Secundus Journey

  Me, The Mere Worshipper We, the mere worshippers, for gods and goddesses of our hearts. The wits or the sight shall we claim arbiters? Such sacrilege of affairs' arts. Now lies, perhaps miles, above a statue, calling my name to turn me a devotee. With what lies beneath of all hues, Perhaps her sight, for all this, a key. A statue, perhaps, isolated, Yet it swarms us with belief. A hand, perhaps, desolated, to ensure a journey, hoping not brief. Surrounding us, a shell cracked, To witness thy light, my appreciation. Enveloping your visage, to distract, Serves as evidence for Lord's creation. Would I be my Orpheus to herald the footsteps in my heart's sand? Or perhaps, to carry my path whorled like Isis to Osiris, 14 times my love's grand. For mere worshippers, your sight a creation and a flock flowing with heart-shaped ears. A ration of our love, our hands as oars of damnation to steer the years and pierce hearts with spears. Your temples, irreligious, where we meet, m...

Jesus Calming the Storm - Gustave Doré Chanting Beneath Chanting beneath the doors we cannot reach, to drive us from being happy, for what shall we preach? Behind the glass lie glass hearts between walls of glass, Tearing souls en masse, without the brass, turning us into mass. To what degree may it feel extreme for thee? To watch the sea of mass or to make us plea? Rivers red, skies blue, hearts dark, With a world none other than stark. An experimental poem. May or may not serve any purpose. Regardless, it enriches this gallery. Created using 4 words: Happy, glasses, extreme, and colorful.

Lektionen - Malin Mellryd Of Towers and Gardens Afar from the castle, beseech, lies a bloodied petal, clasped by a leech. Yet, atop the castle remains a man, his thoughts a dungeon, his mind a den. What is a man if no observer? Driven by passionate fervor Engulfed by flames, ferocious And to witness you, a crime atrocious. Yet, even if the dipping blood runs through stems yours and mine, cutting tongues. The garden owns not the man, nor the castle. a facile recrimination, worthless hassle. Castle o' man, such bloom and gloom, As the petal feigns, it creates his tomb. Why a petal not to be taken for granted becomes the torment, his heart has chanted. Whose grace does it beleaguer? A confrontation, hollow, yet eager. The scent of soil, her bloom harmonized  la soul decart, baptized. If and when the castle collapses, Thy time is now, one hand relapses. All but none, we the devotees of your harvest, now drowning in soil, in your farthest. But it is not the drop of blood, Nay, to sust...

  M. C. Escher - Omhulsel AMOUR A is for an arrow of fate, thrown by Eros while         autumn leaves falling, surrounding us          not without its void, creating abandonment          like an abyss, once gone, the arms surrounding us. M is for memory, which besieges our temple,          yet like a mist in which you wander,          moments to disappear, with and against          like a moonlight that guides us -- your visage.   O is for oblivion, like a lovelock,          orbiting around the veil I am shattered.               Perhaps to invite open hands or                    oceans to drown me in vastness, comfort, or danger. U, for all me, to unite loose soul threads          and we...

The Nurse And I quote, "To have such essence paving way for our heart's incandescence is heresy within souls' verity and shaking me, pure asperity." No fall on Earth is reminiscent of such a visage, leaving fidelity sufficient. Trembling me from a far is no miracle, yet here you are, an account lyrical. Beheld in the visions of blazing thoughts melting hearts as I am praising. An aspect of beauty blooming petals every step and an heart cannot settle. Two wanderers, one ablaze from a moment, fractured, gazing upon Her as a heaven, fallen, enraptured. And Her, an image of imagination, fecund, An idea, shunned, and each step, stunned. What is a man if not a pursuer of dreams to bring forth hands connecting at seams? Alas, this but a mere moment, fractured, and there my image, in awe, captured. A sense of wonder and reverence, fleeting between my feet, treating it as a meeting with no unity and a greeting, repeating a heart that is heating and a purpose, self-defeating. H...

 The Sundial in the Garden The Sundial in the Garden —after afternoons unwitnessed Beneath the cloisters' sighing shade, Where ivy grieves the stone, I stand where lovers softly laid Their secrets into bone. I, time’s obedient servant, stay— A brass throat kissed by sun— Yet no warm hand has turned my way, Nor touched the hours I run. Around me drift the springtime pairs, With hair like drifting flame; Their fingers write in midday airs What I could never name. A head upon a chest reclines, Their temples in duet; Their breath explores each other's spines— A pact the soul forgets. I mark each pulse. I hear the knee Brush softly against thigh. Their shadows curl around the tree As mine just points and dies. Their laughter, like a distant song, Spins circles in the air— Not unlike that endless wheel That winds the windmill’s stare. They trace the arches of the brow, The jawline's sacred bend. The lips are doors they enter now And I, outside, preten...