"Just as treasures are uncovered from the earth
so virtue appears from good deeds, and wisdom
appears from a pure
and peaceful mind. To walk
safely through the maze of human life, one needs
the light of wisdom and the guidance of
What is more poetic than a year on Earth?
Why is death more beautiful than a petty birth
That scars every mother with a tottered tongue,
And sings merrily into its ear a graceful song?
What is further than an atmosphere upon Pluto
Like a blue sea that sits alone wondering in a shadow?
No smaller than the wealth of its frozen will,
No bigger to my eyes than an ant upon my window sill.
No scenery than the rusted heart of Mars
Nor blindly dancing through the warmth of stars.
But, does thee die, but does thee watch gay
While the servants of Charon gracefully die away?
Sadly however does thy weep with openly frozen tears
Of walking the scarce sun another two hundred more years.
Rather silence nor death, what shall thee dress
Without happily sisters through thy mournful bless?
Create thee of enslavement through our savage labor
And dance so vividly through our lord and savior.
But what can sense thy scene like the pale moon?
That sits alone in her solid atmosphere alone?
Sour service, but merging journey to her civil daughter
That sings to stars, like birds upon a martyr.
Sings what? Canst thee tell, or shall thee question?
The holiness and taught hum that sell fortune and decision.
The service from thee thereon is deceiving, but grieving is needy,
Tracing dismay with all the markings of the bleeding;
But sometimes like hearing less palms of clapper
Lay soundly toggled under the earth’s dove of matter,
And there are times that kiss like a red rose
Of ancient creations that sleep and dead dose.
But breath acquaints our most envious dreams
So that we live around a hundred more years.
To create as thou to solicit belief
Is deprived view to thy sisters eye of grief
But can wealth be ever written, but can thee write
To my frown that frames my smiles that deny?
Deprived of love, its grave gives out sentimental deed
From heavenly servants that blanket monotony need.
Warmth that serves thee with creation and imagery
And painless derived from scenes of hurt and ginnery.
Not once has thee kissed or been kissed with a sever tongue
With silver keen eyes that fall from grace that once hung
From higher trace and greatly made essence
‘Tis bitter sweetly journey through the makers peasants.
Now hereon, there is deception for serenity
But can thee find mercy and pity through affinity?
Poorly, for ye I am old and weary
That I am not dripped in heartens caring
Or wet in water--shall I drown for thee
Among the ruins of the heart’s debris
A flowing seam that streams over my thirst,
And a cello tune voices that in me burst.
But ’tis poorly for thee I sense a fear
That drips down thy cheek like a merrily cheer
Nor thee recites me a verse, nor to my sachet
That beholds thee with breath that I carved with a hatchet.
A labor consumed from not immune days
Of illness nor health, but that I shall daze
For days, and my tongue will favor
The ever less sheets of the late devoir
Shall thee suffice, or shall I sense
The certainty sweat that bears hence
Through decision of craving a sour sweet
Shall be my lover and internal heart beat
That beats morally without saying
Anything that words oppose through naying;
Of myths in words, though seemingly inconclusive
They keep a silent prey around a sleepy assuasive
This verse that a sane minded nerve had sentenced,
Deserted from satiny but a touch of couth pen cement
Over thy sheet. And eerie cravings shall sober
Through my head, but breathing shields of clover
That shelter thy beauty, wherewith I glee
Through the clear, like an angel that flees
From heaven and its lowly vows and harmony
To serving setter and thine eyes of mortality
Poured from a cup contaminated of death
And smell a shattered being from out its breath,
A sight that brings many to my senses that permit
A fear that brings a vision to my mind of a serpent.
But though thou invents the sides from right to left
And drops a past that brings hurt to my heft
Above my arms that reach higher than I my eyes blind,
The wings of thy eyes fall from a cline.
Sob and create, this dismay is but a thoughtless mind,
A fragile being may not arouse upon, but precious abide
May submit a glory from a hobo’s dearest dreams
That which he mates his fortune to amend his seams
For matrimony; but why such solitude shall thee dwell?
Life’s garden is but a scene of death and spell;
But writing of an enchantment there
Can propose a lover that both love and despair.
And an eagle that soars in the crumbling sky
Dost fall from numb winged sadness and die;
For a little lady trembling in the sand
A young man’s cry that lacks a tender hand.
For years for thee I have sit to overcome
From pacing an eye into the southern tromp.
