Tonight, I won’t write anything at all…
I’m throwing in my quill,—who am I fooling?—
I’m throwing in my keyboard, overruling
my instinct for seriousness,—o how small
and earnestly banal…/I mean!, the gall
of an Artiste not sat at home drooling
on their craft and crafting another grueling
chef-d’œuvre,—Bah!—leave that to the alcohol!—
—@-tack your ’s-periment__’n’|defend|
mine own: for the[object]of this{subject}
is Anihilating your nothingness.
Yea! all this—and (, verily,) nothingless.
Avoid a void?,your void—I“[-VOID-]”| perfect
disdain,—no mask upon it to append.
Can I advise you something
One's right can never be
Simply questioned
No advice is welcome
People don't like advice
A matter of humiliating
A matter of meddling
A matter of overruling
A matter of overstepping
Any advice must be surfaced
In proper procedures
It must be said in a nice way
With politeness
With good words
With limits
No abuse of course
But everyone must behave
Well and wisely
So that no advice is ever needed
Winter wrapped Autumn in a shroud of white
after Jack Frost had stripped the trees of green.
And a contrite sun diminished its light;
while a dulcet moon loaned Winter its sheen.
And yet, when Spring arrives with poise and grace,
Her tepid breath starts warming Winter's freeze.
And as ice and snow melt without a trace,
She grafts green stubble onto naked trees.
Rain-soaked seeds await Nature's direction,
as April showers quench a thirsty Earth.
And overruling Winter's objection,
Spring prepares the thawed soil for life's rebirth.
Restoring color Winter's white washed out;
tulips, trilliums, and daffodils sprout.
A poem is a song of the heart,
With a place to end and a place
to start.
Deeper meanings than most
will know,
there's reasons to rhyme, it's
not just for show.
Lyrical genius or poetic
perfection, words such as
"love" to present your affection.
Its proof of existence these
feelings create.
Our souls are persistent,
overruling debate.
Emotions will flow through
words to reveal.
Unstoppable sensations,
a spine-tingling chill.
- Yours Truly
They believed her to be the harlot of the 15th century.
Heedless to the mask;
They trusted the persona of an undervalued whore taken for a fool.
Her name was Araignée.
A deceitful insect she was when the sun went down,
Stirring poisons in her cauldron.
But then they found her,
Bound her; before things were complete.
They blamed her for the curses,
Blamed her for the plague.
She accepted her fate
When they opened the gate,
Hanging her inches off the ground.
Death is only the beginning.
And what the town failed to see
Was a witch inside an innocent body.
Overruling her mind,
All emotions immobilized.
Today I speak of the spider that crawls the halls of my insides.
Her tightly spun webs captured my brain’s freedom long ago.
Not but an easy task for she’s done it times before.
And the sickest part of it all is
Feeling repulsed by the comfort from her company
When she climbs right out my mouth onto my shoulder.
Together we’ll sit under the moon’s majestic glow, conspiring “our” next move.
She wonders for us both:
Will they blame me for the curses?
Will they blame me for the plague?
O! Leaves are crisped and it was just fall
overlooking us through the teary window.
Ay! They seek me sipping the crystalline wine
And they admire your charms, looks, whispering, "He is fine."
E! Tis the nightfall of slumber watching us,
admiring you and I. You were king and I, a princess,
overruling the season fall to a distant palace of possible romance.
And I've heard them yelp with glee, cheer with the rainfall of water as they dance.
But even fall was nervous to let you know I am waiting for just a kiss,
They listen to our past of love. I had nothing but you were already in a romance.
To me I felt high for you, it is true. The earth knows I am falling for
the royalty.
But through the night, you fall to your velvet and silk, I get a little blue and feel
terribly empty.
When the sky is lit filled in sun rays and sunshine,
I wished for it conquered to the night, hoping for another chance.
But even the fall knew, the night was lazy and tired. No more, no more, no
more
My heart drags for a kiss, to sip for wine and to seek for the king just once more.