A lyrical love piece "She has a confidant."

When you were bartending,
It is true I was not in love,
At the time my father was telling me the difference
Between it and infatuation,
In the unlikely case you care to remember,
I was quiet and shy because I disagreed.
When you were bartending,
The whisper in my ear directed at him
Was like a flirt at the same time,
While I then knew you had a confidant,
I later reasoned,
She whispered in my ear as well,
As though it was not over between us.
Perhaps he is your brother,
Or so I thought,
Though it's over between us. 
You leaned against the wall
As if to say give it to me,
Though he was watching your side from that angle,
And I knew you had a boyfriend,
From then on my imagination has played tricks,
Sometimes to the point,
That love is hate. 
And 1984 isn't a mere book.

A lyrical love piece "She loves to show."

You love to show me that pretty ladies leave me,
Although you're like a model to us you are not in our dreams,
Though you know not that you are ugly, albeit, mean looking.
Or maybe I become old one day, but you will wind up much uglier than us.
And you make money that way.
You love to show that the princes and pawns gape,
And the confident ask you to date,
But none are your favorite,
Only he... 
Only when I talk with you,
Did I wish you to turn me down,
When I wish things are all my fault...
You love to message me,
Or else you left me,
To be with him. 

A lyrical love piece "Up in my head."

I still see you shooting arrows like an Amazon,
Up in my head,
Oh it's all up in my head,
And can a poet become once again a pianist?
For a man to change his profession,
Something drastic has had to happen in his life,
Like love gone awry.
If a pianist prefers poetry over music,
Than what has gone wrong to society or him?
Something serious, right?
I still see you going to school walking with that man,
Up in my head,
Oh it's all up in my head,


 

Analysis of “The Rise and Fall of Islamic Spain: Full documentary”

             When the Visigoths moved from barbaric tribes (from France, Germany, etc.) to Spain, they

found many Jews living there already, for Judaism had existed in Europe before Christianity had spread.

In Cordoba, Granada, Toledo, etc., many Jews had lived there since 476 A.D. and was a minority living in

relative freedom in cities reported to have been founded by refugees from Jerusalem. After the advent

of Islam, when the Berbers invaded the Visigoth peninsula ruled by Rodriguez, the Muslims treated the

Jews as believers of the same book and had the attitude that they “…should be treated with respect.”

And afterwards, the Muslim conquerors tended to treat Jews and Christians with respect except during

times of war. After the founding of Al-Andaluce, when the refugee prince from Damascus took control,

cultural fusion took place and the prince was able to quell the tensions among the Berbers and North

African tribes because of his political status as a potential unifier and leader.

           During the 900s, after the death of the third descendent from the prince from Damascus, civil

turmoil broke out in which the “Christians and Jews turned against each other…” and the Berbers and

Arabs, leaving a broken land into smaller states.  I expected to find the Muslims and Christians to be at

constant war with one another, but they “didn’t square off” except when the Christian, Typhic Kingdoms saw

Muslims as a threat to themselves. It seems that the

Muslims held no inherent dislike of Christianity at that time. However, the Jews were at a disadvantage

from the Christians, who entertained prejudices against them (a mindset that eventually led to Nazism).

I expected Islam to be more adamant about maintaining itself in its followers, but with the onslaught of

was left of it during the existence of Typhic Kingdoms) a Crusading zone, and not as Holy as Jerusalem.

But when King Alfonso laid down his code of laws, he was tolerant of both Muslims and Jews.

                The Islamic world constructed through its own advanced architectural techniques many

buildings, mosques, and palaces in Al-Andaluce, which later, due to the eventual demise of the land of

light, were converted into Christian buildings. Another contribution of Al-Andaluce was the recording

of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman texts into Arabic during the time of the European Dark Ages, when

much knowledge was being forgotten or neglected, including medicinal texts in Greek with regards to

botanical plants. Furthermore, as an architectural contribution, the Muslims enhanced the existing

Roman aqueducts by adding water wheels, which was possible because of the abundant rivers in Al-

Andaluce. Finally, astronomically, the advent of the Astrolabe “allowed” navigators to travel the seas,

such as Columbus.