My poetry, shall thee compare with contrast
But deceive thou plea that scars a surpassed
Curtains me thought, thou reads thee thou name
From Earth’s sea that drowns thy sorrow untamed.
A bitter taste of the purest tears, that from above
For flora and fauna, that kills thy thirst alcove,
My hunger though, thou tames thee with sauce
That from drips of surmount, the rotten clause
Of oak and cedar, dear Earth that shelters thine
Spirit upon green grass, thou canst eat nor dine
From lips that sin, that grin back to thy eye
Of dreary somber, that feeds me a certain dry
Poisonous fruit, that thy betrayal canst betray
A power of lined facings against an evil display
Of racial minds, thee I despise thou with heart
And mind that bends on not color, but apart
From flesh and bone, that thee all break and fall
And hurt a vein that flows blood through us all.
Can sacrifice ever be served without war
That kills a heart that begs upon a star
And falls flat, but from besiege assertion
That claims killing outside borders are certain
Rightfully duty in life, to take not our own
For blooding the hearts makes passion show?
For strength can forsake, and ponders remain
Abroad thy frozen eyes, thou carest for rain
Where thee canst but patronize thou ever serene
Mortal brow and fend a reaping fierce teem,
Sailing over the ever blue grass from with I hide
From Charon’s beautiful eyes that sought side to side
Around the maelstrom that enwraps my vision in soot
And now numbness trembles between my every root
Within my head, my every thought springs
And blooms with lilies and honeybees sings
A song to my crevice ear, a tune that belongs
Of the proper hums of choirs that stand along
The culture and pair their voices into solitude
With minds that compare grievance with altitude .
But whose minds do these create, o what goddess
Thou savages from god, does thee ever love modest?
Disaster alone bequeathed a sadist face
Grinning through the sassy dusk without a trace.
Maybe by sense thee shall bequeath by seed
And make a pence that beholds a hand in need.
When by stratosphere accusation shall thee content
And from a baring resemble to bestow no love so constant
Is that thou, bit ye, no, there isn’t any love so constant
Nor God’s will shall reveal an eternal gate to consent
A spirit so mined from a shock, that there lies grace
With despair? As from the Bloomingdale that brace
Thy breasted thorn to ail my nerves and to drunk my lids
Forcing ye to pollute my soul with tender frozen lips.
Where is thou kiss, that strains my every fiber still
And kills my vision to abandon my sense for thy dill
And acquaintance to render my heart unpure
And secretly pass by on a floating pillow tour.
The deception is descriptive, but thine tongue ignore
An aging prophecy that beholds thee holding an ore
To sail beyond thou sea that everlasting blueness
That ceases to appeal my beliefs that drown me clueless.
I sense my sorrow to belong with the deadly meteor
More than thee will lay out for the master, a hideous creator
That shows thou blood for that it came from sane
But such a pale eye, though blind my eyes defame.
Is there such the death than to die from the prophets
That square the iris pore to become a numb pocket
To distill a solid source that derives a life to grasp
Along the mild bore of warmth to coax a latter task
To build the mason girth to sadden a dwelling elf
Upon a mountaintop fountain that pours my self
Among the faintest sight that bastilles my vision feint
And flattens my flesh along the mixing paint.
My thoughts enwrapped under a pending serf
Had been served among the amending turf.
In showering from a rain I had swam with the swan
That creates for me a world that enables me to flaw
With the deserts that flood beneath the teasing flu
That isolates my snuff to restrain my every due
To astray my lungs that bleed my every breath
To choke around my tongue and suffer me from wreath.
But my eyes that dull my images to a soothing mess
Had nourished me with flowers from an admiring guest.
But canst I call them thine own? Nor thou arm that gives
An amending diversion unto my pity that thy derives
Against my heft upon thee I wave my pondered arms
Into the breeze within the skies that prevent thou harm
From a thorned stem that paves thy tears to race
Down thy cheek; I kiss thee to die from sacrifice.
But I arise to dwell from fear that awakes me from sleep
Unto the nights that stretch my hours that arouse my deep
Eyes to ponder through an hour that one night I shall forsake
A God that abandons my will to fly above the frozen lake.
