Phantasy of E.

For: Emma Watson

A confession during this celebratory holiday season:
There have been many joyful causes,
But joy, for this heart stems from only one reason...
..My Goddess seen in snapshot pauses.

Every womanly feature flashes;
Blinking shutters, my heart and each eye shudders.
Methodical thoughts from poetic cache
At your image, alone, are jumbled; my ink stutttersss.

There is something inside which I cannot explain;
A feeling which courses, I cannot contain.
Electrified just seeing you, my emotions explode.
So far a uni-direction connection, you the cathode, I the diode.

There is no one who can compare with such a glamorous sight;
Every inch of you is flawless, radiating with a celestial light.
You are an angel, beyond impeccable, confined in human form.
In the cold and dark, your image keeps the heart bright and warm.

The stars littering the universe are dull when I compare:
The strings in string theory, to one strand of your shining hair.
Your face is gorgeous, each freckle is enchanting.
My eyes trace the frame, your countenance is entrancing.    

Both of your hazel eyes are guides to my soul
When I`m fractured and lost in an Inferno.
Plus each irresistible lip, the sum of the whole,
Your smile is Beatrice - my Paradiso.
The arch of each eyebrow, from base to keystone,
Outline the gates which lead to heavens throne.

I search for words which could possible describe...
These thoughts of you intoxicate, such grace to imbibe.
I try to describe the ambrosia I`ve never been tasted...
On your looks and voice, nature saw that nothing was wasted.

No measure, to all I would sacrifice to know "you";
Not only the exterior, but the interior aspects too.
The fortunes of Atlantis, buried in the briny deep -
Rubbish compared to treasure held in your hearts keep.

Not just the accessories, the accouterments, but also the seams;
Each stitch, doubt, and fear - material of your fantasies and dreams.
Suspended in imagination... the combination of delicate legs, arms,
And personality... Running towards your spell, reaching for your charms.

The absolute perfection of your womanly geometry
Fills each neural fiber with the utmost ecstasy.
Every Point, Line, Segment, and symmetric contour;
And it`s Plane to my heart every Angle I adore.

To Morpheus I pray: take all I am, but take not her smile away.
You are my Elysium; in fields of dreams, with you, I lay.
To you Emma, one more thing I would say:
I wish you the best and Merry Christmas on this day.

Composed By: A.D.

A Deified Image

The winds exhale, and blow,

On a flame; causing a momentary flicker,

But the fire continues to grow.

Breath within a casing made of wicker,

Congregation awaits the show.

Silently the effigy is set ablaze.

An aura, a circle is now clear,

Surrounded by degrees of rays.

Each new cycle, each sphere,

Represents a new level or phase.

Unseen is seen,

Despite smoke and shades of gray.

Invictus Selene,

Rearranging the moon and Sun day -

Clay is a dream.

Above, the moon and stars burn without tire;

Below, cyclic hands revolve.

Terrestrial consumed in flames, celestial rises higher.  

Watching the images dissolve;

Only one sacrifice can bring you what you truly desire.

Composed By: A.D.

The Apple (II)

Winter impending, surrounds the empty branches.

The mind leaves, thoughts like leaves in gusting breath.

Emotion is exposed, as each structure advances;

Barren trunk, as a solitary petal tumbles toward death.

The only firm ground found, for relief,

Is: the failing foundation – of belief.

With fading sight, the jet overtakes all;

Dreaming, for her light – the eyes blindly call.

In that impenetrable darkness, I am taken by the hand,

And am effortlessly led by each loving command.

Her shine is resplendent, an ever-illuminating guide;

On the temporary, temporal, journey through the divide.

Next to her, I am left to wonder if: I am still alive?

When back in the wood where we first met, we arrive.

Under Oak and Mistletoe, near the sparkling stream, we recline;

Poetic infertility and poesy`s poisons are cured in her shrine.

On my chest, she is secure in my bold grasp;

Our hands interlocked, our fingers – the clasp.

The last time we were together, rash youth filled our faces;

The past however, for now, maturity and wisdom replaces.

Watching the moon slowly rise, all is suspended and taciturn.

I observe how she has changed. The physical differences I attempt to define;

As we lay captivated by each other, locked in our embrace and affection.

Her hair and eyes are, now, many hues of brunette and auburn.

“But, to describe such beauty is beyond my ability…” my thoughts opine;

“…What time believes it changes, has only added to her flawless perfection”.

She places her hand upon my cheek,

Softly caresses, and begins to speak:

“Time – it is the brook, in the background.

Listen to the earthen bed below, as it tickles

The stream; and the joyful water, as it trickles.

Focus on the music, the liquid bubbling, the instruments and laughter.

Ever-flowing joyous tones – hear? They`re here! Ever-going – gone soon after.

Only in memories, do the melodies have sound”.