"The Eastern European lady"

Based on a dream I had early in the morning,
I was nonexistent--a ghost traveling to-and-fro
Like a camera in a movie with no person seeming
To run it, but I saw everything and did nothing
Until it was too late.
Either I or my sister was skiing because I remember...
But I couldn't tell, because I was in her place, like Azazel the devil
Though she was in her swimsuit,
I saw the girl who called the police on me water skiing,
She had on a bikini and a beautiful, wet face,
That no man would not fall for, and in the distance,
Her shirtless, thin fiance was sitting on the stern of the boat,
His face was turned away for the brief time I looked at him--
His chest was bare revealing some hair like a sailor's,
But anyway, when I stared at Her
It was as though she knew I was there,
I proceeded to leave as the Judge decreed but time stood still,
And she gave me no eye contact as expected
But the tinge of what she said to me still was like an expression
Upon her face, that I'm an annoying, arrogant, creep.
As my sister and I were coming to the dock,
With an excitement and enthusiasm to see me again like old,
He had just bought a boat which looked new. 
And I can't remember if I went with him or not.  

"Tunisia."

You're flying to Paris,

(Where your connecting flight is to Tunis),

The first sight you see is the shore,

From outside the window.

And if one imagine's what one would find,

In a short amount of time,

The plane touches down,
You're about to hear a Tunisian tale

Of wealth and knowledge...

And your heart beat's fast,

Cause you're alive. 

A voice says you're shaken

By all the other times you've seen sand.

When you seek the wind from the west,

You can be on time now,

You notice the humidity is at an all time low,

There's a woman making a viable claim,

You don't know whether

It's at a parlor or a restaurant,

If you saw the jewel,

Maybe you could give it as a gift.

When you're catching a taxi,

Everyone's looking forward to the hostel.

Two teachers are standing in front of you

You expect to find a land of religious folk.

But you wonder what the plan is like,

Since you're in a foreign land,

And they're taking a train to Sfax.

Your group hops on the bus, 

A friend picks up the guitar and sings,

It's some tune you've not heard before,

You've heard the eastern radio on your way up,

After a few nights spent

You're hanging in the courtyard,

You remember back in Florida,

There's a psychiatrist,

Who's in your mind who knew,

Sometimes all your observations are incorrect, 

And though she doesn't state it she gives you a label.

There's the distant dunes of the desert,

Which are changing by the wind in fine,

That all the hotels in the world cannot imitate.

"Walter Baldwick."

A handsome pianist and aspiring writer goes to a college,
When we read what he writes and infer from what little we know,
We do well and we see clearly things we wouldn't be able to show.
Since he's quiet and shy in real life, we get to know about his personality,

He puts his status up, posts on his and our walls in face-book, speechless.
And he has poems, stories, a journal entry, which provoke us to ponder.
So while our friends post on our walls, we have a laugh and break our folkways,
We're getting laid, getting numbers, and having a blast in our daily lives. 

Then, randomly, when he knew what was the most important thing in the world,
And his close circle of family and best friends whom he'll never block,
Clicked on the "x" next to his friends in list, removing everyone who knew him,
So we're left wondering why he'd do such a thing as a friend?


Hay una pianista guapo y escritor ambicioso quien va a un colegio,
Cuando nos leemos que el escribe y inferimos del poquito nos conocemos,
Nos hacemos buenos y vemos cosas mejor que no podemos usualmente funcion,
Y aunque el es muy callado cuando el hable y tiro en la vida, nos podemos conocer mas o menos su personalidad,


El pone su estado en lo alto, el pone al corrriente en su y nuestros paredes para nosotros leemos.
Y el tiene poemas, cuentos, y un elemento publicacion para su personal ideas, que provocarle a nos consideramos.
Asi mientras nuestros amigos envian los correos, tenemos una risa y romperamos nuestra cultura popular,
Nos vamos a companeros, recibimos los telephono numeros, y teniendo el tiempo de nuestras vidas de cada dia.


