Absolutely, the muse of harpies!
The eagles skilled talons
Embrace the olive branch,
As gentle as calloused hands
in white silk gloves.
One more chance!
A safe flight,
a sure landing,
and yet the harpy
is unsettled!
In an epic dream,
lust filled,
brazen and free!
The dream of sure men,
and the vindictive nature
of a once beautiful vision
brought nigh,
to a breatheless sigh of submission!
The solitude of ice,
The madness of Attila
is not to be tamed!
Oh, I love!!!
7 Children
and the labor
of a half-wit sire.
Suddenly,
Quietly,
present their unsure smile
with a silent wish
to be "bought' as a
late bill
to be paid forward
at all cost blind to virtue!
Kill the baker.
The waning moon of a gypsy
is brilliant at first sight.
Communion with the spiritless
on a moonless flight.
Sunrise awakes dull.
A moment in time,
can be life,
a life shot by a fatherless bow!
one way,
always,
even amongst the stars
they are unseen
and hungry!
They follow us
since our time in
ancient Rome!
A cast away to dirt for Ceaser.
The slow film rolls on
and only 100 push-ups
to sheer ecstasy.
So is the natural mans thought.
Simple,
and yet no Ceasar!
Foolishness?
The eagles skilled talons
embrace the sun dried olive branch!
A thoughtless hope,
Moral courage?
Spiritual disernment?
I warned you about lustful fuck
salesmen
and the dull granduer of the poppy!
Chic you say,
as the eagle takes flight
his noble imprint is left
for your curiosity...
© 2015 Michael Achilles