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a princess sits in her royal lounge
troubled at mind, restless of heart
trembling limbs and parched tongue
the rivers in her eyes betray
the sorrow that drowns her soul
with shaking fingers she struggles
for a firm grip on her quill
her heart pours out in fluid words
to express a love nursed for years

“My Lord, from childhood I have heard
of your courageous acts and kind character
of your handsomeness and perfectness
and I am unable to draw my mind away
from thoughts of you and yours
I am shamelessly besotted by you
Like a sunflower that is drawn to the sun
I am drawn to you
It is against the common notion
for a woman to ask a man
to take her hand in marriage
I break every tradition,
but Mukunda, answer my question-
which woman, high-born
and well-versed in all the arts,
will not wish to be your consort-
and besides I have already considered myself
wedded to you, in thought and spirit
is it not immoral then
when I consider myself a married woman
and when I am already yours
body, mind and soul,
to allow me another marriage?
My brother Rukmi has arranged
a marriage for me, and it is in the morrow
my heart sinks in sorrow
you are my saviour-
it behooves you to come
and claim what is yours
and how to accomplish it without needless bloodshed
need not cause you worry, for I have a plan
tomorrow morning I shall go for my pre-nuptial prayer
at the temple in the outskirts
away from curious eyes
and it is from there
that you can take me
please do come Krishna and save me
from this mockery of a marriage
I have already said that I am yours
and if you do not come, I shall
with no second thought ensure
that I am no longer alive
to be the object of another man’s desire
and if not in this birth, we shall
in another birth be man and wife”


she seals the letter with  burning tears
and entrusts in a priest’s willing hands to deliver
this receptacle of her hopes and fears
a sliver of hope begins to glimmer
as exhaustion finally takes over
and sleep beckons with gentle hands
to distant happier lands

In the morning she awakes
mind no more clouded or deluded
a faith unshaken that strengthens
as her messenger arrives
bearing happy news
her heart gladdens

Krishna will come – of that she is sure
a love denied will now be hers
the blush of excitement gives way
to shyness - kept so far at bay
the letter was written boldly enough
but now her maiden coyness asserts its sway
with eager pulsing heart she awaits
the moment of freedom and fastening
with her love – it seems too long a day!

In her best finery she is bedecked
a bride blossoming like a flower
eyes shining like diamonds
in their excitement
nocturnal hair that falls to her waist
in a tidy plait
lips tinged with a secret smile
an accompaniment to her glowing face
her blush spreads
like a rose amongst jasmines

with slow sure steps
and comely gait
eyes glistening with hope
and conviction strengthened with faith
she proceeds towards the temple
with sincere emotion she prays

“Devi Parvati, with your motherly grace
look upon me with your kind gaze
as once through penance you gained
your true love as a husband
I too embark today
on a quest to find my way
to him who is my very soul- I pray
let Krishna me my husband”


As every minute passes hope grows
and then she hears his majestic roar
like  a dark thunder-cloud he appears
his turmeric vestment blowing in the wind
and like lighting in the night sky
suddenly and nimbly he hoists her
onto his chariot and they are away

and then the powerful anticipation of this moment gave way
to its pure enjoyment, the company of the loved one

and thus it was that the unflinching Rukmini
wedded Krishna one day.

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
        10.9.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Kagey Sage Aug 2014
Today, I sent out at least another 10 advertisements of myself. It’s not fair. These potential employee seeking companies show me at least a thousand ads boasting about themselves, but I only got the time to send out a fraction of their words, and it’s somehow bad taste to show off my handsomeness. No pictures at all, just boring words, competing against the tacky hordes of plastic signs, overt lies, and labeled every things. I don’t even get any screen time, and if I could even afford it, they’d think I over did it. So I can’t use any ****** tricks to show my fluency in PR devilry? Y’all hypocrites.
st64 Dec 2013
standing at water's edge
good-bye, momma - I'll always love your straight-face discipline
goodbye, poppa - whose handsomeness I never knew nor saw




nobody'll see me camp out alone on the common
tiny-tent to keep my limbs from cramping morning-mist
maybe some stray-mutt to be (f)ears to intruders
perked-up coffee in tin-***
and baked-beans from a tin, I'll share my bounty
with the dog and bramble-bush




I'm not afraid if the dark
   which waits in timely-blocks
   never overwhelms
I'll meet that sky at midnight and greet the stars in bloom
   their twinkling-smiles will warm my eyes
   and scoop away all lone thoughts
I'll siphon inspiration from the sighs of flora
   inaudible yet felt
I'll huddle not away from any lesson
             *even second-hand





my weapon will be prayer
mouth-***** tests the waters
sends a tentative trill into heightened-silence
      rippling on surface
      embracing the dark
Joe felt that God was there.. the boss
fussing over all his creation
yet, he felt alone on the pier that day
with not one soul..
        to stop the tides from swallowing his tired-life
        to love the gauche-grit inside his gifted-cage
        to hear the silent-scream of fretless-agony
        to sense the dripped-disparity of favour
turning face upwards and smelling fresh sea-salt
he closed his eyes so slowly
and let the wind rip it away from him..