Entonces, al azar, cuando el conocia que estuve la mayoria de su vida,
Y su grupo cercano de familia y mejores amigos quienes el no hace bloquearles nunca.
El removo todos quienen conocieron el a uno punto o otro en cara-libro.
Y ahi nos somos sobrante considerar porque el hacia tan cosa dramatica como un amigo?

"Cancun"

Upon arrival at the airport in order for you to capture,

There’s a pretty girl you see who you won’t see again,

You exit from the terminal where you’re finally supposed to be,

The journey that you profited from was from there to here.

A warm breeze brushes against your face,

All the taxi drivers want to have your money,

But you don’t know what to say and have to get going,

The sunlight is partially obscured by the sparse clouds.

While in the white taxi van going to the resort, Cancun,

You think, the windows are up unnecessarily,            

The temperature is right, because you want to feel the wind again,

But there is no way to roll them down.

And there are foreigners with you who don’t know English.

The driver unpacks your luggage at the hotel entrance,

And the doorman is there to greet you and has your name on a list,

You finally arrive and have some catch up to do.

You walk through the lobby towards the opposite end.

The ocean is blue, but nearer the dune-less sand it’s turquoise,

And you aren’t surprised because of what’s been said.

The mere beauty of it is captivating your attention.

The sound of waves beating against the shore to turns your mind to peace…

You create a mental list of things to do but there is not enough time

The lack of sleep from waking early in the morning is getting to one,

The most important thing is to be out in the beach.

You notice the warmth while the night stays the same as during the day,

Your priorities are now with the night clubs in downtown Cancun and dinner—

An hour earlier than what your watch says,

You hop on a bus to go to a restaurant…

Despite the cuisine being offered to you, you are consistent,

Because, you know the amount that is eaten is not dependent on location.

Your mind turns toward facing a fear but it escapes—

Like an alarm, your mental note to go to a nightclub causes you not to go.

After a night in the morning you arrive from a boat to “Women’s Island,”

You stay a short time as you forgot to bring any money.

After a day passes and you have returned, you do things cheaply,

You rent a golf cart and drive towards the Mayan ruins.

At the southern-most tip, there’s no way to cross over—

So you quickly take a picture and leave.

You spend three hours at the most beautiful beach on the island,

The clear water shows the sand on the bottom’s white and fine.

You draw a connection that nut shells look a lot like sea shells.

Somehow you feel you aren’t experiencing as much as you should be,

So you follow through with a goal to walk towards a boat,

The water is cool at first when you sink in letting every part of your body become wet.

There's a person sitting on top the stern waves to greet,

You say, "hola,"standing and begin to return to your spot.

As though you just got there, you quickly leave.

Your flight leaves at 2:53 pm and you get there on time.

This will not be the last time you are over at Cancun…

"The Trash Heap."

In a town at the center between the East and West
There's a cafe.
It was brown and green and had on its top,
Words carefully put for it's name;
In it there lied a group of workers who called themselves acquaintences,
And had their mutually exclusive group of friends,
These people were unfriendly and ignorant,
And thought the town revolved 'round them.
But it was due to a pair who used to work there,
Who exerted their influence
During the night,
And as I couldn't be averted the morning after,
By which time the Owner was there,
I cursed the restaurant's food;
Their subtle dislike, ideologies, services, and taste in channels,
And upon a sacred oath sworn with my sister,
Will never return,
Where it now be known as "The Trash Heap,"
Though I don't walk around its vicinity anymore.

