The Mourning of Lost TimeFrozen lace, cold and uncontrolling,The Mourning of Lost Time
Falls, placing its intricate weaves
Upon your unknowing shoulders. My size envelopes your body,
As you bury your face in my chest.
Can you feel stone within me, Hear the story of sorrow and anger? Woven gold falling from my fingertips, As I contemplate the impossiblities Of the actions that have led me
To the doorstep of destiny.
I am witnessing the needle
Weaving through the air Bound to the Sisters that control The fates of men. Then I traverse the labyrinth
Of my vocabulary,
Searching desperate
An Opera Of ScreamsA resounding choking sound rises,An Opera Of Screams
With the plumes of death
As the breaths of the innocent
Are carved from lungs,
By the enveloping smoke.
The flickering light in the distance,
Can you catch it, that eluding destiny.
The black settles upon the horizon,
The mistake surrounding your eyes,
As the crackle of timber,
And the smell of burnt plaster consume you.
The music that plays tonight,
An opera of screams.
Let the ash settle upon your lapel,
Proof of a complete indifference,
As the mark of pain sears flesh.
Flames giving birth to spar
A Living StormThese feathers surround our heads, As a raging hell gives life Into a solemn world. Wind whipping pastA Living Storm
Stealing breath From our lips, as they touch, In the darkness of heaven.
The torrents, the piercing noise, Are the only sounds
That can distract us
From the passion That lives within.
How soft you are, Pressed close to my chest. The beat of hearts,
A gauge, an equation, To the unexplainable.
We are overtaken
By emotion, As fury crashes the world, And we're joined as one, As the last bolt strikes.
A Desire of SensesWords pouring slowly now,A Desire of Senses
Ceaseless, flowing,
From lips that cannot be
Traced as mere human.
The scent of lust,
Paints a picture,
Broad strokes covering
The canvas of your subtleties. The colours you so desperately Try to hide behind,
Are washed, faded
As you unveil your intentions,
In blessed precarious movements.
Does your will control you? Consumed by desire, Soft honey glides along my face,
As your hair brushes near,
An intoxicating feeling of
Brushed gold and woven satin.
Can I taste that which I long,
T
SoHe's the wrong kind of guy for me - has all the right words with the wrong meanings but I want him because he understandsSo
what it means to be lonely and I thought we could be lonely together, lonely forever. But I can't get myself to dive to that level where everything is dark and amplified, and petrified by the moonlight breaking in the silence.
I thought his hands would be enough to write sweet messages of love on my elbows, the only place they wouldn't touch, but I forgot how uncomfortable a place love could be.
And I find myself screaming wi
--
At dead Youth’s funeral,
Even these were met once more together, all,
Who erst the fair and living Youth did know;
All, except only Love. Love had died long ago.
~ Rupert Brooke
--
At dead Youth’s funeral,
Even these were met once more together, all,
Who erst the fair and living Youth did know;
All, except only Love. Love had died long ago.
~ Rupert Brooke
--
At dead Youth’s funeral,
Even these were met once more together, all,
Who erst the fair and living Youth did know;
All, except only Love. Love had died long ago.
~ Rupert Brooke
And by the way... was thinking about you last night... still not got round to reading the book yet, but I saw the film. And I see the resemblance.
--
At dead Youth’s funeral,
Even these were met once more together, all,
Who erst the fair and living Youth did know;
All, except only Love. Love had died long ago.
~ Rupert Brooke
--
At dead Youth’s funeral,
Even these were met once more together, all,
Who erst the fair and living Youth did know;
All, except only Love. Love had died long ago.
~ Rupert Brooke
--
At dead Youth’s funeral,
Even these were met once more together, all,
Who erst the fair and living Youth did know;
All, except only Love. Love had died long ago.
~ Rupert Brooke
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