“The Opened Scar” – Poem

Since I knew, to trim thy locks, from a silver head,
I grew to look, to the moon,
Oh, beauty. With thy ivory smile,
And your nestled, face in my heart,
Come to my weary mind, and lay me down.

Lay me to see, the opened sky,
Opening as the scar, on my heart,
For thou would not, ever bleed when dining,
When dining, on my open wounds,
Oh, beauty. My heart is flavorful.

My heart is, as coldness’s touch,
My mind is heated, and will not rest,
Not in the twining limbs, that which are empty,
Empty, not of cane with sugar, and not full of flesh.
Deadened by sorrow, you have become.

I am leaden, and you are poison.
Yet, a poison, that is a cure,
For I’ll drink it deep, and keep each drop close.
Death and emptiness, are alike,
Where above is a sky, and below is a scar.

Poem – “One Grisly Pale Hand” – Poetry of Loss

“She asked for sweetness, of death,
Though gave me no love, of flesh.”

Death, had wept, before me,
In, the feeble form, of lust.
She, who never prospered,
Until Sorrow, showed her up.
God, kept his words, alone,
For tears to sweep, below.

She asked for sweetness, of death,
Though gave me no love, of flesh.

Holiness, that I worshipped,
I am stricken, before death.
Torn, from my severed soul,
Oh, Lea! The sin you kept.
One Grisly, Pale Hand,
Falls over, the edge.

White tides, of Lea’s light,
Were opened, at the slight.

Smooth the letters, on parchment,
Drink the fragrant, bouquet.
Pass the soliloquy, to stone,
God’s serenity, in strife.
Here, I’ll hold, Lea’s hand,
Shrouded, by loneliness.

Oh, terrible shame, release me,
God, I beg of you, hear my plea.

When priests, reveal His truth,
I’ll cry for God, once more.
Never to forget, Lea’s stroke,
Lea’s hand, pained my soul.
Above the pages, of hymns,
A cloud hovers, in song.

I tremble, by the weathered nights,
Torn at last, by Lea’s cruel blights.

Poem – “Longing, Sent over Hills” – Poetry of Loss

“Those pained by our love,
Will yet bow low,
In the moment acquired,
By the words we share.”

The light, you let loose,
Is a tired, tempest,
Yet, the shame, keeps us near,
Below God’s lit, brazier.

The mornings, of our love,
Sing the songs, of daffodils,
As in spring’s, loving tune,
Of piercing, delight.

Oh, grief’s, holy hour,
The books, of gospels,
Those wondrous, stories,
Kept secret, by our heart.

One lit, candle,
Upon, a mahogany desk,
Is enough, for a poet,
As I, to pour out.

One light, in my want,
Is the draught, of wishes,
My light, my pierced void,
The snow, of tall mountains.

Those pained, by our love,
Will yet, bow low,
In the moment, acquired,
By the words, we share.

The Most Bled Wound

Yearnful heart, with sickness amassed,
I am the beggar, of all desires,
So that I may lift, the veil,
That shrouds, your shoulders.

I see Heaven, placed upon, your mantle,
I see Hell, swirling, in your bosom,
I see breasts, that swell, like beaten limbs,
I see, that compassion, has died.

A tear falls, from my eye, and to my foot,
Where lays, a stem, from some forsaken bough.
A sigh, is released, from my heavy chest,
To meet, with the coldest winter air.
And here is my demise, in seeing your shame,
Raving in the darkness, under your blame.

I know my heart, is cold,
It is ivory, and holds, no red,
The most bled wound, is yours,
That is a heart, squeezed of life.

I was cruel, and you remain, to see,
To see, the guilt, I harbor,
To see, the flame, of sickness,
A fever, I aim to end.

It is a fever, I aim, to make cold,
Cold in the tide, of my own blood,
When my hands, come, to know mercy.

Romantic Poem – “To Govern and Claim” – Poem #1

Oh, beauty! Taken beneath, bed sheets,
Disrobed of tattered veil, and dewy flesh.

You were made holy, upon death’s ground,
Made for, the chambers of kings.

Softness is, concurrent, to your realm,
That which I pull myself, down to enter.

Disease made ready, on my pillow,
Kisses made plenty, among all sorrow.

Of futile gestures, and strangeness, in sighs,
I sweep you now, aboard a vessel, of a face,
A face of marble, with gems gilded, like rose!
Ivory, is your flesh, and sapphire, are those eyes.

There were terrible lies, made for the stone road.
And I stuck love, in its place, solid, and formed.

The Scent of Grief

Don’t die, for the lingering sigh,
In harmony, of shadows old.

As I saw your face, of white,
With folds, of skin, among iron,
Death had painted Hell, on a frown,
For my nose, to cling, to its scent.

What would Heaven offer, if Death denied her form?
God, who stalks the bramble, of empty skies.

I am loth, in beginning to toil,
In merciless, unfurling of grief.

You had hair, which tossed beneath, your eyes,
A frail face, of listless beauty, drowned by sorrow.

Where spiders crawl, on a grave,
And snakes, devour a carcass,
In your arms, I knew of Love.
In my soul, I knew of Hatred.

I gave God, his desired Beauty.
Where salvation, would bring, an eternity.
Though the rivers, were formless,
My tears streamed, in endless currents.