nobody had heard him play Bach on his guitar
finest poignant tone
all the suites and minuets in glory to the one
    yet among the many passing, there was one listener
    a quiet boy whose senses touched celestial-note
most mothers warned their children to stay away from Joe
save this lad to inherit misunderstood genius-scribbles
as Joe's blue book held more than just music of old-siècle
to be legacy in the talent-hand of open-heart apprentice



and my penciled-in landscape grows incisors
from the sharpness of your colour
as I camouflage my strained-song
in seeming-vibrancy of words
merely purloined from the deepest
of
your quiet-sighs



S T - 20 December 2013
so much of brilliance remains undiscovered.. shine on, you crazy-diamond :)
ashley Jun 2013
Not even the way
the moon glows
and lights up the
night sky
can compare
to the sound of your
enticing heartbeat
thump
      thump
            thump
against your
prisoned chest
as your head lay
etched into my neck.

Not even the feel
of raindrops against
my cheeks
compares to
the feel of your hands
as they press into
my very palms,
run down my body,
even as you hold
my face with gentle
care.

Not even the smell
of freshly cut wood,
or baked cookies
compares to the smell
of your strong cologne,
nestled in the tiny
particles of your shirt
and nestled in the skin
of your neck.

Not even the sight
of a beautiful sunset
on the beach
or a lovely rainbow
full of distracting colors
compares to the sight
of your golden eyes
on a hot summer day,
or even your handsomeness
that's constantly showing.

Nothing
   compares
       to
         you

*a.m.
Debra A Baugh Jul 2013
I remember the first time I laid eyes on him, that
emotive whirlwind within at the sight of him

I swooned inwardly, blinking...

overtaken by the moment, a radiance connected us;
his visage emanated strength beyond his brawny
physique and his handsomeness

our dawning...

love awakened at the sight of him; keeping bedroom eyes
mentally closed, but, longing to feel him against me
became a resting place in my heart

his eyes were so, tender, I wanted to finger trace his lips,
slowly, allowing him to taste the first breath of our moment

one moonlit night...

he approached, another swoon moment, I melted in his
arms as he whispered in the arch of sultry heat uncovering
the fabric of my being

love aroused...

and our essence melded; one breath...ours mingled,
became precious as wet stained kisses rained
upon upturned pout

taste of him left me adorned, in naked shadows of midnight,
love found; bound by blushed sighs, in demureness I lean
into manliness breathing shades of his love

lost...

in syllabic whispers, drenched in poetry of us, where want
dawdles at the door of need as desire entwines igniting our
flame and I melt between the folds of Him and I

evolving...

in the archway of love at first sight
You are made of the stars, and in haste
You put my love and my heart to rest;
You are like and unlike a dream today
But I have dreamt since last night
I am a ghost to the resting world;
As much as my poems are, as my words.

You are made of life, hell and heaven;
But I am too far away to breathe your air
And in your pristine eyes, such moments
Are a piece of untouched, unreal affairs
You are but a star to me, not a reality;
I oft’ see you on those stages of beauty.

Who be with me here, ‘tis awkward;
His aura is not thine, I assume,
And his lips, which are blue, blind mine;
Who hath saluted me in the worst of storms
And still, I could not trust for long;
But you may find for me another song.

Who be with me here, ‘tis strange;
Your love is sadly, not in such range,
And my whining is deemed absurd;
I am entrapped in a loud world.
What is a charm then, when not thine?
What are the workings of one’s mind?

What be this song I sing to you, my love;
In a word so surreal and full of images,
In a cry so full of anger and rage;
In a mortal chain but of my sonata,
I cannot afford to hate my enemies,
I cannot be the least of kisses.

What be this poem but of thee, my darling;
In the graphs that carry you, in grayness;
In a pertinence of shots, and obedience,
All those frozen moments of resilience.
You, standing there in silence, to say
You will charm me through the night and day.

I looked at the sore stars last night;
And one looking like you, that high
I cannot reach such heights, to see
To love you then, my celebrity;
Her heart hath taken you from me,
Leaving my youth alone to sick poetry.

I looked at such grey film, and thought;
Their births were not those of my books,
That even being in love is not sane,
I am not among the best of their men;
Even my love is not lithe to you, and him;
That such bounties are to remain a dream.

For the rose to see me, on rainy nights
To sit by me and the Northern Lights;
To watch the rain stop and stand still,
To comprehend the fetal crush I feel.
I see my naked heart, on the rough floor
Battered and smothered outside the door.

For the sun to shine on me, on cold nights
And to bring you over, my starlight
To walk me down the earths of fame;
And to make time recognize my name,
To tame such an unloved fate, and seem
Like all these are not just a dream.

For my crush to walk me, to your heart
To feel the excitement of loved delights;
Perhaps my lover, is not a celebrity,
But a reality to be handed to me,
To replace my faded fame that was stolen;
To free me from my shielded torments.

For such a continuation, and rain
For the rain I always long to have;
The one separated from me, like you,
I may wish for such longings to be untrue,
As there is no continuation in reality,
But dreams, they are to me an eternity.

