Tag Archives: verse

Night Traveler

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Into the heart of the dark woods, she saunters

where the ravens of Odin watching, ascending

the stairways of shadows hanging over the trees;

In the trail of the terrible mystery, she travels

with the hounds of Artemis howling, descending

The mountains of memories scattered on the grounds;

Where she goes, she knows not

But the fate of a ghost she knows;

Wandering by day, haunting at night

Always a stranger among strangers,

a changeling belonging to naught

Drifting into the maze, she follows.

Euphoria

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I ride on the wings of the wind

Flying high o’er the mountains

Across the deep, vast oceans

Touching the lovely fluffy clouds

Breasting the pure sea breeze

In the soft sweet hues of sunset

Lingering in the dazzling twilight

And find my star shining bright.

treason of fate

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The stupendousness of darkness

In a vortex of chaos in treason

Against sovereignty of ambition

By divine immaculate conception

From the union of Psyche and Eros

In the spiritualization of sensuality

thru the enslavement of the Sense

into the ecstatic hands of desire

for absolute adoration evermore

touching the soft tissues of delicacy

of the latticework for the casement

of the soul thru which her majesty

is seen spinning a wheel of mystery

with an eagle telling her the world

he has seen, diffusing the wind of

wisdom to his beautiful solitary queen

whose heart thrilled, reason satisfied

defies her freedom of Love and Reason

and keeps her in his cellar of isolation.

 

P.S. What has happened to the departments of the cerebral control tower? Common Sense is falling out; Cogitation is shaking; Memory is debilitating; Imagination is trying, and Estimation is fumbling. Is this case of Aphasia? Or in the worst scenario Dyslexia, even? If so, then let it be. But memento this. Writing is not a prerogative of the pedantic. You can be boastful of writing excellent prose with a talented assistant of the brain, but never be full of yourself of touching the more excellent tissue of the heart with passion. Shakespeare was of small Latin, less Greek.