“Well then, I want you to know, I lov…” I attempt to confess;

She stops me short, with lips of unimaginable sweetness.

I stare at her ensnared, utterly, and hopelessly lost in the radiance of her glow.

Realizing, it is true that: the depths of her mind and soul, I may never know;

But for now, no more is needed than growth, love, nature, and time`s fatal flow.

Deeper I`ll dive, delve further into her sea, wishing and hoping she`ll reward me

With the incalculable treasure, the love of her heart – this gift, represents eternity

(Besides, I would rather suffocate with her, than live without her personality).

Sitting there, our contemplations are pleasant, our countenances are silent.

Each second our intense ardor grows; investments are doubled by words not spent.

This connection is amplified like the waves from an echoing lyre;

The bond elevates beyond space and time, towards eternity and higher.

The fancy and folly, for which these mortal desires used to have such longing

Are all futile; here with her all hopes and dreams have a sense of belonging.  

I know, I know, I am no more than a star in the universe`s infinite skies –

Gravitating and revolving around her – my soul is consumed by her eyes.

Her gentle glance is the only time which I ever be in (or see) paradise;

A look from her celestial vision, and how can earth ever again suffice?

With no more than her kiss, my every need she will have nourished.

Our lips meet, existence ceases, then they part; and life is replenished.

Eternal love to and from my Goddess, she is my Moirai.

My muse beyond comparison and comprehension; her love it fills my veins.

My eyes open. Briefly, the vision is the color of Phi;

And I notice Sothis sits, her loving flames brightening the once-dim frames.

Composed By: A.D.

Oh, and for those who check out the blog from other countries: Spasiba, Valare upakaaram, Merci beaucoup (I took the top three countries, so if I missed you language I am sorry). I have been studying/working on writing in French, Russian, and Latin. I don`t expect to be able to speak the languages (but hope to try anyway), but hopefully I will be able to produce some poetry in those languages shortly. I`d rather not rush it though, and ensure that I am not being disrespectful by axe-ing someone`s native tongue (there are times when I can barely speak/write in my own though, so don`t judge me too harshly).

I`d just like to say thank you to whoever gave me the +1 on Google! You are awesome and I am glad that you like some of the pieces :). To everyone else thank you for visiting and checking out the blog. I hope everyone has a great day.

Illimitable Spiral

This life - rotates in constantly circular motions, my friend;

Concessions, metronomes continue to vend.

Like the symbols in the strokes of this inky current;

The various invariables, the fundamentals  

Often contradict – divergent, yet are concurrent.

An endless sphere of increases – each is incremental.

Similar emotions, different amounts.

Clocks: the finite tallies – and the infinite counts.

Track along the circle – this spiraling trend…

This course is parallel and inverted,

This course is one that will blend;

This course is never diverted,

The answer must arrive at the end.

Wheels in the mind is spinning - rolling with doubt;

Methodical, cyclic, in a bout about…

…About what exactly? Can anyone tell:

The vices of heaven, the virtues of hell?

Perhaps the two of them – are inverted,

Perhaps the two somehow blend,

Perhaps the two are never diverted,      

Perhaps there`s an answer in the end?  

…Pursue the circle, pursue the spiraling trend.

Neurological – the estimates and counts;

Veridicality arrives in minute amounts.

Each increase in the understanding is Incremental.

Knowledge and ignorance are curiously concurrent.  

While the aspect of life – which is most fundamental,

Is the seconds and hours passing – in the current.

This life - rotates in constantly circular motions, my friend;

Concessions, metronomes continue to vend.

Composed By: A.D.

The Apple

The Apple 

The imagination searched for inspiration, 

Through old leaves without cessation;

When the ears fancied they heard a song 

From a plover (the chirping of my lover),

On a distant birch calling my spirit to her perch.

So, without fear the essence followed along.

The full moon above was cairngorm, 

As I searched for her melodious form.

Led past ash and alder, from my vast stone city. 

Flying counsel multiplies, the journeying  heart complies;

Heeding her advice, which was given once, twice, thrice.

I arrived at a cache, a dale with a pool so pretty.

There, by the motionless stream,

(Clothed in Eden) was a bathing dream.

I grew faint from her perfect feminine allure.

Her silken hair billows, like the branches of willows;

Flowers of whitethorn, her moonlit skin; hair like fresh corn.

Held in restraint, my soul enthralled, body in adoring barm. 

I stood rooted, like an oak, her humming lips were the color of holly.

Then, her eyes shed my thickets cloak; and I swooned, like an archers volley.

When I came to, I was supine; her azure oceans were locked on my hazel brines.

O, to taste her ocular wine - the four intertwined- two pairs of optical vines.

Reality was inverted, her smile like ivy, I completely infected;

And yet, curiously, each moment I felt the grin curatively effected. 

Confusion. No sense of past or present tense.

