- Books, Literature, and Writing
~ Ephemera / What Cometh Before Dark? / Marilyn ~
" Whereth echo flies and breeze replies,
It's there, her unclaimed mystery lies... "
~ Ephemera ~
Whencesoever gilt pendant unwinds o'er cobalt skirts of complaisent firmament, ushered by the sentry of tomorrow who bends our sky as a high-strung bow to genuflect afore higher realms, should we recollect and deplore the dearth of times under such sempiternal canopy? Times, where autumn's breath grazed dew-chapped elms, brandishing maudlin bough through rent quietude of sunlit charms, and furred mendicants foraged soiled charity like desperate brigands espying arthropodic repast with tombstone eyes that scuttled and scrambled from mortality's barbarous tact in hopeless dash to where paramnesia abides? Or wilst invented memories be overidden by truth which parlies that both gazed upon temporary ecstasies which could have melted the stars in the furnace of your unbridled heart were they shared by us together?
We've lived life never touching, as genteel wraiths, whose mouths never sealed love with deep osculation that would have translated to every part of thy trembling body and vibrant soul from kindred scintillation struck by tongues on the anvil of thy lips; rubescent, fairy dust lips like bubblegummed rose buds, curtained by arresting locks of blushing flames whose starlet-tails of victory wine chased sherbert lemon tumbles, as unto lustrous envoys of dawn, finely spun as precious thread from unseen loom, cascading upon ripened cheeks of strawberry persuasion....
Silhouettes are but servant eidolon we cast by light which haunt only ourselves; inked vowels, spilled across patient page, art but dusk of swain's soul proposing tender shade o'er the ceaseless essay of her troubled heart.
~ What Cometh Before Dark? ~
" Whilst Poe's raven bullies thro' living canvass of milk winds cocooned in ivory blankets from Armstrong's parking lot and frightened clouds turn on porch lights to harass the great nought, like minted coins, tumbling from angel pockets, they empty the reason for the night into the black, aerial sea, executing celestial reveries, releasing agape's roar from spiritual thrones to ignite infinity into the heart of my beloved who blinks radiant paean in unison with swevens' express twinkle.
Essence of the unseen jolteth minds once more to arrest hearts of binding words lassoed by scabbard tongue, thence slicing the lower heavens with beauteous symmetry of soul, translating nature's mysteries of wild beasts and euphony of bird's song upon human scrolls in order to bear witness, for their reluctant silence must one day soon become ally to the vast audience of future history. "
~ Marilyn ~
A perennial eulogy for a little girl who sadly died at nineteen days' old.
Now must my sleeping petal once again wear the ageless rose and gentle daisy as her 'ternal dress, swathed in emerald pastures of Michaelmas eye and hyacinth true, guarding ye with vernal watch, which purse trumpets of milk lily in honour of thy secret bed.
Forsooth, their joy no longer robes thy gaze, nor gayness imbibe wind-drawn scents of clefted dale evaporating 'pon vistas of love's reverie.
Today shall cup my innocent in ancient barrow that memory darest not forget, whilst thy youthful ghost follows the southern gust upon heady thermals of a celestial tomorrow which your brother shall ne'er witness, 'till thou's oaken chamber resteth atop thine own, waiting for Seraph shophar and holy hands to rap their brass handles, awakening my sleeping beauty from untimely slumber, to summon forth to the peaceful country we dreamed of, 'cross sieved shores of filtered schist and Danube foam, clutching your bucket and spade so we could build your Princess palace.
As salted prisms wend crystal lanes across farded, poppy cheeks, thy Father's Immortal hands will dry with radiance, their telling beads, for thou art famous, autographed in the Book of Life.
As a silvered wafer of waning, misty moon marries the dusk tide with fading sapphired blinds, and pupil night seizeth yon highway of blazing chariot, thy broken-hearted brother will turn a gaze to the heavenly palette, seeking a wink from the varnished twinkle of my little star beneath His sacred tent, whilst the cat's miaow translates our sorrow.
So until thy brethren reside with thee, let the fried egg of a spring morn' sky sate this hunger; letteth tiny clouds from the robin's breath quench thy thirst and remembrance of your tresses fair, like grief-smudged sunlight, crown thee still, dazzling angelic host, who drinketh to the empyreal glory of thy true home.
R.I.P. ( 16th June 1963 - 5th July 1963 ).