“Parted Lips” – Poem – Romantic

I fell upon thy parted lips,
And fled among their washed hue,
Never knew, never knew,
The placement of their kind,
That were drawn over a face of mine.
Your parted lips,
Are as my own.

A woman, and a man,
Your beauty, and my insanity,
We’ve both done wrong,
To fall apart, and to be anew.

I am in love only with water,
Because thou does not represent land,
No fertility and no newness.
Only I, as myself, am new.
New beside you, with two parted lips.

Horror Poem – “A Headless Woman” – Erotica

I failed to mention a tiny detail,
The space above your neck
Is lacking.
For proof, I needn’t describe it,
You could not look above,
To see it.
The space that is lacking,
Is only for my witness.

Beauty now resides only on your grace,
As your face, has resulted in the emptiness
No long mattered, no longer around.

Spill upon me the fluid to which belongs
Upon your bosom.
White fluid that would crawl on flesh
That is torn upon my torso.
Would you scream when giving birth?
Or would only silence follow?

Your face is disallowed to exist,
Your mind is no longer present,
Though, I see a body that beats a heart,
Myself moves to take its shape,
Swollen to that of my yearnings.
As thy lips are no longer present
For my kisses.

A disdain and a scent,
A scent of love and lust, gathered to one.
You were beautiful and knowing.
And now, you lack the recognition.
I see only a body
That appears as any other.

A body of devilish desires,
White as Christ’s own cloak,
And with pink lines to mark thy youth.
You were defeated by defeat,
And I have surpassed you.

“The Grove and Ivory Flesh” – Poem – Romantic

I saw beneath lashes, masked by shadow,
The beauty, of unfathomable lust,
She drew a finger, in my direction,
So that I’d lay, beneath ivory flesh.

Never was there, an emotion so exquisite!
As the one laid, upon my heart,
Enough, so that she cared, to comfort,
Its undying beat.

She drew across, three fingers, to her bosom,
So that three orbs, were revealed,
Two breasts,
And one heart.
For I saw among, her feeble form,
The drowning, of that heart,
Among, such melted ivory.

I forgave, the spite I had concealed,
In spite, of knowing, what had been revealed,
I drew a finger, to a breast,
One of them, for the other, she grasped.
I felt with turmoil, in mind,
The disease, to her fragrant hind.

Her bust, and her groin,
That which, laid upon, my own,
She felt loneliness, and grief combined,
And grew patient, all-the-more.

A beauty, and a pain,
That which, danced among mists
That shielded, a grove,
One that fled, in currents and doves,
One that shouted, to the moon,
“Do not, let me go,
Among the fires, and the ebony!”

And I disobeyed, her plea,
For it rang, too heavily.

A Tri-Collection of Poetry – “Poetry of Love, Love, and Love!”

Poem #1

A Marvelous Waiting Game

Of eye and iris, combined,
I combed the earth, to then find, those pair,
Dipped in honeydew, and nectar alike,
Stark against pallid skin, and reddened cheeks,
As thy making, were by God’s artisans.

Your eyes, and the cries, you emit,
By the graces, of angels,
By the disgrace, of my fallen empire,
By the dismay, to my withered pride,
You are still, the only love.

A beauty, with bleakness, to tress,
And red, to lips,
A beauty with eyes, that fall in the idleness, of waking,
A beauty with no equal, unmatched, by makers, of newness,
For the eyes, that I behold, are a waiting game.

I look upon them, with a face, so stern,
I look, with the entrancement,
The enticement, the amiable nature, of my mind,
To be pleasant, in sight of a one,
The nurtured one, the rose, in the garden.

You have never been, the disappointment,
And, I never faulted you, for any failure.

A beauty, with eyes that wait, as I wait,
For a death, that would make our love, finally resting.

Poem #2

The Dismay of Thy Gleaming Back

Upon a day, when the moon, rose to stay,
And look upon us, with fervent fervor,
I saw behind, that dress, that covered thou,
A white back, that gleamed, beneath the silver.

A tempting look, in your eye,
You had a back, that gleamed, beneath the silver,
With a coat of sheen, that grew to bloom
In the radiance, of an early afternoon.

The dress, that covered thou,
Is of lace, embroidered, in a streaming silk,
Each strand, is weaved to perfection,
To shield, a body for God.

