Violet Eyes

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    Violet Eyes

    Bruised irises swathe a chalk-white slate
    A pale rose need not hurry for fate
    A fascist tease, a glorious rendition
    Through the seething pools on this slate
    I may find opposition

    A premonition amidst howling wind
    Tormented grays
    Tormented they spin
    Swirling like a vagabond’s last gin
    What beaten eyes so weary and blue
    Raging red against the paths cruel,
    They forever seethe, yes they do

    Never tempering, waters bubble and shall boil
    Drowning in the painted pools of violet oil
    A wild epiphany layered beneath the royal blue
    A screaming misery sandwiched between the two
    A cerulean rue, a lackluster hue
    Growing in lament deep and true

    And raging against the sea of Time on broken wings
    Red, they seethe. red they seethe

    Oh what pleasure of infinite measure
    Lies behind those stormy gates of shivering shards
    Of bruised light playing harps half-gay
    Where cupid’s arrow dare not slay
    Quivering, they may bleed passions another day

    Like a ripened fruit fertile and sweet
    Demure is this kiss, hungered yet grieved
    A taste to lips gravely girdled
    As I peered into the chasms of thy soul
    Through those ebbing pits, long and deep
    And in agony, I may weep
    For their tides wash cold and wish me to sleep

    Ruby rage does burn, twisting and trying
    To break free from that thin azure ice
    As the shivering shards scream
    Twice denying, slightly defying
    They dance in their glorious weathered dream
    As violets serene and serpentine

    ‘Tis an indigo ocean, a delight of delights
    A twig snaps on the roll of a die, and beauty fights
    To penetrate the core of those marble skies
    The galaxies of pleasure that pain confines

    Straight through a garden of tears
    Into the motionless onyx iota that seers
    The wild orchids frothing around its centre
    Those tainted, lust- violet fissures
    Splashed on waters of milk
    Singing to me like forlorn silk
    Commanding the seas to rise and fall
    Into those abyssal irises, lonely they do call

    Forever racing against Time
    They will seethe, they will seethe
    Fiercely, without reprieve
    As amethysts on a powdered screen

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    crazygirl77’s Poems (48)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
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