled away decades mutely pensive
As one whom we might presume
Lived his life in a charmed dream
But how did I come to know
The story of this secret lover
Who though he lay so low
Yet managed I to blow his cover?
Some day you'll come to glean
That I was his go-between!
When I need you most you are not there
When I’m crying, fighting with life and grief
When I’m hurting beyond the touchable
When I’m wounded in the unseen
When I’m weary and desolate
You are not there
To ease the pain
To comfort me
To heal me
To share with me
Yet,
When I dream
When I find peace
When I wake
When I try to forget
You are there
When I breathe
When I admire and compare
When nature’s beauty confronts me
At the most importune times
You are there
Yet overall you are not there
Yet present
Your spirit and soul touch me
Yet your physical presence deserts me
Why?
Living lies thus multiply then divide the mind’s eye of their owners
Surreptitiously increasing, they’re distinctively releasing noxious toxins within
their donors
To their chagrin,
Fear lives within
An augmented, exclusively demented, overtly invented place of internal judgment
Finding rejuvenation, removing the devastation, but never full restoration of the
broken covenant
Pensively stained with much disdain, yet clearly aimed, aching hearts will tell a
story
They importune mankind,
And swear of truths with double sides,
And hang the noose between the lines
Much of which is the lore of we.
Living lies thus multiply then divide the mind’s eye of their owners
Surreptitiously increasing, they’re distinctively releasing noxious toxins within
their donors
To their chagrin,
Fear lives within
An augmented, exclusively demented, overtly invented place of internal judgment
Finding rejuvenation, removing the devastation, but never full restoration of the
broken covenant
Pensively stained with much disdain, yet clearly aimed, aching hearts will tell a
story
They importune mankind,
And swear of truths with double sides,
And hang the noose between the lines
Much of which is the lore of we.
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