Illusion? The mind dense, feelings - intense.

Stasis and suspense.

I must know if she is merely a reverie!

Do the eyes truly see - perceive that she is a descendant of Calliope?

Could it possibly be - in chrysolite  grove, a modern Aphrodite?

Still she, with her stare, suspends all foolish enquiry .

Caressingly she feeds me, her labium delicacy;

Moist ambrosia, pomegranate captivating efficacy.

What is time, to our passionate osculation? 

Our intimate copulation defies all calculation.

Her hips like the full moon - rises then dips;

My lips are the horizon and await the celestial trips.

Hands like the branches interlocked and sultry as they sway;

The sound of rustling, and amorous glances, as the leaves play.

Poetic lust and sincere love in juxtaposition,

Fusion occurs, as a dyad morphs into a single position.

Her desire is unyielding, and her body is limber;

I in ardor, am obsequious, but my flesh is timber.

She is the bark which conceals the lumber.

The body and social punctilios - do not encumber.

Hidden within her integument, no longer empty;

Despite quivers and shivers, her legs don't flee.

Pleasure arrives in endless waves - undulating motion;

Simultaneously it came, both our culminations.

She drenches with inspiration, I with supplications;

In one final orgastic crest, we become a tranquil ocean.

We lay without shame, tame, guiltless on the sylvan shore.

Flames still dress each frame, despite bodies covered in the downpour.

Finally the most gently kiss,

I unexpectedly awake from the trance.

But I can still feel the bliss

Of my absolutely angelic nymph, and fee her loving glance. 

Composed by: A.D.

Communication System (Temp Name)

With a signal, the sisters, nine

Sew threads from their divine spindles 

Into synapses along the spine 

As each degree revolves and dwindles

The reaction - initially inconsequential 

But, like the time between light and switch 

The cells fire - initiate action potential 

Their agent mimics their every stitch

Firing

The poet, in this age of technology 

Is divided - inspirational mitosis 

From Muses, nature, and mythology;

But, "forgets-them-not" - myosotis 

Depolarization 

Instead the lines focus on the beauty 

To be found in the progress of humanity  

Like the Planck epoch in primordial space

We began with matter unrefined and base

From ignorance and bellicose obstruction 

Advances were paid by the sweat and blood of the brave

Overcome with intelligence and pacific promotion

This new course the globe continues to pave

From tribal discord and clamor - senseless violence 

The race has grown (like submerged seeds

Into Harmonia, concord and accord -Pan's reeds)

Toward the sky and a universal alliance 

Repolarization

The disconnected campfires provided dim illumination at night

Once the only vision below the celestial sphere.

Now, in stations (above the terrestrial) new sights appear

The planet is a unified dendritic network of electrical light.

Each new wave of scientific understanding crashes 

On the archaic superstitious shore

And the logic of crystalline evidence washes

Away, the suppositions traced before

Hyperpolarization 

Color, sex, sexual preference

Along with nationality - once a source of oppression and animosity 

Now merely a matter of appearance

Minor relevant differences revealed to be no more than G-C, A-T.

Folly - to war over old lines in the sand

When galactic exploration offers new land

Folly - every separate banner that is unfurled 

When everyone's a citizen of this one world 

Folly - doubts we don't all see eye to eye

Tell me what sun and moon fill your sky?

Though negativity may color our airs and the N-E-W-S

With doubtful greys and deterring blues,

Positive and hope, are the Aeolus 

Often subtle, until awoken, then a forceful stimulus 

Resting potential 

With the final cords of their chords sewn

The envoy returns to resting potential 

Earth revolving, once again silent, alone

Clock ticks, can one degree be instrumental?

Comfort - from their information is left on the mind

Electro-chemical signals - evidence 

Of their melody, on the memory, clearly defined 

A loving memento of their presence.

Composed By: A.D.

Antediluvian

Prince Nemo was dry, known to be somewhat phlegmatic.

His disposition was as rigid as his dogma.

One night, however, his arid personality became aquatic;

Due to an internal deluge, caused by Ogma.

The current was flooded with new impressions, 

The waters were convoluted by diurnal digressions.

The ship, the intellect, began sailing through waves of information.

The surges shading - saturation pervading the imagination.

The vessel and the tenets seemed indubitable;

But by observing each crest and trough - the amplitude 

Of every new, lucid, and distinct oscillation

(Solids - liquescent, with each fluctuation)

The container began to sink, the false anima and airs laid nude.

The hull - the sure doctrines - now felt unstable.

His cognizance uncertain, asunder in oceans and perilous mains.

He abandoned ship, perplexed and vexed within (and by) his crown.

He was disconcerted, as the magnitude of the drink continued to rise;

Once shallow, now depthless and level with (also streaming from) his eyes.

Bewildered in the aqueous dark and cold - forsaken - prepared to drown,

But then the craft of Brighid rescued his reins from the rains...

