by D.C. Quillan Stone
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