Would you, open your mouth,
To receive, a tongue?
A tongue to lash, your swollen cheeks?
You are marvelous, when you would grieve.

You are as mighty, as all beauty
When thwarted, by sensuality.
It is because, I am
The blessing, of a simple fruit,
And the admirer, of resplendence.

A beauty, that you are,
With a sheen, to a back,
All white against, the dress, that is black,
And a face, that shows, rosy cheeks, alack,
For thou, hast turned from me!

A back, a back, and a back,
Your face, not ever known.

Poem #3

A Lover’s Wine and Nectar

Death divides, my purpose,
Love had made, it wine,
Your lilies, when worn, on crown, so high,
Drew to knew, the nectar, from, the sigh.
As when God, bent his knee,
Your loving God, had bent, his knee.
And I gave a ring, to thy finger,
So that thou, would accompany me.

You are not devilish, on my barren lands,
You, with your ivory face, and porcelain cheeks,
A heart of ruby, though wrapped, in thorns.

A quake hurls, my empathy across,
A child pules, to the breast, and its emptiness.
I gave my platter, for the servant, to witness,
A mighty feast, on thy lips, of cherry.

Your beauty, and your fossilized form,
Were many, in the hues and shades,
I still allowed, a treat to be consumed,
Of perked lips, and even raven tress.

Lovely, when thou, would accompany me,
On the serpentine roadway, to my dwelling,
For thy frailty, is next to loathing,
At the pity, and scorn, of my promise.

Poem – “The Failures of Children” – Romantic

They, who crawled, naked, in grief,
Were beside the forests, in failing sleep.
Sinister shadows, were their playmates,
Begging unto God, for piety’s absence.

I slew, their lives, in amass,
Emptied their reflections, in glass.
For she, who called me abroad,
To taste the banquet, of my dreams.

She was, to the sinister playthings,
A toy, to behold, for their musings.
I sold, a love, for a lonely hour,
Folded plenty, the songs of shame.

Her music, which lifted, my fire,
Drew blood, into my desire.
I gave up, the world, for the stars,
Knew the beginning, for the almighty end.

She waved, a gentle hand, to me near,
Caused the tears, to erupt, in unquiet fear.
I singled out the prey, one by one,
Not for God, but for Heaven’s wrath.

For a beauty, to be in my name,
Is to me, a release of shame.
I gave the clinging, to her undying folds,
Of a dress, where children, threw their tears.

Poem – “Her Skin Among the Embers” – Romantic

Your rarity, on thine loving lips,
Lay kisses, upon where I sit,
Go crawl in misery, on death ships,
Bask in embers, of fires lit.
I would watch, those hands, cover tears,
To imitate, a sleeping body,
You could face, the dawn as night,
Sink under trauma, of the years,
But searing embers, raise the study,
Of lifeless voids, piercing blight.

For the embers, awoke my sense,
Tears slide, off a pale cheek,
The want of joy, is my defense,
Those eyes, of sadness speak.
I have written volumes, in your name,
Scorn is drowning, your tongue,
Misery’s grief, are those words,
In each tress is mournful shame,
Robes of priests, you are clung,
Wrath for children, grief affords.

Charm – “Poem of a Woman Near a River” – Romantic

Of stars, to stir through bleak dusk,
Down rivers of a trailing tear,
A woman raw in flesh, scent in musk,
Subtle sigh in mournful fear.
She would quell her beating chest,
Lay a hand below her chin,
As upon her face, a wash of white,
To echo a tune in deathly rest,
Strangled strings, that of a din,
Song of misery a strange delight.

But O, woman! How she sings,
Tears cause the river to flow,
Great ancient knell loudly rings,
Once, a dagger gleamed below,
In tapered fingers aside to belly,
Beautiful! Her eyes say much,
More than heart beating for shame,
Nothing, my heart feels no pity,
As she charms me in that clutch,
A tongue speaking grief the same.

I watch each strand of every tress,
Curl over shoulder, over pallid throat,
Tapered fingers curl over breast,
As every tear falls to devote,
In time by a frozen river,
Milky currents passing along,
Warms the aching in my heart,
For slender fingers do quiver,
And reddened lips singing a song,
For death brings us both to part.