... And from this state of apathetic nonentity -

Her captain provided him a fresh, unique, identity.

Composed By: A.D.

Reflections

Listen – as the cold liquid plays, trickling into the drain;

To the melody in the hypnotic waterfall.

The whirlpool, in its spiraling descent, is growing.

There is a siphonic beckoning, the pipes can`t contain -

A swirling, symphonic, echoing sprawl;

As the recollections swell, like a sapphire wave flowing.

Caught in time`s flux (its emotionless motions),

Ticks and tocks, are the drips and drops.

A half-hung head spins, clogged with notions,

Splashes ring as the faulty faucet – never stops.

The mind is flooded, and it can hardly apprehend

The cyclonic thoughts, which stream and twist.

Once dissipated memories, now gather and accumulate;

Solitarily they are transparent, but opaque in aggregate.

On arrival, they cloud; like fresh steam and mist…

A haze of errors – foggy mistakes, time cannot mend.

The condensation – pooled upon the mirrored glass

Now, recedes and slowly fades; like the mystical morning dew

Kissing the wilting emerald blades, on a torrid dawning day.

The water ceases to accrue; but, as the minutes pass,

A stranger`s stare – the fallen optics notice – is precipitating into view.

Two empty eyes, barren silence – as all else drains away.

Composed By: A. D. 

Captivity

I sought to please God

And it felt rather odd;

I sought to please the Devil

And felt a tormenting spell;

I sought to please You

And felt nothing “true”;

So, I sought to please me

And felt completely free.

Composed By: A. D.

Dust

Let us spend a temporary

Period, lost in life

With simple joys like friendship

Our companions on this mortal trip

Sorrow is a rubber knife

Loneliness is a weak adversary

For in this stasis

We can spend forever

An accessible hiatus

Where we can be together

Taking pleasure in nature

United in perfect unity

To negativity and all un-pure

Our hearts develop immunity

Forget the wind upon our face

Forget to question, let feeling replace

Forget the why, and seek no trace

Forget the wind – our destination, the same place.

Composed By: A.D.

Lucid`s Dreams

http://mementoverba.blogspot.com/p/i-past-in-lucids-first-dream-he-felt.html

The Coloring Book

A child plays with a crayon,

Coloring inside (and outside) the lines;

Drawing his own canon,

His imagination constructs his guidelines.

Sketching specifications,

No concerns for outline – black and white.

No dogmatic limitations,

Scribbling in tones that are: dark and bright.

His wax intones,

The page fills with his charms.

Shapes – he clones,

New generations of crops on farms.

Colorful seeds re-sown.

The plants his hands harvest and reap,

When he has grown,

Will be the hues which – make him unique.

Daily, through trial

And error, he develops his ability.

He sharpens, and files

His style, and soon controls his artistry.

Knowledge he vehemently seeks,

As he learns to stay in the prescribed boundary.

Through a variety of techniques,

He adds depth to his personal kit, and quarry.

He feels a fresh creative rush,

As (now a grown man) he gladly exchanges

His old crayons for a brush.

Recycled paper to canvas – the medium changes.

He creates beauty;

By recreating his picturesque perception

(His sense of reality),

And with his work is met with mixed reception.

Still, free from the color book,

No longer held back by a predetermined standard;

Forward – never back – he will look,

And others promote him to a creative commander.

“Free at last,

Free at last” once (unwittingly) a slave,

In the past.

“In the past...” those regrets, no longer engrave.

However, after “forever”…

The adult illusion

Begins to lift – and “freedom” degrades.

He`s left in confusion,

And into ancient innocent memories he fades…

…He stands staring, at a figure, across an impassable temporal canyon.

From his present longitude and latitude,

There is a sense of rectitude and servitude;

And his soul longs, to travel to the other side – to the child with his crayon.

Composed By: A.D.

In the Net

Amidst the tree branches; the sage explosions – fragmented –

Suspended in their frozen galaxy, is the universe is represented.

Higgs-boson particles, adrift in every crevice.

The ever-growing photosynthetic nebulae

Are connected – knees, and ankles – fibulae.

Two telescopes merely penetrate the surface

But, with microscopes (and electron radiation),

The lens can achieve greater magnification.

Scope is analyzing atomic level diameters,

And is grasping the complexity of the system;

“Invisible” interactions in the root and stem,

And deducing the slowly shifting parameters.

How the nature’s laws interplay and weave; like our moods,

Full of subtle relations – the thoughts affecting the attitudes.

Those celestial objects circulating in the galactic brine

Mimic, the psychology of the homo-homo-sapiens species;

Our genetic materials and motivations holds equal mysteries,

And soon all things equally troublesome to term or define.

Still, the most curious aspect (often found)

Is: What is layered in perplexing complexity,

Somehow, pales to effects of sacred simplicity.