For there is no virtue, and unlike thee,
My beauty is no good to myself;
Perhaps the highest misery lies in me,
And this loneliness is virtuous poetry.
For there is no handsomeness like yours,
But ‘tis only a dream to be in your arms.

I walk away silently, as always;
You are not acquainted with my ways.
Who am I to actuate a dreamy kiss;
I am not even a retort to lying bliss.
There is no fate in our hands, ah;
I have been consumed by all fiends.

I read away in silence, as always;
For love hath seemed too awkward to me,
There is too much sunshine every day;
That I am blind, I am not sweet to beauty.
Just like the famous days you celebrate;
I am not to know my own self, even late.

For love hath seemed to cruel to me,
One that consumes me with too much vigour,
Too insolent in its youth, merciless;
Mercies have left it, and not returned;
Love has corrupted, and stained me now,
What my edge shall bring I not know.

For love hath too much intensity, so now
I may and may not be able to love you though,
To say your love to me out of this dream,
To make all that scream sounds possible;
To make me trust, more than it seems,
To make this sore heart endurable.

For love hath broken me, and my vow
To love you might not be the one now;
Love hath had my chastity too high,
That knowledge may not be amicable;
That my prominence is but not the sky;
That my memories are not speakable.

For love hath had me, rendered me low
I am not noticed by my window;
And everything in my midair looks stale
And all of my sins may not be purified.
I am tortured and conjured in my shell,
But no love shall amend it right.

For love hath spent me, and stepped on me
Breaking my every inch of beauty;
But what is my beauty—a history to all,
I am not known beyond my artist’s wall;
I am a silence, to all circles and worlds,
I am not heard beyond my murdered words.
theinvincible Jan 2014
What if you bumped with a stranger?
Neatly dressed and obviously good looking
With eyes that melts when he gazed
And handsomeness you can’t resist
How would you react?
What if he offered a hand to help you rise?
You find that hand well maintained
With those long fingers and soft palm
Would you not hesitate to accept it?
What if he beamed at you?
It is a kind of warm and sincere smile
With those nice, glossy, red lips
Would you trust him your smile too?
What if he looked at you intently?
Considering the admiration you found in his eyes
With the fact that he is the most
Attractive man you ever laid eyes on
Would you give him a hint of your attraction?
What if he asked too much ‘bout you
Yet never gave you the chance to know him better
Would you let yourself be entertained?
By his deep, authoritative voice
Would you rather talk to him with fondness?
What if you've been asked to go out?
Get to know each other well, have some fun
Would you give him just a chance?
What if you found yourself enjoying his company?
‘Til your feelings for him developed
The once admiration you've felt grew and now blooms
Would you give yourself a chance to love and be loved?
Would you question the shortness of time spent?
To let that feeling reign
Would it matter to you?
How much you've known each other
Not that much yet the feeling overflows
Would it be a big deal to you?
That you’re just mere strangers
Who accidentally met, out of millions?
In this wide, topsy – turvy world…
“If your'e not brave enough to talk to a stranger how do you think they will become anything more than a stranger?”
― Eden Griffith
Isabella H Aug 2013
I didn't realize or tell that I was ill,
just a little over whelmed,
Your handsomeness formed by hopes and grief,
Brought your complexion a lighten grace,
I knew this couldn't be the final of our story,
The story of my dreams,
But even sleeping I was stunned,
I needed a snap of reality,
Your face,
The delicate features  physically inches away from mine and yours,
Pure porcelain aspects,
heartwarming,
petrified,
Difficult to memorize your physique, presents
Unable to refer back to a black and white film,
When I saw your lifeless, sadden, face I can only think,
That glance lifting up with clarity and joy,
We cling and griped onto each other for the limited time
that was given in the dream,
You returned once again,
The more I saw you, repeated intentionally,
I couldn't resist and lean against your touch,
without thinking nothing more then the happiness,
Not worried it would lessen nor fade,
Without thinking I was still alive and beating,
I needed to wake up once more,
and see the light,
to wake up to you,
again.
Iwan Lloyd Pitts Feb 2011
Our carpenter wakes, looks through window,
Sees the morning star, eats breakfast cereal.
The exploited saint, stands on a table;
"Drink me up" says he so commercial.

You can take Him out of his heavenly domain,
But you can't take the heaven out of Him.
You can burn His body but His spirit remains.
Desecrate handsomeness, needle pierces skin.

Lay it down, sugared up, milk and honey,
Eternity is a long time to get bored.
Heaven is cloudy, but Hell is sunny,
Empty gate, nobody died, impatient ******.

Our Heavenly Lady smiles, nobody looks down,
To the clean floor, Mother lays weeping.
Another stoner put in his cave casts a frown,
Messiah arises, but the world stays sleeping.
Brianna Nov 2013
You're like my favorite flower...
I could look at you all day and you'd just get better each second.
You're like the rain on a sunny day...
It sounds so sad but it's the freshest break in summer.
You're the perfect memory; the one I'll never forget nor want to lose.
I could go on for days about your handsomeness and even your flaws and it still wouldn't be enough to describe....
How perfectly suited we are for each other or
How perfectly enamored with every single piece of you I am...
Grandma never told me a tale
Never scared me by pointing at spooky pots
Never pained me by showing the bird cage trapped in the wild fire
Never forcefed me by threatening to lay in dark corridors
Never slept near me
Nor caressed me.

