A few stanzas for an epic I've worked on from time to time...

VIOLENT CONFUSION, SILENT CONFESSION

by D.C. Quillan Stone

Note:
A few stanzas for an epic I've worked on from time to time during the last 2-3 years. May become a book of poetry and art (pencil sketches) or not, who knows.

Walls then shelves `round the pelf of pride

The hidden Self, in kind the curt bromide

Backslidden his love, red-bitten her gloves

Silent the screams like two tormented doves

Wounds thereof, rune'd by songs the soul

For the wrongs unconsoled per the old scrolls

Stained by mascara-tears, bane by chimera-years

Hence swan and swain feigned as well austere

As Cain the veneer, fear fitly although marked

Or a dog-eared book with each page earmarked

Her semantics peculiar, his poetics’ swagger

Tore at hearts liken ardor-assassins’ daggers

O passion’s cadavers, lost mid lovers’ wars

Tossed to floors, thrown to fires; paramours

Although zealous lunatics of some asylum

Ranting, dancing stark `twixt Roman columns

Affixed both the dead and undead to the novel

Dull eyes transfixing on brook and waterfall

As ashes across waters race per the white rush

For thirty winters or so till twilight’s last hush

Swilling the loss as gin per chasm by schism

Bended well her art’s colors by agony’s prism

Tended well he by cynicism, his tunes unheard

Rhymes unstirred, thus buried upon myrrh’ed

Without the usual curse and cause to blame

Like verse on card `hind vase to madly flame

Hearts insist, souls persist, their minds twist

In wintry winds, coveting the final time kissed

Truth flirts the urge while coerces the purge

Both in fear, neither to sneer, nearing a dirge

Fork in toll road, owed the tokens still aught

Tho’ fretting the cost of lane less taken (or not)

--- dreams by day, drinks by night ---

Cold the crown, old the gown, final the rites

Solemn the night, low the light, all seems trite

For nothing matters when Death explicates

Then culminates, ergo obfuscating Life’s state

Yet amid the atomic coma, her tattoo blued

As poetry bruised, bloodied (thus pain’s muse)

Raven tress draping, caressing her nape fair

O’er tongue `tween lips, her words quite rare

Como los vinos de Mendoza o Pataogonia

O como lasgriegas sangres oscuras y místicas

Conquistadas por las tristezas de la pasión

Y confundidas por los miedos de la razón

Ah, endless the convocation, conviction too

Properly the consummation when Death so cues

Life seduced by distant flame, reduced, framed

Vim lastly exclaimed, `fore the vigor reclaimed

A rose wilts `twixt pale breasts, eyes so coined

Cold the loins, stiff her hands, love purloined

Enjoined to eternity among the souls countless

Ridding the toil, shedding the coil, such largesse

--- awake, sober thus eulogizing ---

The fairness of her creativity (maybe a lie)

Coalesces in the soul of eternity (oddly wry)

The conception of nativity aye (still, to recall)

Delivered by a brighten medium (tho’ banal)

The lumen of hidden things (ah to wander)

Are encountering and fugitive (else maunder)

Elusive, absorbing, transient (lost and resigned)

Stalwartly engaging, panoramas (in her mind)

Of secrets, truths, blends, hues

Colors of science and wisdom

Tints of philosophy and theology

Meadows low, pinnacles high

Tides throwing benevolent arms

Upon the desolate continents

The masses’ motive to rush

The sea, and thee, a worthy key

To unobstructed dialogue, and

Unimaginable resplendence

--- fading memory, bottle emptying ---

Perhaps digressed and to suggest something else

Some pell-mell, headlong to Hell’s distant bells

Or heart quelled by resilience, soul by persistence

Mind by insistence thusbodybygritty diligence

The fairness of her creativity

Coalesces in the soul of eternity

The conception of nativity aye

Delivered by a brighten medium

The lumen of hidden things

Are encountering and fugitive

Elusive, absorbing, transient

Stalwartly engaging, panoramas

Of secrets, truths, blends, hues

Colors of science and wisdom

Tints of philosophy and theology

Meadows low, pinnacles high

Tides throwing benevolent arms

Upon the desolate continents

The masses’ motive to rush

The sea, and thee, a worthy key

To unobstructed dialogue, and

Unimaginable resplendence

Come let us Reason. Peace is always a Choice.

Study, Ponder, Labor, till last Breath.

Copyright © 2021 by D.C. Quillan Stone