"Mexican Food"

Mexican food is difficult to acquire a taste if one is largely unfamiliar,
Especially to certain spicy dishes which tend to cause the tongue to burn;
‘Till recently, I haven’t found it necessary to add spices, but now I do;
My favorite dish has always been the taco, because of its versatile nature:
Not only can one put many kinds of meats and salads and sauces,
The taste differs from country to country depending upon food production practices;
Regardless, if one wants to go on a taste binge or odyssey one has to be careful
Although there isn’t a way to really be sure, when in Mexico,
That one won’t get sick from eating at an "unregulated" location. 
My next favorite dish is mole, sopas, y proxima es pollo con pan.
It’s always a magical experience to the next.

La comida de Mexico es dificil adqurir un gusto para le.
Hasta ahora, tengo que no le busque necesario bonificar las especias, pero hago;
Mi favorita comida tiene siempre ere el taco, por que es natura versatil:
Nada puede poner muchos tipos de carne y ensalada y salsas,
El gusto es diferente de pais a pais dependemente en costumbres produccion comida;
Aunque hay no esta orientar que es asegurar, cuando en Mexico,
Tu necesito estar has cuidado ir a un locacion, aunque, hay no manera estar seguro.
Mi proxima favorita comida es mole, las sopas, y proxima es pollo con pan.
Es siempre un experiencia magica a la proxima.

"Chinese Food"

Tastes so good it will make one get addicted to it;
And want to get fatter because of the uniqueness in it's qualities,
And although it is sometimes fried, aren't we guilty of the same?
No one here has had authentic Chinese, dear Americans, even though it's different,
Because you know, there are some foods I prefer over others;
And Chinese ranks in the upper four from where my list of favorites, include:
Persian as number one, then Italian, Arabian, and Chinese.
American is so dull, it makes me want to forget about eating.

El gusto esta asi buen que uno le hago adicto a le.
Y quiere venir mas gordo por que del singularidad que son en modalidades,
Y aunque es a veces freia, son nos no culpable de igual?
Nadie en Ustados Unidos ha tenido China autentico acki, amor Americanos, empareja aunque que es diferente,
Por que sabes, hay algunes comidas que yo prefiero mas encima de otros;
Y China clasifica entre en el cuatro parte superior donde mi lista de la favoritas, incluir:
Persian es numero uno, proxima Italiano, Arabana, y China.
Americano es mucho desafilar, tomarme que quiero desenteder comiendo.

“The Moroccan Restaurant, Cassablanca's.”

There's a Morrocan restaurant in Kennesaw where you can do Hookah,
I was employed there as a dishwasher;
Even though I'm an American Citizen,
I must have looked like an alien to them.
It was only for a summer so I quit and then found other employment.
As a dishwasher, I was constantly being criticized for not working fast enough;
The boss Cook eventually chewed me out and I was fired.
But every time I was there, I enjoyed a meal of Moroccan cuisine.
I never tried the hookah because I don't want to get lung cancer,
But I did in Tunisia as an exception.

Hay una Morroquen restaurante donde tu puedes hacer pipa de agua,
Trabaje ahi como un lavadora de platos pero no estuve licitamente trabajando ahi,
Parejo sin embargo soy un Americano, acabe mirar igual un extranjero,
A ellos.
Estuve para el invierno entonces resigne y proximo encontre otro trabajo.
Como un lavadora de platos, me fuero muy criticos para no estuve trabajando rapido suficiente;
El cocinero jefe pronto mastico me out y yo despedio.
Pero todo tiempo estuve alli, me gusta un casado de Marroquí.
Nunca tenuvo el hookah por que no hago querer tener cancer de pulmon,
Pero hice en Tunisia que una excepcion.