Sometimes she raved
About the handsomeness,
The extravagance and intelligence
Of our alcoholic, pockfaced, stingy
Grandpa.

And all these like fable
Told long ago
By your Grandma.
Travis Green Feb 2022
You crashed through my palace
Electrified my heart
Sparked my thoughts
Had me mentally enchanted
By your handsomeness
You were the dreamiest love
That took my world
Before I even knew what had occurred
I was left shuddering
Feeling deep and exquisite pleasure
Tafuta Atarashī Feb 2016
In her eyes
He is beautiful.
He is the fullness of a word that she will never find.
The one word that would perfectly describe
His handsomeness, his very essence,
His charm, and ardent presence.
He is the pink within her life.
His is the warmth that melts her mind
and sets the butterflies in her heart to fly.
Sets the wings of her heart to spread
that she might fly to his light.
He is the Helios to her Clytie
He is the star to which her songbird heart sings.
She is tuned into his key.
She blushes when he puts his lips
to hers and sets her face to glowing.
Sets her heart to soaring.
She doesn’t know the word to describe
the feeling he gives her. The word that
captures what he is to her what he is in her life.
But she knowss there was never a better feeling
before he stepped into her life.
From a time where  I decided to write how a lady must feel when she's with her love. Not sure if I got it right though.
Sarah Michelle Jul 2016
She says her boyfriend
is looking gray, not from age,
but from handsomeness
Sleepy Sigh Apr 2011
There's something in the face of a man
Who has spent his life doing
Not what was required of him,
Nor what he loved,
But what he felt forced to do
By some inexorable pressure inside his head and chest
That would splash him on the walls
If he did not bow to its will and power.

There is something that writers might call Beauty,
If they had to put a word to it,
But Beauty is present from the cradle,
Or it is a sudden bloom as a man matures.
It is handsomeness. It is a standard, accepted value.
No, there is a hardness around the eyes
Of a man who is determined to be
What he must be, or else die.
His eyes are not beautiful.

There is something attractive, though,
Something that must be watched -
Like a solar eclipse -
Because it is rare and pleasant
And unpleasant too.

There is something there that will not be ignored,
Planted firmly as if to say, "This is the face
Of not a person,
But a personality.
This is not a man,
This is the constant, untiring, unflinching
Action of a man."

It is a thing that shouts "I must!"
And at the same time echoes the pleasure of doing,
The joy of not straining under that maxim,
But thriving - it is enough to tide him over
When he is helpless and hopeless and old.
There is something in his face
That has done what it set out to do,
And everything else is just time ticking by
Until it can be done again.
Pick your preposition.
Thepillar Sep 2018
My demon,
My demon,
How you have corrupted me!
And showing me everything we could never be.
Leaving me to question my morals,
My ideals,
My religion,
For the idea of love.
My demon,
My demon,
How you have played me!
Treating this as if it was a game.
Tugging my heart and leading me along.
I've done everything wrong and done my part.
My demon,
My demon,
How you have fooled me!
Making me believe all that was needed was time.
Making me think my soul was worth it.
I gave you all of me and received nothing from you.
My demon,
My demon,
Here I am left falling from promised land.
Led astray by your lies.
All for the idea of love.
As I crash down, you're nowhere to be found.
Lie here, broken, bitter, and crying.
No salvation in sight.
But you reached out your hand.
Leading me on again.
Plunging me further into jealously.
Still following without clear answers.
All for the idea of love.
The longer I follow.
The more I deteriorate from my beautiful, angelic state.
Leading me to question if it's worth it or not.
"Of course" I tell myself, knowing anything - or anyone worth it takes time.
Continuing on and on.
On and on.
Catching a glimpse of my reflection.
Noticing my physical state.
Trying to hard to improve my handsomeness.
Trying to look good for you.
Yet here I am,
Dark circles,
Caffeinated heart,
and shaky knees.
Staring into my own soulless eyes.
...what have I become? Did I do this, or you?
Degraded for this idea of love,
Bastardized for this idea of love,
Defiled by this idea of love.
Yet here I remain.
By your side.
Despite my new state.
An odd aura of comfort and pain.
Seemingly the only thing keeping me sane.
The day I craved you
When the sunlight was accurately positive.
When the world was beautifully discussing your handsomeness with all the curious gardens,
I gave up on my parchments for the sake of admiring your features more and being blessed with you every day; despite it taking up my words, my ancient quill, and my beauty. I’m still a believer in your magic. I’m no longer a mermaid; I’m the betrayer of the ocean.
ChinHooi Ng May 2015
In a pure world
music and birdsong
spinning
the lingering
melancholy
no more sadness
only memories
and longings
prostrating on the trails
of yellow leaves
counting the rhythms
of loneliness
the handsomeness of the island
the dreaminess of
the susurration of the beach
the elegance of the sails
the water as always
beating the stippled quietness
awaiting the next dawn
a ketch drifting on the ocean
shining a turquoise light
portraying the poetry
of the predawn
or the predawn hilarity of
the fish and shrimps
in the ocean
this is a pure world
and there is music
and running water in it
and the samisen of moods
and the psaltery
of the nature
whats more
the happy pixies shuttling
in the forest
of purity.
AntoinetteBrandt Aug 2015
It has been more than twelve hours and I think the spell of his kiss has began to wore off. It's hard to deny a man who is fantastically powerful, good-looking, and smart. He could see right through my innocence. I keep looking at my cell phone, he has sent me one text, and I haven't replied. At lunch, with my boyfriend, I kept staring out into nothingness. I was sexually unsatisfied and stressed over work and bothered by my lover's lack of ambition. There is a painful handsomeness to my lover, and I would never sacrifice the love we have. But there are other loves out there with fatal results. Last night, I laid down in the grass next to this guy and gazed at the distant stars. Not being able to advance made him more desirable. That kiss was full of lust, unbridled lust. I am being driven mad at the thought of how much excitement it brought me. The whole experience was intoxicating. And I am scared that a bird will tell my secrets, i think a glowing white raven was in fact the stars, and he will tell my boyfriend that I was unfaithful. Even though, deep down, I have always realized this. It was my boyfriend, in the very beginning of our courtship, who fell in love with another woman, with unearthly beauty. She was enchanting, her icy blue eyes metaphysical and her touches delicate. I have always been able to feel with my empath powers when my boyfriend was attracted to someone else. It makes me sad that we are loved and flawed. That we are two creatures trying to live in love forever, with our hopes and aspirations and our wistful secret fantasies. I close my eyes, and turn the raven black for being a spy. I take his feathers and make a head-dress out of them. I ponder what our next encounter will be like. I think his ability to move one will be most impressive, and i'll watch him go like a fire unleashed in the heart of darkness.
Dancing Desire/Désire dansant_

