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Literature Text
Flattered by the gossamer glow of a blushing moon,
I scour the poppy-fields for the opiates of inspiration,
the petals brushing against my bare thighs; easing
the tense creases in my neck into shivers down my back.
What wanton joy, as I wander and wade in this sea of red,
the waves of flowers parting before me, waltzing with
the silent wake of my footsteps. I could saunter on forever,
holding nightfall by the waist; nature at my beck and call.
Why do you blush, moon? Is it because of how stark naked
I appear before you, disrobed by your own coaxing caress?
All cares do I brush aside, when on the night you do preside,
and aloft the cloudless sky, gild gleaming eyes with wonder.
Why does Dorian linger in that gray opium den for a whiff
of oblivion, when you could soothe him to sleep with but a blink
of your lidless eye? In a dream would we saunter on forever,
watching nightfall go to waste; nightly would we call out to you,
but you would never answer...
I scour the poppy-fields for the opiates of inspiration,
the petals brushing against my bare thighs; easing
the tense creases in my neck into shivers down my back.
What wanton joy, as I wander and wade in this sea of red,
the waves of flowers parting before me, waltzing with
the silent wake of my footsteps. I could saunter on forever,
holding nightfall by the waist; nature at my beck and call.
Why do you blush, moon? Is it because of how stark naked
I appear before you, disrobed by your own coaxing caress?
All cares do I brush aside, when on the night you do preside,
and aloft the cloudless sky, gild gleaming eyes with wonder.
Why does Dorian linger in that gray opium den for a whiff
of oblivion, when you could soothe him to sleep with but a blink
of your lidless eye? In a dream would we saunter on forever,
watching nightfall go to waste; nightly would we call out to you,
but you would never answer...
Literature
while reading poetry
you read this poem upside down
on your bed, blankets curled
on the floor like a sad dog.
you hope the new perspective
will provide new understanding.
stop that.
stop trying to understand.
you are reading this poem by the edge
of the ocean and the birds circle over
your head like a feathery halo.
your heart pumps to the beat
of the waves which no longer crash
but whisper.
you try to catch what they are saying,
only catch sea foam in your hair,
and sand between your teeth.
stop that.
stop thinking that everything in this world
is here to teach you something.
sometimes things exist just to be.
try it sometime,
maybe afte
Literature
blue
Was it mere months ago;
the span of
a lifetime for a crab.
Who would say?
But I knew it was years-
my own lifetime ago.
Where would I be if
I hadn't sensed it up my spine,
on the back of my neck-
if I hadn't felt you walking
aimlessly on the strand.
I was oblivious to the cold,
even as I quaked from the wind
as sunset approached.
I had to know,
now that you existed.
The world was monotone,
even the waves from
within the shells sunken
in the wet sand at low tide
before the last of daylight blinked
from the fog rolling in.
It happened at breakwater-
I laid eyes on you for the
first and
Literature
The Scent of Lilacs
Shopworn stones atop fresh moist dirt; how many
kids dug-in filthy handed, searching for treasures
or building castles. Pink pinched cheeks we attempt at
reliving our childhood; more beautiful with each a passing day.
Each day - nothing is the same.
They grew one day; out of spite, resentfulness,
paper rolled memories-cigarettes burn. You said -
you always said - it's all too messy. How can they
let them grow, with their pale purple crowns and their gentle pride worn,
above all that dirt-digging?
The scent of lilacs fills my chest with remorse
no brown-sugar curls, pearl teeth, aluminum eyes
So beautiful each day. They
Suggested Collections
laudanum - a concoction of opium used as a narcotic or for pain relief.
dorian - Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.
thanks
dorian - Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.
thanks
© 2009 - 2024 Leurindal
Comments75
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And I love Oscar Wilde.