Its wondrous ripples that waffle my untainted face
But not my golden age that flavors my every grace
To bring me things from beauties ever tamed breast
That pillows my reclined neck for my quick head to rest
To rust among the elder wounds that heal not like the dove
And compose a dreary eye to fall oppressed the birds above
The tallest tree that stretches its arms beyond what thee can climb
To peak into the clouds and wander, to a certain time,
Whereto? Methought with a tamed spirit; but not want
A positioned tongue to frame the palsy mosquito to hunt
My poor glint, sadly fading to impervious end
Where the brightly kissed sun makes a furious friend
And will not kiss, but be kissed to die
From a Goddess so beautiful that thou deny
Any dream of carriage, that thou instates
A moving tear that brings to me a clean slate.
But come to, ye, with that heart that desires much
My every sensitive stroke to thee from just a touch
And make me a slave to thou enriching presence
Or kill my sense of sight for I need to be destined
To love ye from eyes, that break from a star
And create a deceiving lover to starve my par
And kill me with a light so brightly moving
Creasing my every muscle to strain my loving
Nose that senses thy belt to which I wrap
My hands to feel cuddled under thy drape
That shadows my uncouthness without ye
That I wish to find a death and sacrifice me
To preserve thou serenity. I want badly for thee
For my eyes cannot betray such a work of beauty
To look elsewhere and become immune to holiness
For I rather be blooded from routine with thee than happiness
Shall offer me a credit to extend my every being
But ye shall grow neutered and me thou not seeing
Evermore to complain my beastie solo compass
And lose thy figure that I desire much address
To lay idly abide unclothed in the house
And regain my last nights that my dreams browse
To imagine ye next me, but ye not with me
And my heart begins to impale me and I bleed
From my eyes to capture thy body to seduce my hands
And the pain I endure must I confess is but strands,
But I love ye, and please serve me forever more
Wine from the heavens to become dull and bored,
Kiss me dear Goddess, the poison is quick
And drink my blood to keep inside your beak
And hug me tightly so my vision can forsake
Any unjustly parasites that eat me for my mistakes.
Do not lay without my death for I am not of worth
To assert your sickened figure that brings me forth
To aid you from creation and become my master
And enslave my bounded palms to arouse thee faster
And kiss me eternally without an end
And hold my hands to taste my fears as a loving friend,
But pity me not, for I am poor my dear
That I shall cry for thee to take away thy fear
Of me not exact, but closer to your deed
I serve thee with flowers from a loving steed.
My love for thee grow bigger, higher than thy wonder
Can offer thee, even from a devil’s tempt, I hover
For thee to hold forever. Forever under my neck
Thy hair in my face with a kiss on the peck
That I chance my life and come fairly dense
Around ,my every thought that ponders menace
Deed from me; and childish duty for thou grieves
Of my poetry to ye, unread for thy deceives
To accost at my own. But please don’t forsake me ill
Dear Pluto, my beautiful ant that sits upon my window sill
At nights every so century, and thou foster daughter Charon
Lays sick on thy breast feeding her tongue with matron
Medicine, but if thee dost not live can I believe
Enough in our band to cost me my own relief?
Oh, Goddess, my dearest admiration, I sleep
Alone by my sadness that bids me my every dream
Of parenthood, for ye I shake and tremble
To scold thy portrait face with my squeaky treble
That plays a painful song for thee which I sing
And fly back to ye with my pen and my wings.
Will thee make me a crown, a silver one to wear
Around my head to stretch my ever evolving dare
To breathe with thee, my suffocating lungs
That startle at your presence with my long
Legs that forsake every step to ye knee
To kiss thy thighs and amend my glee
To glove my dead hands which do not grab
Thee anymore from greed that for ye they stab
To hold and massage your every fiber and mold
To purge them clean and shine like treasure gold.
Thou anoint me with a kiss that cures my every cancer
And sends me aloft to ye again to love thee fancier
And, gosh, so much more that my will hath been broken
From a dose of glee and my throat that breeds token
And affectionate feeling for thee I must complain
Is of nothing that I can ever owe to thee from plain
Words like a script; but no, there is glory
To bring thee water from Earth’s holy
Lake that walks dependant like a ward
That sits among the surface and sings to a bard.
Touch me dearest and I bleed, kiss me and I die
From a drug so addicting that I ponder to the sky
And carry my torch and light it for your daughter
To unslave my will to her every need like a martyr.
Lay next to me and rub my rotten cheeks
Ever so gently with unending love from you beak
Leave thy lips for thine and purge my illness
Cleaner than thy dove beneath my pillow mess.
May I touch thee, or shall content my form
Of manliness across thy breast like a generous worm?
As gentle as that touch can be, can I be more gentle
To thee like a paper feather can be to a single.