The waking of a morning,
Speaks the joys from before,
As pale features light my grieving,
This poem of a woman’s lore,
Of a cold stone in a void,
A charm to grace my love,
Charming both beauty and grace,
Pain I thoroughly enjoyed,
There flies the raven above,
Down to rivers frozen in space.

Dialogue #1 – Darwinism & Creationism – “The Serpentine Inquiry” – On “Almighty and Foreign”

Q: For those you believe to be in question of the unknowns to life, who are such people?

A: They are such people, as both Christians and Scientists, who raise their heads in curiosity to see such unknowns. An unknown, being what is placed upon with a question. That question will receive an answer. What places a Christian at a disadvantage from a scientist, is a scientist’s love with the masculine. Masculinity is referred to as the straightforward, versus the feminine that seeks for intricacy or a spiderweb that is not so easy to embrace. One challenges their heart, not their mind, through an embrace of the feminine. What does modesty create for the human being? Lowness. Love does not raise, unless it is to be compassionate. In love, one raises others through that same emotion. One cannot raise themselves. Through love, one could raise the impoverished. One could raise the distraught and desperate, and from being hopeless comes the hope.

Q: It is the Christians and the Scientists who are seeking answers?

A: An answer, that is, to seek darkness; and such darkness is where a scientist refers himself. That which points to the masculine is rightfully so, the dark and handsome. Light is a metaphor for hope, while darkness is a metaphor for the deception. “Deception” is the place for the mysterious, and such limitless unknowns. A child will press its own face into its mother’s bosom after an embrace, and see such darkness. A Christian seeks answers perhaps during the waking day. A scientist will seek answers within darkness. Both realms, of light and dark, contain answers. And yet, what does reason or enlightenment do for the darkness? It adds light, and in this, Christians are the one to see an answer before the question. As Oppenheimer had said, “Genius sees the answer before the question.” Would a scientist, whose questions are numerous, seek answers in light? They would, though would find numerous answers, to the singular answer that a Christian will utilize. Genius is rare, and talent is rare, in the 21st century, and it should be evident for its reason, if the pun should be minded. If Christians are there to see light before darkness, then it should be true in today’s time to see darkness before light.

Q: And on the Christian’s side, where does the Christian seek answers? On the scientist’s side, where does he seek an answer?

A: A Christian already knows where to seek answers. A Christian, as has been said, knows to look at light. A scientist will look at darkness, and attempt to find a star. The astronomers of the past and today sought this method; and it should be assumed that were they to simply see darkness, and no stars to catch their attention, it may as well be a white sky, not a black one. Like a blank canvas, they’d be looking at white, to look for specks of darkness. See the painter and his sight in seeing color. It must fill white. Though, for the astronomer, it is the opposite.

Q: And for what reason do you think this to be the case?

A: To fill white with black, is to fill a canvas with a question, so that the viewer will question what is viewed. This is to say that emptiness or space is never questioned, while color or matter is continually questioned. A viewer to a painting will see the painting, and notice its color. That color, that filled void, will be questioned. And in the matter of the astronomer, there is the answer caught from the question, as stray and as small as they come. Though, unlike the prayer to pray, an astronomer or scientist seeks such answers in small fragments, whereas a Christian sees wholeness. A Christian sees fullness in light, that surrounds God and His glory, or Christ and the same.

Q: Is there anything for the Christian to question?

A: No.

“A Marvelous Waiting Game” – Romantic Poem

Of eye and iris, combined,
I combed the earth, to then find those pair,
Dipped in honeydew and nectar alike,
Stark against pallid skin and reddened cheeks,
As thy making were by God’s artisans.

Your eyes, and the cries you emit,
By the graces of angels,
By the disgrace of my fallen empire,
By the dismay to my withered pride,
You are still the only love.

A beauty with bleakness to tress,
And red to lips,
A beauty with eyes that fall in the idleness of waking,
A beauty with no equal, unmatched by makers of newness,
For the eyes that I behold are a waiting game.

I look upon them with a face so stern,
I look, with the entrancement,
The enticement, the amiable nature of my mind,
To be pleasant in sight of a one,
The nurtured one, the rose in the garden.

You have never been the disappointment,
And I never faulted you for any failure.

A beauty with eyes that wait, as I wait,
For a death that would make our love finally resting.