The seemingly plain – can be plain, astound.

The ambient associations between the fabrics all around

Has a way, when information is re-viewed, to be simply profound.

Composed By: A.D.

Sectio Divina

“Pleas'd with his idol, he commends, admires,

Adores; and last, the thing ador'd, desires.”

1.Around the time when the night had begun,

6 In the dim light of electric wicks;

1 Numerals, within his mind, slowly spun.

8 The minute hand pursues each hour of fate;

0 And similarly, his cognition begins a chase.

3 Starting with an invocation, a supplication, a plea;

3 Asking God and the Muses to: set the thoughts free

9 And to direct his Will, toward his grand golden design.

8 Just then, as if some force lifted the mental weight,

8 The pressure of his task – his intellect felt start to abate.

7 So like the sculptor Phidias, his hands write…

4 …He feels the ivory, her every sensual contour;

9 Concealed in a pentagon, hidden in a coarse shrine.

8 His eyes picture, ingest, and savor her every trait;

9 His senses dine on her beauty, features so fine.

4 He could have died satisfied, lost in irises – nothing more.

8 Woman is Nature`s magnum opus, beyond debate.

4 Soon he would spring her from the stone`s core,

8 But at the moment, he felt sleep calling sedate.

2 To his adoration of female perfection (for now) adieu,

0 And he took his rest, next to her slab prisons base.

4 Drilling into his drifting dreams he feels her image bore.

5 Her pleasant voice buzzing like bees in his brain`s hive.

8 Her glamor and charm, how could any ever replicate?

6 Now, together their souls blend, and form a perfect mix.

8 Though other women he admired, each in her own way great;

3 This one was the symbol – the conception of perfection was she.

4 With her nearby, he forgot every other pointless chore;

3 And by her soft silver eyes, he became an adoring abductee.

6 Upon her delicate, satin skin she places his hands, and they transfix;

5 Behind her soft breasts, her heartbeat reveals: she is truly alive.

6 Lying together their bodies enfold, entwine, and fix – sticks.

3 Each person had become the other`s willful detainee.

8 He moved his head to kiss her, a desire he could not sate;

1 But when he felt her warm lips, like the rays of the sun,

1 He awoke and looking around – he saw there was no one.

7 When the eyes stare at the golden orb, vision with glare – will fight;

7 The same struggle ensues in his imagination, lost in a doldrums flight.

2 Yet, in that momentary dreamy luster, the glistening celestial hue;

0 He felt a sense of clarity, lend his spirit, its loving embrace.

3 He calculates: reality and fantasy, creative strife and glee;

0 and the dimensions of a golden triangle, he starts to encase.