"The Rock"

There's a rock rolling down the stream, slowly.
It never was dirt but was magma.
It is prejudiced against, naturally.
Slowly it's becoming sand but the river continues without it.
And there are many rocks, next to it,
But they’re at different stages in their pathetic existence,
To us they’re dead.
One day, though solid they may be,
They will become universally understood,
Becoming beautiful answers to a common question:
Is there life on another planet?
And through the development of love and compassion,
They won’t be discovered for another million years,
The intelligence of rocks will have become loved, admired.
Mystically, the rocks grew upset because they were handicapped,
And were alive.
And once the rocks have been spoken of in this new light,
The English language will have changed,
To include them in a non-demeaning term,
Like the "Solids,"
A "rock" has many derogatory meanings, obviously.
A million years later, an ancient song was playing called "Rock and roll"
And soon the whole genre was listened to by the sentient rocks;
Because they felt oppressed, trodden over,
And were treated with the hopelessness as ants are to a crazed child:
Mystically, then, "Rock and Roll" was influenced heavily by Rachmaninoff.
For the Tribe of rocks, he was non-intimidating, and humble.
And he whispered into their ear or so they thought they heard:
Our subconscious mind never developed to its immortal soul.
For the Tribe of rocks, Led Zeppelin was their favorite group,
They're God-like and immortal,
In their music lied a secret code.
The Tribe of rocks chose "Rock and Roll" as their main language,
Then a new mystic after them was yet 'live and his name is Daniel.
And he felt like a rock and had a soul...

"My car"

My car is so dirty, it absorbs all the sunlight
Amidst the bright, sun-shiny foreground
And inside my car, there are so many things
That have to be picked up, for me to be at peace with myself.
'Cause it's a Taurus 2004, Ford, there will always be better
That money can buy, and people can afford, and
Friends admire.  Though there are some cars worse than mine.

"The Ruler of Pluto"

There's an imaginary ruler of the dwarf planet Pluto, 

He wins the dark side of the moon battle ten times over.

His Pluto is so cold, so distant, and so planet-like.

It would take a probe to reach Pluto ten years to pick him up,
And on average, it takes five and a half hours for radio signals to get there--
From earth.
 

We think that if the ruler of Pluto became exposed to the sunlight,
He would be unaffected like the cold color of its sea,
That's why we don't miss him when we're from the third planet of the Sun;
The green atmosphere, thin, and visible, holds heat like a sheet.
And it's just how cold it is that eludes him, because of who he is,
We infer.


The ruler's rock of rocks, ice, and his Loneliest of All made us yearn for more.
He had his reflecting moon, Charon, with him.
So Charon is thought to have been caught in Pluto's gravitational pull:

A stray from the Ort cloud--that's how puny we know it to be.
There are two other moons that orbit Pluto which are even smaller than Charon,
You see.

But as native inhabitants from the third planet of the Sun, 

We never theorized how cold Pluto is on its dark side
And it's moon, Charon, it never became fact where it came from.
Then one, long, Pluto day, the Sun's rays warmed Pluto one more time:

The horizon begun to disappear and cooled facing the backdrop of stars,    
Nebulae, etc..

We were always there with him in spirit, and we always loved him,

In his blissful, ignorant mind.

"Legacy"

                We got a helicopter.  It was camouflage, not black.  There must have been at least four up in the air with us and I was on the one with the President of the United States.  I remember hearing his voice and it had a lazy, doesn’t-care attitude typical of a warmongerer.   Up in the air with us were the top military commanders and pentagon officials, all of whom were dressed in their most highly decorated uniforms—not a single peon was among us.  One would think to enter the field of potential danger, everyone ought to be wearing camouflage—no, but simply the best looking attire one could possibly imagine.   Strategically, the biggest error a country can make is to have the most important backbone such as the military and head of state in harm’s way, because what would happen if they are all lost in the field of battle?   My guess is this mission must have been classified or unbeknownst to anyone else for them to be up in the air simultaneously.  And for some reason I was up in the air with them.   

                We are following a river.  Jungle surrounds both sides.  High opera plays in the speakers to everyone and everyone seemed quiet. 

                “Are we there yet?”  Came on the speakers (the opera music was cut whenever someone spoke).   I still couldn’t make out who it was, but my subconscious knew.  