“The Dismay of thy Gleaming Back” – Poem

Upon a night, where the moon rose to stay
And look upon us with fervent fervor,
I saw behind that dress that covered thou,
A white back that gleamed beneath the silver.

A tempting look in your eye,
You had a back that gleamed beneath the silver,
With a coat of sheen that grew to bloom
In the radiance of an early afternoon.

The dress that covered thou,
Is of lace, embroidered in a streaming silk,
Each strand is weaved to perfection,
To shield a body for God.

Would you open your mouth,
To receive a tongue?
A tongue to lash your swollen cheeks?
You are marvelous when you would grieve.

You are as mighty as all beauty
When thwarted by sensuality.
It is because I am
The blessing of a simple fruit,
And the admirer of resplendence.

A beauty, that you are,
With a sheen to a back,
All white against the dress that is black,
And a face that shows rosy cheeks alack,
For thou has turned from me!

A back, a back, and a back,
Your face not ever known.

“A Wild, Wanting One” – Erotic Poem/Long Poem

How many marks were branded,
As oaths to a singular curse?
I was the livid, the toiling, and the strained.
Worked by day, and puled by night.
Diseased, shameful, and miserable.

You, as the woman, to my heart,
A heart shattered by time,
Stilled in time,
And motioned only by a heavy bosom,
One that is yours, made for sinking.

How lovely are thy breasts!
White as sourdough, and gleam in the sun!
Your feet are for caressing, and thy lips
Are there for the sweetest kiss.
A mockery of my mind, for my heart has leaped.

How marvelous are thy cheeks!
Swollen with the redness of tomatoes,
And also made for kisses,
To be placed on such soft flesh.
You ready yourself to speak to me of heaven.

As I dine on your body,
Twisted in limbs of ivory,
You say to me, “Why has thou forgotten
Of the wishes made before an altar,
For divinity?”

I looked up to see the rays of gold,
And bowed with neck entranced,
To see the Almighty, in how He flew so radiant,
From my side,
To where my fears crossed.

They crossed in the shallow earth,
Where I fell to savor a drop,
One solid and tapered finger, pointed by Christ,
To where I’d forgotten to bask,
Due to that my love was merely limbs to my appetite.

I say with heavy mind and distorted heart,
That, “I knew not what Christ envisioned,
When he sought solitude upon the cross.
Was is because of my loss?
Was it due to my own cross?”

She fell with a reddened neck,
To the soil of a country-land,
So much I took in a fragrance,
A breed of death,
That of her womanhood.

A failure to upkeep duty,
A misery when singing psalms and hymns,
A funeral for a departure,
That of a woman and her tide,
A wild, wanting one.

A beauty, and a savior,
I laid a corpse to be drawn
Over with sheets inlaid with embroidered stone,
Stone, rock, and debris.
A wild, wanting one.

“The Harlot’s Youth” – Poem

“Your amiability is sworn,” said the puling temptress,
And I had forgotten, the meaning of death.

I pulled a message, from her hand,
And read it, forthwith,
It read so neatly, in my hand,
Words of long-etched, verse,
Bleeding, with a hue, akin, to the ink color.

“Next to nothing, that you are,
A devilish crude vessel, of a man,
Made for simple wrath, and never for sanctimony,
A man of many faces, and never a smile.”

I tossed the message, aside,
And sought, for the openness,
Of a window,
And a pair, of white steeples,
Paired, as lascivious legs,
Dropping, from a woman’s groin.

She saw, with eyes so eager,
The eagerness, withdrawn, from mine pair,
Mine pair, of blues, to her irises, of green,
We had met, like ocean, to forestry,
A message of want, to my withered hopes,
In how I knew, not what life, represented.

Here I came to war, upon her flesh,
Her, open flesh,
Pinks and purples, clashing, as one,
Sick by disdain, with drops, of lust,
A harlot’s youth, bespoke, with her grin,
A word to my eyes, drowned not, by Neptune,
But, by Bacchus,
For wine stunk, upon her cherry lips.

“You are as this world, my land, my place.
A woman as me, so forgotten, and shamed,
Held down, to lost hopes, and travails,
You are needed, elsewhere,
Kept from youth, to be among, the strays.”

And I melted upon her!

I melted, to say that the world, of her’s, was lost,
Because, I met a woman, proud and empty,
Loathing, was her tempt,
And that disdain, was her salvation.