9 Returning to the statue, he sets to work, touch caresses her spine;

1 Eventually, through her wavy marble hair his fingers lovingly run.

7 All the while his heart wishes she had life, with all of its might.

9 Daily he circles her, soon he admires the shape of her firm behind.

8 For all his instruments, his tools, cannot free life from her alabaster state.

0 Over time, like a needle which works repeatedly to make lace;

5 His craft sculpts the attributes, from his dreams each one will derive.

7 The craftsman’s lonely labor is his greatest joy, and a cursing plight.

6 His social life is enclosed by rocky barriers, and mental bricks.

2 He only understands this apparition, gorgeous aspect, and spectral view.

8 Like the others, he is endlessly caught, artists left to creatively contemplate.

6 He makes progress, and at times, she seems almost alive – his mind plays tricks.

2 The signs of sentient affection, he has always tended to misconstrue.

1 In the way sentiments of attraction, by neglect and time are undone;

3 He too feels his attention and concentration, attempting to try and flee.

5 Still – toward his aspiration, he forges forward, and continues to drive.

4 His skin is dry and dusted, but soaked in his desire – a torrential downpour

4 While a traveler stands on the threshold, staring out of their front door.

8 He`s been sculpting every early daybreak, into the evening hours late;

6 And to every freshly made curve, his soul, he plans through volition to affix.

2 On her succulent lips, and her supple hips – her aesthetics sparkle through.

2 All the while, the outdoor scenery shifts. Poems in the swirling cloudy stew,

7 While stanzas twinkle, written on various coal pages of crystal midnight.

0 Stationary -he revolves around, his tools axis – her busts figure and face.

5 On occasion passerby’s laugh, as he laboriously toils, still he`ll strive.

2 He remains cemented to his current objective, he attached with glue.

6 Those jests, like his chisel on stone, small pains each chip inflicts;

0 But by the same incremental degrees, he loses touch with this place.

4 Those who abhor his labor – he forces his emotions, and reason to ignore;  

6 Much like the stone remains stationary, despite the actions of pricks.

2 The precision nicks, shaping, and developments accrue;

8 Miniscule additions, and subtractions, manipulate her slate.

1 He is inching closer (a few more taps), his anticipation, are shocks which stun.

8 One final blow, and the sum of her parts will conjoin and form an aggregate.

9 Then, suddenly his spirits suffer strange effects, resembling a plumb line.

0 He realizes: the excitement of completion – her completion – will erase.

2 She is stand ready, except for the final touch, then off to her grand debut;

4 And this factor, the departure, his heart neglected to account for.

4 With her unveiling to the world, solitude, the action – will restore.

9 In that moment he experiences a joyful sorrow, which is hard to define;

7 To lose his dream, his art, his love – represents his only mortal fright.

0 There, in his workshop indecisive, he begins to frantically pace;

7 But, makes a choice – he completes her with a loving touch – so slight.

2 To Venus – over time, all his desperate prayers amorously flew;

0 She hear his request, and delivers a Goddess`s grace.

7 Sullen, holding his cold creation, he feels heat inside the white.

2 Stepping back, he now stares at her eyes, which are deepest blue.

0 In shock, he feels his heart like horses gallop and race.

4 She speaks, he jumps, and she says that “You, to me are Amor”!

1 Now that, their work has reached its conclusion – is done;

8 Together in flesh; they can both finally, actually, relate.

9 They drift into the unknown; drunk with Love, the strongest sort of wine.

3 Together, they spend forever – sailing on a page, two on a vast sea.

9 The story: Pygmalion, with his Galatea, hidden in a golden mean – a section divine.

Composed By: A.D.

A Slice Of Pi

The ratio:

Three

Point One and Four.

The digit:

El-

Mentary,

Imperfect,

And

Totally pure.

Don`t know,

See,

Or feel the door;

But sense it,

Dwell-

Ing and explore.

We connect

(Blend)

What was obscure.

When winds blow,

The

Spirits will soar.

With our grit,

(Hell

And) mental war –

We dissect

(Rend),

From out of core.

Then, project

(Send)

From Gaea`s floor

(Angles writ -

Tel

Emetric score);

And we go,

Free

To look for more…

…Soon we find. shim. mering gold ore.

The portal. we. had searched for.

Hidden with. in. Three Point One Four.

Composed By: A.D.

(I need to do a secondary check on the syllables, I`m tired at the moment. I will revisit and do a secondary proof, tomorrow. Have a great night, and thanks for visiting the page. Enjoy)

"Gud styrke dig, hvor du i Verden går
Gud glaede dig, hvis du for hans fodskammel står
Her skal jeg vente till du komme igjen
Og vente du hisst oppe, vi traeffes der, min Ven!" – Solvieg’s Song

I

The perception is, as if, it was drenched in blood;

A small flash of crimson, in the vision – then a flood.

A crow spread its wings, and it takes to the skies;

So too – the fury spans, begins to rise, and rage flies.

Only a bit of control; bitter whispers, troll,

Echoing in the skull bone cave.

A zombie arisen from the grave;

Mouse wheel will scroll, louse starts to stroll.

His heart pumps defiantly,

His lungs breathe violently.

His heaven his hell – his haven his shell.

He is dust drifting through the wastes,

And the dry grains the mouth tastes.

The skin rains perspiration,

Covering like acid precipitation.

His flesh is adorned with lethiferous intaglio –

But, like heat from the ice – incisions are incognito.

From birth, sworn to repression, through social contract.

Married to death, no egression, life’s purpose to distract

The mind; from the inevitability of this deadly, nuptial union.

An artificial, solitary person; awaits genuine, total seclusion.

II

The way vocal onomatopoeia, reverberates in the loneliness

(Like those whispers he hears in his caverns emptiness);

His feelings encyclopedia registers an entry that’s mysterious,

In its distorted repetition, he at first classifies it as: delirious.

The shroud is shed. The sound waves, now, show (crowd waves at a show)

That the emotion (mis-categorized) is drawing near;

And with each new refrain grow more distinct and clear,

Propelling forward like oars row (moving closer and towards the first row).

His heart beat slacks;

Inhales, and exhales – relax.

His paradise, and purgatory – splice.

He is an oasis, to a voyager who has (restlessly) marched

Through desolation; that first cessation, of those who are parched.

His soul, now exposed, his ambrosia.

Tones balanced, and composed – synesthesia.

His spirit identifies the unknown sensation as: meridional;

Fluctuation between, mercurial and tranquil, peaceful and temperamental.

Adolescent ignorance, cultured affliction; but embraces (unknown) acceptance.

He lost care for the demise (irrevocable destiny). Each instant, a second chance.

He knew: the invisible wife, of his lonely life, would lead him to a common destination;

This brought on mortal intensification, and (perhaps) others await him, at final way-station.

Composed By: A.D.

The Secret Keeper

- "Canis lupus"

Late in the afternoon, I sat pondering in the concrete forest;

My thoughts wandering through the canopy, which was porous.