                “Not yet Mr. President, just a little bit further.”  Said the best helicopter pilot in the world, while holding a 5-star General status.  He spoke like a peon.   He grabbed the throttles and pushed them forward and they looked eerily like those from a 747 Boing commercial airliner.  The helicopter leaned forward and the rotary blades were able to force the helicopter faster given the new angle.  One could see on either side helicopters surrounding the central one with me and the president. 

                While George W. Bush offered few catch phrases here and there, there were many twists and turns but then we stopped moving forward and simply hovered.

                I could hear someone say, “We’re here.”  I was guessing we were in some Latin country, but when I looked down all I could see was the largest kept secret known to mankind—the biggest drop of a waterfall.  It was impossibly deep, no one had a name for it.  And why did this river remind me of the Rio Grande?  We were also level with the top of the plateau on the other side (of the border).   Swiftly, either intentionally, or we were out of fuel I don’t remember (the mission was highly classified), we had to make a landing.  

                George W. Bush stepped out first and a woman came screaming to him.  There’s poor children and some ancient ruins in the background.  His commanders stood motionless and didn’t seek to protect him.  But they all looked formally dressed and unintimidating, without a weapon sheathed or drawn.

                The Queen said, “How dare you enter our territory without our permission.  Can’t you see my child is starving?”

                Reluctantly he gave the cue to his commanding officers and they threw nets down on the side of the helicopter.  He produced two or three crates full of food.

                “Mission fulfilled.”

A sonnet, "deathTouch"

I had a dream; all that was beautiful—

All except the featureless plain—ruined,

The sun waned and light forever faltered.

Below the fallen heavens and cryptic moon

A rose bloomed in its infinite glory,

I pluck that which is perfect in every way,

Bringing forth love before it wilted away,

And with it all that was alive and green.

Familiar lands became featureless plains,

Stars once bright paled—all that was once true ceased.

Than I 'woke; all that was earthly departed,

The sun had extinguished and sky emptied—

'Till in all certainty forlorn by the void

All that remained was lust forevermore.

Flower ~ a poem written in high school

Flower

Dear flower,

What is the purpose of Life

If it were not for the emptiness of death

That could answer?

Why do I seek to be satisfied

If it were not for the fear of hell—

That we may never experience such pleasures

Of love and bliss?

But nay! Tell me:

What of the fiery and death

That thou bask and glorify in—

The Sun—a sphere of fire?

How can one seek pain and call himself 'live,

As to care for family and Wife,

And yet be utterly numb inside?

Rising toward agony!

Do thou not flinch at the site of filth

Nor turn away at the stench of flesh,

Unless wind blow thee 'round?

Do thou not cry as thy children are consum'd

Nor ponder the feeling of loss,

Unless Nature's rain chance?

Is it so paradoxical to be 'live and dead

That it is pleasurable to love and kill,

And live contently with a heart torn?

Then beauty should cease,

As we do not possess any compassion

To live nobly,

As we bask in suffering.

I asked, what is the purpose for being alive

If it were not for the emptiness of death?

Thou hath failed to answer

A testament of being dead. 

Isle of the Dead ~ a poem written in high school

I tried to combine Isle of the Dead with inspiration from a gaming clan called, "deathTouch."  Please tell me

what you think I can work on, and do parts not make sense?

I had a dream; all that was beautiful--

All except the lustrous Garden--ruined,

The sun waned and light forever faltered

As the stars paled into oblivion,

The crumbling Moon fell up on the sky

As all that was 'live and green went ablaze,

Glorious cities once festooned in gold

Fell beneath the abyss which circled Earth

Becoming a Rock barren of verdure,

The laws of the Universe failed-truth ceased!

Under the cryptic Moon and starless sky

Shield'd by the raging Sea on an Isle             

A Rose bloom'd in its innocent glory.

