Secundus Journey

 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...

 All Past Girls Now Sunny Meadows Not much of a tale dare we speak of and also bitter the tongue that speaks of it now, a vile beast that looms. Long have I grown meadows that once sprinkled with ashes, that smell like love. Once banquet for eyes, now a husk. All the meadows that I grew, and dare I say, quite a few, ruptured a fragment of my soul leaving the shell of a man. All the girls that I loved smelled like sunny meadows. Reminiscent of that bloom fills the heart, and the heart that blooms. All the girls that I loved smelled like sunny meadows. Like a smell that shall never leave but alas, one you never preserve. All the girls that I loved smelled like sunny meadows. Stems made of passion to stem the blood that soaks the petals. All the girls that I loved once danced in my meadows. Often rainy, we, the wet peasant, devoured the gifted, the above. All the girls that I loved once laid their compassion to rest. Where the hollow meadow grasped soaked their souls with peace. All t...

By Henry Doubnez Imbued Verses Singing a song whose words I do not know, but reflections that are imbued to my soul losing to my mind's projections. The feeling is always the same, starting with a stimulation. A prospering combustion that strikes the heart, never fading. I stare at my verse, seeing your name, never stopping my flame. And they pray that we meet thy sight, une rose ornée d’épines. Don't want to live in a world where my verses wither, like a flag furled not to show, but to burn my spirit for an isolation, now split. Looking back now I realize all that is written, an epilogue. A plastic chapter dedicated and a world that was never real. Dressed like a mirror, hoping that you notice not to shatter but to prosper my heart's matter and see the beauty you bring. Surface is shattered, the shell is  gone and freeing what is within an empty tomb, yet une rose qui fleurit and what a scent, cleansing my tomb. If this is how a song ends, whisper it but only from you can ...

Namütenahi Sevda @swordandland Hasretten mecruh iki kalp, Uzun mecralar girmiş aralarına Mahdut bir iki yetersiz gün, Yetecek mi bu âşıklara? Galeyan eden özlem, taşıyor bedenden Gelmiş kavuşma vakti, bahtiyarlıktan sermest iki seven İhtiraz gözler, âlâ sözler Sanki serilmiş önlerine en güzel Şukufeler Her tafsilatı ayrı müzeyyen Havada latif bir hararet… Şatır handelerle işte iltizam olunan o an! Muhteris bir buse, titreyen iki beden Mümkün mü tevfik etmek zamanı? Ey arz, Gördün mü böyle bir mevzuniyet! Şedit hislere kifayet eder mi dakikalar? Bu iki zavallının tıynetlerinde ne kadarcık metanet var? Tek tesellileri tekerrür etmesi, ağlamak neye yarar? Bilirler, bitmeyecek bu müvellen seyranlar, kavuşmalar… Zaman nasibini alır bu işten, biraz övgü biraz sövgü ile Yâr döner memlekete, kuşunun kalbi ile birlikte Akılda kalan son iki boynu bükük cümle, bir vaveyla derinlerde “Ah sevgilim! Ne zaman avdet edeceksin bu biçareye?” Elbet ne nağmeler söylenir ve mısralar, bir dağın akarsuyu mis...

The World Is A Caterpillar The world is a caterpillar, With strings of life as a thriller, A gift bestowed upon me, the life And that I yearn for a strife. The world is a caterpillar And I feast upon your sight, a killer. Obnoxious like a man with a lingerie on his head? Like a caterpillar, eating it on bed with all threads dead. The world is a caterpillar And now collapsed a majestic pillar. Naked we came and shred our skins, Like a caterpillar, whimsical our sins. The world is a caterpillar And I am no lady killer. But I know how to steal strings And give my partner her wings.  The world is a caterpillar,   And in your presence, I am the hunger,   Nibbling at the edges of desire,   With every touch, I draw closer, higher.   The world is a caterpillar,   And in your embrace, I surrender,   We entwine like leaves in a whisper,   Shedding the weight of what we remember.   The world is a caterpillar,...

  Michele Giorgi ft. Claude Monet. "Ninfee" The girl who ran through my halls The moment I saw you running in my halls was when I knew that my love stalls. A moment, elapsed, washes over us, My final trope, where our eyes meet thus.   The burning sensation of inevitability washes over, Rehearse my words and consider me no pushover. Dwindle in dreams and reshape my quill, Thus cut it out and let the blood spill.   Dance me to the eclipse’s end where you Knew the cue for my heart’s true hue. A company, your naked hand is sheer bliss, A challenge to be lost in your eye’s abyss.   Now as my verses and lyrics run and roam your eyes The twin flames that surround my poetry is no more; Thus, I am free. Have I no understanding of a girl that burns the hand that writes? But to burn within the gaze of your sight is to reborn from my ashes, leaving behind dusk. And just as night time approaches, my verse like a beast, hunts the lady of a forest. Fret not, as to tame my verse is ...