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The Earth And Pluto
The Overall Poem
Ode (pending title)
To Keats
The Doctrine of Walter Sanchez
The Earth And Pluto
Five Sonnets On Life And Death
Ode To The Scarce Widow
To King
About Me
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"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 virtue."
-- Buddha

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
Sense of sourness charity Nor we
Lackness of heart--but worse adieu
Our palms of appear is but sever torture
Of abide though our sense of walk and
The desire of create is our most joyful
Of sentiment--but our eyes of feel
Are the 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 our aware,
A type of flower which can tilt when the
Blossom is of tame, but a fear of the
Civilian is that though of relief.
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 of existence?
In youth that we sought that we only feel
That is none birth of the mind is thus that
The death 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
The 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 with what
That of refusal of inspire tune of heavenly heft.
Those of jest heft bare not the uncouth solitaire
Of 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 seduction.
Her loose arm that pits thy shadow over shady leaf
And fallen grievance of amounted unsevered
Matrimonial illness. But angels we desire of
Presence that hope with eternal glee of marriage
That falsely speak of ever ness manifold.”

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.