Next to my beloved, who lays mangled,
I notice an arm, which clings to your heart,
That heart, which lays bare,
A heart of love, not shared.

The Heavens Wept for Her

Never let, Heaven hear,
The great mockery, of my fruit,
I was thoughtless, yet here you are,
To bare the nakedness, of my suit.

The reckless approach, to danger,
My uncertainties, begone!
Never broken, never saved.
Never, but beloved, to the brave.

You wilted, as to my own,
Brethren, of my hope,
Abandoned, with my chalice,
Of frozen bitterness.

Unfurl the wicked remarks, of death,
Disgust, for the crude,
Burdened with grief, mothered by love,
Anguished, by God’s vanity.

The Great Frame of Love

Stillness evokes, the bitter strife,
Winter trees, tore off this life.
Lisette wore a mask, to conceal,
The terrors of love, to reveal.
She echoed a panic, of pain,
Within forests bleak, by shame.

I wandered, the terrible night,
Exploring Lisette, in bitter blight.
Some tune rung, from the trees,
Receiving, my crying pleas.
I questioned, “What dost God lack?
Behind the gale, or frozen black?”

Lisette, whom I sincerely praised,
With a cold distress, gently raised.
She, who rivaled, holy grounds,
Prepared to meet, above mounds.
Frozen brook near, tethered by fear,
I spoke once more, for Lisette’s lore.

She spoke, with winter as silence.
“Oh, pity you! Shall you enter.
Into kind domain, still withered,
Cometh colors of eyes weathered!”
Lisette, curves of fingers slender,
Gave forest night, its blackened light.

Her Angelic Sombrous Place

The great art of her grace, knows not of the poor,
Now to crawl, along the sands,
To the rocks, upon the shore.

In simplicity, of revulsions,
There was joy, in her eyes,
One, who cared, for nothing more,
‘Cept, for an echoed cry.

For this, I had given her place,
Within my poor certain heart.

Of, my meager desires,
She offered, no surprise,
By the voice, that carried,
Her, through the earth.

She stole the fragrance, from blossoms,
As England breathed, its farewells.

She knew, of my own trials,
Through which, I only longed.

These were, the very contemplations,
That spoke, for empty years.

Yet, as I mingled stains,
With my soul, of winter,
To which, I now bequeath,
A word, of praise.

“I was the one, you craved,
The empty shell, you saved.
Neither one, could forge the tune,
That played below, the forest’s moon.
Nor could we, share the soil,
That will pull, our bodies down,
Let up, the one within,
My soul, which I opened.”

The great art of her grace, knows not of the poor,
Now to crawl, along the sands,
To the rocks, upon the shore.

While Her Heart Beats

You were the woman, who awoke, among strangeness,
Death, had divided your territory; life, had conquered you.
Beauty nestled itself, in the fragrance, of your neck,
Love crept upwards, to your lips, and laid kisses, deep.

In the strangeness, of my strength,
That which, would not wane,
All beauty, I tore, with bare hands,
Blood rose, to meet, my nostrils,
An enemy, I made, of myself,
Now bowing, to dine, upon hell.

I loved, with the music, of murder, and the torment, of guilt,
Death was the treat, of my sadistic art,
And the pill, that gave me pleasure.

I see with eyes, so bright,
A being, pale, and cold.
I melt into, the taste, of skin,
And fall upward, to a rising spirit.

Pain laid gently, on my conscience,
Soon to feel, for the next union,
Of another heart, that beat slowly, no more.

The Senseless Belonging

She sought, for an empire,
I sought, for her desire.
My weakness fled, the numbered rocks,
By finding her tangled, in locks.

To mourn love, by fallen, endeavors,
One somber love, I had held, forever.
Near to, the icy river,
That flows the beauty’s giver.

She sought, for an empire,
I sought, for her desire.
My weakness fled, the numbered rocks,
By finding her tangled, in locks.

Such tresses, that were many,
Fought through sadness, plenty.
She gave wickedness, to a hand,
Near this shore, in this frozen land.

These stones, I had observed,
Swelled the failures, to blur.

To drink the nectar, free from wine,
Her blood-red horror, sweet as mine.

The tempest began, to languish,
In currents, of withered wishes.
Near to me, to question longing,
Dreams for she, senseless belonging.

I obeyed, your courted blessings,
They, that played, for ornate yearnings.

All Beauty Falls without its Protection

We had loved, without glimpses, to our present,
Allowing its gift, to surge, through our hearts,
We had called upon, love to swell,
Dancing on shores, where waters collected.

I do love thee, with all the flames, of my heart,
I love thy beauty, with all the light, that flickers.

I leave thee, to roam, among the planet’s edge,
I leave, for the music, of my soul, has lifted,
To new heights, beyond thee.

I gave thee ground, to tread,
To see this empire, as meager, as soiled,
But to pity me, is to find emptiness,
You’d find it greater, than what I’d built.

In drawing upon beauty, a blade of skin,
Marking myself, my name, into your silk,
In conquering thee, I gave plentiful graces,
To the sea, and to the sky, my domain.

You are loved, no longer.
My beauty, my pain, my shame.

Utter demises, and utter bliss,
Therefore, to walk alone, is my wish.