Chest to chest
I gently rest
My heart
On the beat
Of your heartbeat

Peau contre peau
Mon coeur, doucement
Se repose contre
Le rythme
De ton coeur

My secrets shine
Enchanted music
Along the symphonic
Mild and melodic
Lines of your lips

Mes secrets brillent
Musique magique
Le long des symphoniques
Douces et mélodiques
Lignes de tes lèvres

The handsomeness
Of your proud eyes
Pierces the skies
Of my pleasures
Tender treasures

La délicatesse
De tes yeux fiers
Perce les ciels
De mes plaisirs
Trésors de tendresses

Passionately
And endlessly
In this blissful
Embrace I trace
Your soft face

Passionnément
Et éternellement
Dans ce paysage
Je trace les traits
De ton doux  visage

The dance goes on
Over and over
Oh my lover
As we hold on
To each other

On danse encore
Encore et encore
Oh mon amour
En se tenant
L’un contre l’autre

The night draws near
So do her sands
We touch this time
With our hands
Realm of the rhyme

La nuit est proche
Ses sables approchent
Nous touchons de nos doigts
Le temps, royaume
De la rime

My secrets shine
Enchanted music
Along the symphonic
Mild and melodic
Lines of your lips

Mes secrets brillent
Musique magique
Le long des symphoniques
Douces et mélodiques
Lignes de tes lèvres


The stars cannot
The dust will not
Or so it seems
Destroy our dreams
Lost in the streams


Les étoiles ne vont pas
La poussière ne va pas
Il semblerait du moins
Détruire nos lendemains
Perdus dans les courants

In the motion
Of this passion
In your fusion
You feel the heat
Hold to the beat

En mouvement
De cette passion
Dans ta fusion
Suis le rythme
De cette heure

Let the peaceful
Night wrap its shade
So we can fade
Away graceful
Within our bodies.

Laisse la calme nuit
Nous voiler
Gracieusement nous laisser
Disparaitre au **** dans l’or
De nos corps.

February, 23 2015
23 Février 2015
University of California, Riverside
Université de Californie, Riverside
This poem was simultaneously written in English and in French. You'll notice, I can't decide whether to write in English or French so what I tend to do is translate into either French or English. :)
Holding your breathtaking handsomeness,
like dancing with the same alluring malice
that draws its scars over my innocence.
The elusive harmony that brings all
my weaknesses up,
like a romantic novel
drowning between the mouth of
the Mariana Trench.
How could I
bring those dark days back?
How could I not let you go?
A spell of handsomeness
into a zipper tonight
that harrow mist there fraught
why hers is sheer
a fascinating whim
both together though hardly a tack
in a bed of satin.  Alas
Re-launches of the feet begin, the twelve Gigas Camels rise, with their even toes, they would begin to detach the ungulate nails with fat deposits of the six remaining camels. They ripped the epidermis with their nails to pour out the oil and grease lamps they need to distribute the Full Moon on each palm of each component. The moon was celebrating, wandering everywhere and picturing King David's court, slumbering in his cubicles as he fell into the first light of the second-morning dream. Undivided, they walked in procession through the source of the change in the social-mystical paradigm that held them together, they were Raeder and Petrobus, Alikantus with a golden mount on his small back, the Lepidoptera, bumblebees, bees, and wasps, who walked silently and on tiptoe over the first level of damp wind at dawn, many of them alighted on the backs of the immune camels, to advance with them to the restored Gethsemane cam point.