Rowing calmly through the murky water

Under the darkening night always so,

Approaching closer to the misty shore

As the distant sirens reveal their woe,

Cursed souls screaming above in dismay

Forewarn us of the awaiting horrors

But we row on in total ignorance--

On towards salvation: the Golden Gate.

Lo! Not far ahead there is a light--                

A Garden whose joy blazes in fervor

And luscious green could fill the void whole.

Upon arrival a rose bush lay limp

Ecstatically alive glowing blue.

I pluck one which is pure in ev'ry way                      

Bringing my love before it wilts away,          

Then a soaring soul cries out in warning:

"There's no such verity as unfalse hope,                    

Learn from your mistakes and you shall be spared, 

If not, here you shall eternally dwell!"

But in misunderstanding we remained

And rowed toward the upturn'd depths of hell.

We jest in play never seeming to know:

There's a place one cannot go and return

And we are at this place forever so.

Cursed souls crying far up above                   

Sing in sorrow for our horrific fate,

So when the rose buds curled up and fell

Whose shine was truly fire and not beauty

And thorns pierced our flesh 'till blood poured out

We rowed on slowly with our newfound hate

On past the screams through the closing Gate,                      

And lift'd up now in full understanding                    

Dead up above soaring forevermore!

Then I 'woke; all that was earthly depart'd,

Familiar lands became featureless plains,

The Garden had blackened to heaps of ash

Except the rose whose memory still burnt;

The Sun had extinguished and sky emptied

Except the Moon whose fiery fell as rain

That engulfed mankind in its warm bosom;

The ruined cities fell beneath the cracks

Deep into the cataclysms of hell

'Till the Isle itself sunk into the Sea

Draining whole into a massive whirlpool.

When nothing remained,

God the Savior conjured a rose bush;

But as the heavens ruptured He lost hope

And abandoned His Kingdom to chaos.

Oh Hot Woman! ~ a poem written in high school.

Oh hot woman! that creature so perfect

Fell deep in love, and gazed upon this man

‘Bout whom she fantasized, always coupl’d

Ne’er alone nor depressed, but happy

With this dream, and truly obsess’d.

She had Him upon her arms, ne’er concealed

Nor ashamed of love, so oblivious

To His desire, lest He r’veal the truth

And utter neglect, forever bewitched.

He ached for her, wise of their deep bond,

And ne’er discouraged by the failure of Time

When true love succumbs, b’fore grave’s epic end

And curs’d frailty, does death not prevail!

But nay! a fantasy at best, all gone

Whilst ‘tis day, when His gaze speak to her not

Nor hands clasp ‘round waist, d’spite passion restrained

In eyes repeatedly bewilder’d, void

Of thought for Her: a seclud’d oasis

For love’s demise—an illusion alas!

Oh Emptiness enshroud’d, He hates her

Surely unaware and blissful, in want of

Other Maidens anxious, c’rrupt desire

And eyes inviting betwixt, is satisfied

Without her, forgive his failure!

Lost upon the shore, thrust on to the earth

Fallen amongst the damned, forever shunned

With the forgotten, finally begott’n

And remembered ne’er alive, but deceased.

Her body obscene, transfixed in peace

To be laden with dust, buried in d’feat

No longer loved, but e’er alone instead.

Her face so serene, pure angelic heart

Inflict’d with Love b’griefed, abandoned

Hope and desire beguiled, does she not know?

Oh hot woman! ‘bout whom I fantasized,

You will never know, for you are now gone

Ne’er to be cherished, acquired by hell

Blind’d by the depths of despair, toward hate

And emptiness depart’d, hair dulled plain

Whilst lustful body decayed, eternally lost

To me her name and vivid memory;

Oh Forgotten! ‘bout whom I spoke and loved,

Angel out of reach fled, come back to me

Before I join you, lest shape wane e’ermore

Against Time’s ‘lluring crypt, should my legs

Fail b’neath, deceitful falsity triumph'nt!