From my usual perch; I felt an unusual, lure of an ancient, alluring chorus.

Nine voices singing, tones rising and falling.

Nine times, I felt a drawing towards their calling.

Nine instances of my trepidation – stopping and stalling.

Like the tenth son, Sigmund, my body hung (as if upon a rung);

And like that honey-smeared descendant of the glorious Volsung,

By the tenth sun, from the mortal modern bonds – I was sprung.

Thus, in elation, I called out to the voices which spoke to me;

Desperate to have those spirits accept my plea, commitment in each knee,

Saying: “Provide my soul with the key, to unlock my mind, and set my spirit free”…

To this they, replied in, agree!

…Yet, they advised me, with a warning serenade

That: “Prior to ascertaining the next grade, you must first fade;

To have your conscious tried and weighed, by an ancient shade” – this, they bade.

So, before I knew it, I felt my attention dragged through a subconscious door.

I went past the threshold, of past fragments, and into something – more;

Old creations, and notes – runes reconstructed – grafted a fresh, new score.

I became the light, upwards, I (or the surrounding images) sped;

Within a jumbled tunnel, of sights and sounds, I traversed my head.

Abruptly, a flinch, a crash; and I saw only onyx, believing I was dead…

…However, I felt my vision swirl, in the endless streams of black.

I opened my eyes, at first, just cracked; and saw a sky’s mirror, looking back.

Disconcerted, one view was intact; a heavenly orb – I felt attract (a full Moon to be exact).

Patience, while I shall (poorly) attempt to express:

The deceptive perfection,

The perfect deception,

I had seen (at that time) in the strange wilderness.

Would – could – I describe the (still blurred) wood!

(The bewitchment, causes the pens voice to fail;

And any written portrayal, or comparison, is pale)

Like the environment, nothing illuminates where I stood.

As already stated, this area, was enveloped in night

(Save a sliver of shimmering silver light);

Therefore, to begin, could only sense sound.

Distant waves created the background;

Birch, Rowan, and Ash trees, swaying – so slight.

I also heard an owl in, her winged, flight.

Slowly, as my visual perception, had just begun to adjust

(My nostrils listening to the salty scent of the sea);

I noticed for the first time, the outline of the forest, I would see.

On some Weird sylvan island, I assumed I must be.

I attempted to deduce the location (the where),

And felt an overwhelming amnesia – no relief from scratching my hair.

After some time, I smelt smoke pervading the air;

Already forgotten my purpose, so I followed curiosity`s lust.

As I strode, a soft mist carpeted every step.

By only scents of direction, I was led, ahead I plowed;

As if, by a dread fervor, my form was swept.

The occasional screech, of the stalking owl, echoed aloud.

Her calls sliced, through the overall silence,

And cut into my courage – my intellect was in bitter defiance.

Regardless, the soles of my confused feet lunched;

On the bunched up dried leaves, which crunched – as toes munched.

Past Alder, Willow, and Hawthorne, I struggled – to remember how I came

To this plane, still forgetting all things – perplexed – my very name.

It was as if: some spying presence, against this would-be poet, plotted.

I walked further forward; and walls of fireflies, and insects, I swatted.

Eventually; the atmosphere, and toasted, smoke grew thicker.

I pressed on, and felt my pulse, and steps; both moving quicker.

I passed past lush flora, Oak, Holly, Hazel and Evergreen;

Beyond bushels of bushes, Vine, Ivy and the dikes in-between.

(Could I have recalled home, at that exact moment,

A splendid metaphor would have been evident – apparent: 

This grove was the crossroads of the world, on New Year’s Eve;

Before I go astray, through wild congestion I strayed, and continued to proceed).

Among the trees, their outlining, and fingers (which branched);

I followed the smell of cinder, to where a heavy vapor danced.

I cautiously drew closer; and noticed moonlight, joined another glow –

Among the crevices in branches, trunks, and thickets was brilliant shining show!

Ambers, citrines, sphenes, and rubies; shimmered, and flickered –

In my irises; the fire`s opal hues blazed, glimmered, and stickered.

Nearer, and nearer, the clearing; my ears heard logs crackling –

Clearer, and clearer, I was nearing; I thought, I heard cackling.  

“No…” I speculated, “…I`m fed up of my mind playing tricks”!

“Though…” my flesh, in the sticks, felt immersed in the river Styx.

“…Singing?” I noticed. I am unsure of what music Ulysses detected;

But, I reckoned that, this woman`s voice was: a sirens call – perfected.

My head, at that point in my journey, was in a total jumble;

Like, when an excess of punctuation, causes one to stumble.

I proceeded into a clearing, exiting out of the tree-line.

There, under the white Moon, I set my eyes on someone divine;

Next to the roaring fire, I saw a gorgeous woman`s back – nude.