Its phylogeny collaterally imputes the taxonomy that belongs to the camelid genus, which is a taxonomic category that is located between the Judah family and the Middle East in the buried ecclesiastical species; promoting a genus of a group of organisms that in turn can be divided into several species. They being strictly herbivorous, the musculature differs from other ungulates, since their legs are attached to the body only in the upper part of the thigh, instead of being connected from the knee upwards by their skin and muscle, therefore they are It will make it very easy to connect with the flying insects so you don't have to kneel. While the six who sectioned off the warehouses of the other six, they will remain stationed and interceded, until their superficial wounds heal, before departing back to the port of Jaffa. On this long journey until dawn they must remain standing on their foot pads, to resist the final farewell rite of the twelve caverns, when they leave the placental sites that had been developed with the Primogeniture to empower themselves in the vestigial area of the Aramaic word rescued. This will be to consent and to scale the prosperity of having the signs of vitality intertwined, in each nostalgia of calls and responses of the messages for the "Propitius This Humanity" that is projected in the secular future. This will be generated by external stimulus every time the intention to communicate with the ceremonial of existence-life-deaths-fullness is presented, resembling the voice in greater incisive devotional forces, clinging or grasping in the most minimal terminologies, which may even pass through stop or not be understood when the Golden Gate of Jerusalem is inaugurated.

From the top, very high, you can see the Gigas species walking with six candlesticks, these species wading with their artiodactyl locomotion, towards a wave over the flames of the candelabra, ibid towards the rock of the Mashiach. While the other camels were recovering from their wounds, they looked with their serene eyes, very warned, for the proselytizing nunciature that will channel reactions in the Hexagonal Progeny, also being absolved of the commitment of the prayers by the new launch of the ceremonial of atmospheric systematization in Gethsemane. , with the Messiah signals with the frame, reverberated volume to flood with light, and sounds in all geographic areas that have not had a subscription. While the Gigas tread earthly with their ungulate nails, Vernarth and Alikanto, Saint John the Apostle, King David, Eurydice, Raeder, and Petrobus (The Hexagonal Primogeniture), solemnly deprecated before such an episode. It was just a short time before dawn and even the moon disputed with other stars above shining brighter in such an exalted event ..., as it is to enchant them, at the moment when everything would seem placid and gestation of winged embryos, appearing from the top of Olivos Berna near the Cherubs. They came with the Mashiach, which brought them merciful news. They could be seen from a deep meadow, in two spots of their splendid white tunic, full and golden petals and blue tassels, with Lepidoptera around Him ..., by the perimeter distilling in the blue crimson iridescence.

Descending through the foliage of the lighted olive trees, previously illuminated by the northeast ***** of the orchard, the Cherubs and Archangel Michael and Gabriel, came with the decided parallelism by sixfold the interpretations manifested by the Lepidoptera, in order to consolidate the institution of the north side of Gethsemane as a sanctified area from an Aramaic devotional invocation, of absolute naturalization of classification of Cherubs and Lepidoptera as winged tetra, and cultivators of phylogenetic transmission of the pollen-garden on the opening of the gynoecium of the Olivo Berna in the Valley of Olives, and of the taxonomic deliberation by the hierarchical precept of the georeferenced species of the aerosismic corridor, and the rectilinear passage between Bethlehem and Gethsemane.

On the tops of the olive trees were the Cherubim and the Lepidoptera, fluttering through flowery branches intertwined with the Messiah's tunic that had been descending with a hue of the Torah's handsomeness, then a light of pre-dawn fireflies re-blossoming in its mood. These brought millions of bundles of other thousand groups of other forges to be born among the first lamps of the day. The Lepidoptera ascended by oval intervals, in the spiral path through the petiole until the fifth generation of Rapa or Esquimo of forty flowers, with four white petals in phylogenetic simultaneity with Cherubim and Lepidoptera in four elemental portions, to deliver the fundamental membrane generating the physiognomy of the Messiah amidst the transposed and blonde scarlet lights of the Messiah's face, in the contextual crucifix of themselves, on the shoulders of the vapor of Capernaum. The Esquimo or the flowers would grow in clusters between ten to forty flowers in graceful series, depending on the variety, each flower would also have four Lefkí Zoí petals, a little pulpy, facing each other in the symmetrical cross. The flower will bring in the center a yellow-orange hue of an arboreal sphinx, which would be filled with strings that will gradually transform the appearance of the oily tree, giving white touches to the olive grove before the stinging looks of gallantry. Each flower will approximately dine on its captive septenary pollen so that the flowering phase of the olive trees will become in a brief duration, but of rabbinic slip, in the cyclical lives of Syriac Aramaic poetics. The hermaphroditic female caste will bring you the biblical universal pollen, with convulsive stamens and overloaded pistils traveling more than nine and a half miles from Bethlehem “Kafersuseh” to the orchard. Faced with the majestic pollination, the Archangels Michael and Gabriel will invade the dual percentage of the gynoecium of the flowers, giving way to the Meshuva or White Mantle, full of tremendous petals Lefkí Zoí or snowy life. Vernarth falls to the ground, and shudders between the petals, filling his entire body and face with thousandths of them, many of them being transmuted into the oily fruit of the Universe, palate between his ring finger, and the index finger with Purified cadence of the Mikvah. , floating in such an elliptical orbit of the neutrons of Relativity, and the Micro Universe to be ecstatic with the presence of the Messiah with its white robe of petals. Between Hippocrates and Aristotle, the scarlet air was twirled, full of fragrant gum resin, the iridescent of mental hallucination and Ektasis, came down with the tassels of Petals Berna in his tunic alba, the Mashiach rushes where Vernarth, takes it and indicates to him filially:

