Secundus Journey

  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 ...

  A Puritan Embodied of a mind puritan, Such a sacrilege to breathe The air you have and seethe For our eyes made him a madman.   Like a canvas hanging on my heart’s threads, Every memory succumbs to pillaging souls that once played in harmonious roles, Now lays deep on blood-soaked beds.   For a no one he was, with A dwindling spirit and death Consuming his rotten breath, His flame, now no more than a myth.   For a canvas she was, with Greatest of creations bestowed upon and a magnum opus showed, Her colors on a heart’s farm as a scythe.   He was no artist, yet he saw The ripped sight of the maw That harnessed the invitation to hell That bid the greatest farewell.   My name is death and I find it beautiful to sin. Where a drink is what you deny, I leavy my mark with a grin.   The beauty to sin as a man, crafty, is to become your verdict’s vigilante. The wine’s delight is like a bell cor...