If my conscience shall bet me my ever dying honor
And unweave thee from hatred to become my eternal lover
And trap my heart’s illness to derive back to pain
Nor that pity that keeps me from heaving from the river’s bank
To drown my sorrow from the wine of the natural plain
And sicken my resolve to avert my thoughts into the crane
Higher than my reach to see men that solute ye
From within the bleeding bower that sits along thy sea.
A woman’s face such as thee that serves my eyes mall
Accuse them such that my fears are apart. And all
For ye, they cry for thy mercy, and spill among the fog
And sit from the patient as dost a wandering dog
Into the pale gloom of the victorious knights
That flee into the open and spar under the lights
Of several torches, where our shadows doth dwell
And my figure is yet a pawn for the death of my spell
To fall for something so beautiful yet so deadly
To my health that betrays my credit that once readily
Amends and deceases with the times of age
Like a son to a foster parent of a sage;
But dost thee die, I shall offer none to suffice
If by a vain shrill my nerves will cease under kites
That waiver through my nights that by shame do not die.
We not some foresee thee, with an utterly moth dry
From a bliss so breath consuming as a glittering moth
That spews into the grasp of thy ever evolving cloth
And deserve a pity. My upper corpse there senses
A cavorting being inside the modern immense
Passionate tuning that plays to me in my own keen
Peer of talk and whispers to me in obscene
Secret curses that openly encounter a scene
Like a Pisces man under the spell of mercy.
For my Goddess, there is all, ye that my fate
Tremble for thee at my despair and sate.
But ye then speaks, that voice so tender
But not as mine, thou disgusted offender
“Fantasy shall thou’st but doth of duty
Of disbelief child of mystery and the
of sourness charity Nor we
Lackness of heart--but worse adieu
Our palms of appear is but sever torture
though our sense of walk and
The desire of create is our most joyful
Of sentiment--but our eyes of feel
eyes of mine--the iris of bloom
That dies to daze where tongue of thorn,
Those of tilt, and our lips of kill
The kisses of the seas is our enjoyment to another.
Fairly the morn does to a woman’s eye,
Thus star of, and thus a beauty of cease is
A thing to sore of pity. Is whence though
Our wonder can sense to
A type of flower which can tilt when the
Blossom is of tame, but a fear of the
Civilian is that though
Silenced digression it is indeed of deed
That our duty which our fantasy belief
Our scarce of significant
fill, The holiness
We endure. Craving though that we have
But the saneness of our need a dreary
Collide and our
shrill of sense of thirst
And sleep o, sleep is thou, the Peer of
Blackness hue to purify doubt.
That doubt of
color--her seam of blindness
To sight Brightness but image and creation--
Of difference and form poorly sacred mind
Hover thou shadow pit of dark. There is only
What assume from suppose but of wealth is
There of such but ecstasy
In youth that we sought that we only feel
That is none birth of the mind is thus that
of the heart. The earth of scent
Much we content on thee of sense
Is but the bone of the bone and the flesh to
flesh. Our skin thou that deeper--
Whence that bounded palm sorrow to that
Dampness of keenness has but offend.
But those of effort this hath
Been to much intention hurt is thou without
Create, the deeds
of any thing of life
Or what choice that spreads out stretch of
A bird’s wing. Forsakenness that casts thou
Upon withstand ness of solace cannot say that
Without love that there is no hatred
Ages of that word hence but
That of refusal of inspire tune of heavenly heft.
Those of jest heft bare not the uncouth solitaire
unkneeled worship. Being of overpower ness
I am soiled weak, I pray thee strong
Thou ear of universe will’st
why it is but our own?
Hearing is of a gift--what of it that we possess
As give we sift thou do we trend with our
Song of rarity friendship is a take for do we
Contrast thee of compare to of those of fame or
Dost thou send them
of sincerity. Of beauty and
Deceive is thou become of immense patience
Art is that vision which most do we not imagine
Creation it is not thee who lays them but thee
Who is kissed of sin. That thou loves to morn
In sickened dose
and pill nor the earth within her
Soil will’st thee become garden but season that
Growth of youth begs of perverse
Her loose arm that pits thy shadow over shady leaf
And fallen grievance of amounted unsevered
illness. But angels we desire of
Presence that hope with eternal glee of marriage
That falsely speak of ever ness
And no rhyme to caress my ever sever defeat
But death and the coherent curse of my seed
To arouse my every fiber to become belief
I bleed forever as thou did to my create.