PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

underneath those bare cold cushions.my borrwed mortal self feeds me tonight.feeds me to enchanted slumber,and i,merely possessed in painted qualm and submerged within pricks of frost,wake.wake from this delirium of dreaded drama.all while the deadened galaxy of leaves rush in a merry gust.all a flood from the saint's pantheon i see.oh,what paradigm of madness this is!..lest it be but a dream of my naked grief.soreful, crippled paper hands with but lifeless veins holds on to the stoned parapet of this mystique temple.silent noise i hear,'neath the crimson dwarf's hill..and grey water below a lifeless ark flow,lifeless,lost in mirth of some divine myth.midst a canopy of orange maples it bubbles about in vain.poignant it looks,the warm liquid,submerged in frost.the tasteless fury of this holy poison awaits me,almost malign it feels,glaring its little waves on my eyeful sorrow.but i hold on to the golden oars now.my journey waits on me.till through a moist boulevard,alike a cryptic Acheron, it sails.me my own Charon.i ride.ride where mine delicacy of nonchalant love lingers.