He gallop'd like a feisty little bird
Or as writhy as an angry blew flame
To a sedated cloudy sea
A fortress of the brotherhood
The condescending brotherhood of sadness
Built with manly mellowy melody
Of flooded riverine eyes, and
A billion nauseatingly condensed nostrils
Of hopeless romantics
And a hapless one, the vehement one
Collected he, the panacea
Of the deadly beautiful pain
Joy! To a Kafkaesque lonely man
Joy! With luster on his doomed desire
Joy! His crispy fried heart sings
To a stridently demure maiden
Sheathed with silky Saracen scarlet
Such stupendous swagger!
Her heart dabs her head
With ironed tails of tailored hope
Of her heart's fearless conqueror
And his triumphantly marching songs.
Two galloping hearts sing
To a crystalline emerald future.
YOU ARE READING
Semiprecious Elysian Fields
PoetryThe whispers of the spirit of dead lovers can be agonizingly joyful, I have managed to collect the very best from my sleep. Read, digest and share. Thanks
