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Analogue
I heard from her only a week ago, it seems,
She wants me to remove her from my lucid dreams.
A picture she had sent I had spread upon my wall,
Her hair it was forest fire red and she looked over six feet tall.
My furry gaze had been delivered with a laureate pose,
But it is not the thorn that pricks but brutal beauty of the rose.
As I had sent forth a second view, the first 'twas of early days,
When my dimpled grin and cheery eyes were narcisticarlly hazed,
Now my demeanour no amourer could possibly find that bright,
But in the truth that some seldom see, 'tis honesty that's right.
Perhaps this honesty shall call upon the love that has not wrote,
And I should sail with knowledge veiled to take to her this note.
And ask if she would have one more read of the words she does cause effect,
That if there be a non-worded naguality then I should write to rest.
But alas as the lesser man I am I did take down the charm,
As like cowards and curtaillers I wish to no-one harm.
So I liken that perhaps this piece shall be my very last,
For the muse has drifted and request driven me back to next day's class.
this is amazing! i wish i could write like that. Damn writers block.
this is amazing! i wish i could write like that. Damn writers block.
Good one! The line that really stuck with me is "But it is not the thorn that pricks but brutal beauty of the rose."
I think I will cry each and every time I read and reread this piece. The second last stanza is mesmerizing… I almost couldn’t bring myself to complete the poem, I was that hung up on it. Your comment was a further extension of the beauty YOU are. So keep in mind, while I cannot properly summon up a reasonable response for this masterpiece at the present time, I will remain that little star that is never too far; from heaven thoughts and Australian hearts. :)