Mashiach: “Only you…, in each of these Lefkí Zoí cells you are…, and in which you are not in my memory, the fruit of the Berne Olive Tree is reborn. Over the glass of this species I heard your impetration, I know who you are and gratitude for resisting your lymphoma so nobly, I took it out of your soul when it was confused with the fresh breeze of grass that fed the fungi of pain. Mitzvah or "commandment", immerse yourself in this columnar Mikveh of Lefkí Zoí of petals Berna, here the voices and words of Aramaic, will run in a row to the right, to **** the target of my Evangelized thoughts, with your miraculous grace when redeeming John Apostle of his exile. Come to me walking from this unleavened bread of the elixir of the Bern olive tree, and let us drink the Hanukka wine in its vital dawn that boils with every sip, and in your sore streaky courage. I am panting, I come from a very remote distance, but I have taken this road from Emmaus to get you up. Get up and come to My Vernarth! ”.

Vernarth erects the column of him purified with the petals emulating the Mikveh "Purification", he predisposes himself to the Holy path of the Meshuva "Return to God". Thus from today Vernarth is born and revives to continue its journey back to Patmos ”. By the time he got up, the elliptical pollinations of Trifolium fragiferum clovers were crossed, with stolons frolicking from the obovate fragmenting ultraviolet. The inflorescences became globose to fall into the hands of the Messiah, between a golden hairy chalice that simulated the Vexillum from great lengths of eternal love, Lefkí Zoí; or Berne petals make indehiscent duplex of the fruit seedling, mostly yellowish-greenish with dark purple spots or spots. It has a deep main root, in cross-pollination favored by insects, with the necessary vernalization for the development of flowering with the exaltation between both.

Sibila Herófila sings (bis): “It is not the absence of good works in the book of life that seals the fate of the individual, but of his name. All sorrow is inviolable, the original Greek religiosity, with four gods Leitourgia Orama; Perseus returning the eyes of the Beautiful and hungry Graeae, delivering Vernarth's right vision in the captured catacombs of the corrupted resurrected bodies, before being corrupted. He was supported by Asclepios, the physician-god, Hermes, leading the souls in the wind tunnel in the 212 of the tubular level, the enigmatic Cabiros, and finally Prometheus, on the agora in the bonfire of humanity. On his twentieth birthday, the oracle at Delphi commanded Orestes to return home and avenge the death of his father. Orestes returned home with his friend Pílades, son of Estrofio. According to Aeschylus, Orestes met his sister Electra at the tomb of Agamemnon, where they had both gone to honor the deceased; they recognized each other and planned how Orestes was to carry out his revenge. But Vernarth goes ahead with the astonishing stolons of the Trifolium Fragiferum to docilize the trial on the Aeropagus or hill of Ares, Athena receives Orestes on the Acropolis of Athens and organizes a formal trial of the case before the Areopagus hill, a court formed by twelve Attic judges. The Erinyes demand their victim, Orestes alleges Apollo's mandate, the judges' votes are evenly divided and Athena, with her decisive vote, declares Orestes innocent with a bouquet of the resplendent hybrid of the Vernarth Mitzvah "
Codex XXIX - Mundis Parallel Mashiach of Judah VI part
Travis Green Dec 2022
I wanna be your **** effervescent *****
In your distinctively dreamy prism
Of impeccable refreshing majesticness
Breathe in your rare earthy spectacularity
Your glowing and smoldering dopeness

Kiss your luscious pink lips
Stroll my hands over your smooth black beard
Feel the depths of your authentically
Adventurous masculinity streaming into my system
**** zesty Daddy, your hotness is so
Emotionally charged and hypnotic
Broad, magical-worthy architecture

I am so under the spell of your delectable sexing flex
Bound to your visually gripping slickness
Your masculineness is a brilliant
And appealing art gallery
Of potent thought-provoking poetry in motion

Deeply thoughtful and remarkable wonderment
Your splashiness impassions me deeply
Awakens my nerve cells
Communicates with my gayness
Manipulates my thoughts and feelings
Reaches the deepest parts of me
Where your alluring hardness reorganizes my core

You scope out my sweetness
Reel me into your hottest heavenly handsomeness
I ache to trace every sector
Of your rare and fantastic shape
Make love to your thugness