I turned the sight, and cleared my throat, so as not to be rude.

Am I a man, and so; my chivalry, by instinct, was easily betrayed –

And these optics, peripherally, the sensually smooth body assayed.

In that instant, I felt as though, I was the father of Aeneas;

Like Venus, this Goddess, was elegant artistry – in a surplus.

The spirit of the fire danced, as the air began to blow, playing out taps;

And, these mortal eyes glanced at skin, as pure, as Olympus snow-caps.

Initially, she turned her head and reveled her pristine profile;

Her nose was hooked, and yet, her perfection was beyond denial.

Fresh blood, was the color of her moistened lips.

A bottle neck, was the shape of her barren hips.

Lapis lazuli’s sparkled, gemstones were her eyes;

While, mine traced the contour of her back, and thighs.

She subtly turned, completely, towards me – a full frontal perspective;

I mimicked, as well, all shy consideration – now shattered, and defective.

I was hypnotized by: the shapely mountains, and curved valley of her earth.

My flesh and bone tingled, invisible spiders, as I approached my full girth.

She began striding towards me with, an entrancing, crescent grin;

Under her spell, to the forest, all my adornments – were given.

The slim, champagne haired, deity took my hand; and led me, to her love den.

This journey, and memory (even, currently) is: that of the children of Hamelin.

I only remember: two together embraced, naked, coiled, and intertwined.

In ecstasy our carnal natures baked, bodies glistened soiled, and libidos were calcined.

Hands scratched and raked, reproductive plunders were spoiled, and the flesh was combined.

Our passion-making went on for an incalculable length – an eternity,

And though I felt only pure awe, and pleasure externally;

A foreboding terror, an ominous sense of error, filled each internal extremity.

I dismissed the cause, as that of surprise, and our potions were further mixed.

Obsessed with coitus, my entire essence was bound – to my master – transfixed;

Her legion of sutra tricks, her horde of curious licks, and her power kept me affixed.

Each break, we would lay; and she would play, grasping the haft.

On one occasion, my eyes grew wide with fear, and trembling;

Like two crazed madmen, my optics were opening, and resembling.

I felt (I would rather not say, but) two feelings: her lust on the shaft,

And the thrust of her jaws, upon my neck closing like jaws;

Her feasting on my throat, created an echoing applause.

Unaware, at first, my first reaction was that: of one blissfully daft.

It was not until, I noticed crimson sweat upon my chest;

That I sprung up in horror, realizing the trap of this fatal nest.

Her bite, had returned me to my better senses, and the cave`s aura switches:

Bloodstained bones, cobwebbed skulls, and splintered quills; lay in graves and ditches.

I wailed, the light became incense, and she transformed into many serpentine witches.

I stood in a pit of snakes; she stung me, with each repeated venomous addition.

My flesh rapidly swelled, my muscles – atrophy; and my soul was in perdition.

I fled, propelled, and impelled – solely by epinephrine, despite my poisoned condition.

I sprinted, but like a hare through the forest, she gave chase.

In horror, I screamed out, hopelessly – beyond any form of grace.

Running full speed, ahead; beneath an Elder Tree, I noticed a space.

My eyelids were starting to close, as I approached the only point of concealment.

I thought, I would reach the spot without a dent, when my back felt an indent.

Bones shattered, blood vessels burst, as her javelin hands puncture without relent.

It sounded like hail beating down on the roof of an automobile;

Each new puncture, boiled and spewed; fresh flesh, from the oven stuck with steel.

My gait as I approached the voids gate, was spiraling like the twist of a citrus peel.

Sobbing, sweating profusely, panting substantially, and throbbing in the hole I dove.

The depth was unexpected; and scared, scarred, and desperate descending I drove.

I was Alice, in anguish as I kept tumbling; aware and unaware downward my carcass would rove.

Upon reaching the root of the root, the bottom of that curious chute;

I lay broken on the base, and through cracked eyes, I noticed a short pathway.

The end of the channel appeared to lead back to my body

Standing, although dying and decaying; I hurried, feeling life left - stray.

I met, with one more test, one last spectacle of pure insanity;

A resolute wind began to shoot, trying to blow me back to, those in pursuit.

I heard the hags harrowing cries, and fought the infernal wind, which continued to rise.

My eyes closed, and I fell again; crawling, clawing towards the portal, before all hope dies.

In my heart, then I quit; but, ahead, I heard the low verses of my nine nymph allies.

Through a final push of the volition (I couldn`t hope to replicate), I gave my last breath to return.

Life from death, to my former position; against the winds of hate, every fiber burned.

In one last gasping effort; the foolish, frail Will revolved, and the spirit through (the door) returned.

Back into my normal reality I fell (mentally spent, but unharmed) strengthened by what I learned.

I sat still, smiling; although the meaning of the dreaming – I still struggle to discern.

Composed By: A.D.