Constrain and tantalize your game
Overwhelm your vessel
Hold the attention of your dimension
Give you divine, vibrant, and luscious pleasure
Take you deep into frenzied sensuous ecstasy

Taste your sizzling sweet breeziness
Lick the nape of your neck
Kiss the hardness of your shoulders
Your manly muscled chest
The rock-hard contours of your flawlessly formed abs

I wanna gag on your smoking and swollen poker
Marvel at its smooth and yummy hunkiness
Thoughts of draining it
Caress his big shiny *******
Let it speak volumes to my heart and soul

Ready, ****, and oiled
With your fat and juicy thickness
I wanna **** you forever and a day
Put your massive, low-hanging package in my mouth
Groove on it, lick your full, thick bush

Slurp all around your firmness
Guzzle down your killer-lit muscle
Ride to the beat of your deep ****** heat
Radical rebellious Romeo
Rough robust lover boy
Tall, aesthetic, and grandly gifted deliciousness

You are a spontaneous striking delight
Rife with intense high-energy supremeness
Sexually active and aggressive
Competitive and impressive
You spin me out of orbit
And make my heartbeat soar
To piping hot phenomenal Mars

I stare at your magical, passionate, and intriguing eyes
And I am lost in a starry night
Of mesmerizing and shining bliss
Unrestrained unquantifiable fieriness
You bring boundless solace to my homoness

You are like an enthralling and revolving ocean
That draws me into your *** appeal
Has me weak for your sweetness
The way you sink me deep
In your thrilling and transfixing litness

Make me dance with your heavy hung hammer in my mouth
How you hijack my throat
Cause me to choke uncontrollably
Creep into my existence and bewitch every inch of me
Take me down with your immaculate mantastic vitality

Deeper and deeper I go as I stroke
And ******* your soul
Take all of your slick riveting machoism
In my prism of feminine tenderness
As your sinful steamy ***** stream down my throat
And make so smitten with your aesthetically pleasing exquisiteness
Apparently, it was like an apparition
            He eyed me, ***** in his wilderness
        Heaving me to the haven of his handsomeness
            Him, my male, my marvelous malediction

His Eye seeing my I inside the aperture
    Of his “camera’’, when our room was nature
        But plunged in the ocean of his sea, see
              Like two heroes wrestling on the coastline
     We rose naked, his fingertips skimmed my spine
Between skies and waters, with our furious epitome

       We made love to the waves, alike Eteocles
       The current circling our chromatic compositions
             Our tongues watery, our limbs exhausted
  In this hopeless happiness, we stroke our passions
On the rough wood of Pan’s harp, oh Polynices!
     Cursed by a kiss, blessed by a blow and exulted    
By the smooth summits of our souls and bodies    
Seduced by the sweetest sin, singing our silent rhapsodies


      My name is Miguel, I am not Michael the archangel
         But he certainly was. In the warmth of
the wave lays my angel.


November 13, 2014
Inspired by the movie by Javier Fuentes-León, ‘’Undertow’’ or Contracorriente (2009)
David Hilburn Oct 2023
The advance of spices
Found in today's shyness
The shrewd and spry, auspices
Of a count of succinctly, the face you make is...

My favor of sincerity
Such an uncertain cue, to look the other way...?
And know the silence, has a question in all civility
Does a sly thought, have the best of well, your day?

Dawn, the silver of the clouds
Has just fallen in love; with a coming star...?
Sharing only the mornings rustling, of breezes and towns
The taste of seclusion with a joy here, never to far...

Noon, the more we modernly save, the time
Happy was a heralded ordeal, of handsomeness's stone
We take to resolve, for another solution of sides
We are with, the kindness and the insist, of complication...

Dusk, and the fools of surmisal, have become realer silence...
The stare of synchronicity and its terror, love
Has the day for another you, with a realm to signify, the end
Of a wishing sky; a simpler earth, hungry for a covenant...

And the night of a lands court...
Made to order, and seldom, the love of forces we describe
As mercy, to an angel's heart, the very first vanity to flirt
Has you by a king, notice a queen share a kiss with life...

Any and all, the resolute masses, take their time...
Here, and the space for vanity to understate hell
With whose tongue; we know the contrite, the pain, and exodus of rights?
Of a coulding mirror? so did the candor it took to say desire's day, and all's well...

With the light and the shadow...
Spirit in my hand, or estrange a hair for a carnal blossom
I've seen your care become a salt, an imagination of milk and honey
That has a jew for you, a waiting wall of accord that has seen, loves and hates shown...
A candle for altruism's window...? nowhere, the other way around?
Travis Green Mar 2021
No one can love and hold me
the way that you do.
No one can kiss and tease me
the way that you do.
I can’t stop thinking of you.

You have put your touch on me.
Everything about your handsomeness
harmonizes with mine.
My heart is harboring your love,
feeling so amazing in your greatness.
Your handsomeness is glowing,
My love for you is growing.
Seeing you with others is aching.
My heart inside is breaking.
My chances for you are decreasing.
Even when we don't talk for a while,
I'm still caring and can't stop thinking.
I'm really tired of hurting,
But when you talk to me,
I still find myself smiling.
Bunny, my hearttt

— The End —