Passion

A marriage of the roses

Folder: 
Poetry

A fornication of roses, a tearing down of the walls of innocence...

in unity we present ourselves before the goddess in this divine lust,

this marriage of sin and pleasure...

as separate flesh and separate souls we stand before the holy flame of the sacred of candle,

before the moon and heaven,

and the living and the dead, in this blood ritual, we become one.

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Pleasured Depths


 

To depths I fall into the haunting,

consumed by the leisure of your soul

Aura akin to stilled stealthy dawn,

'held presence taking its breathless toll

 

In painted décor of soft whispers,

speaks the hush from impassioned eyes

Alluring tempt by fiery sapphires,

sweeps with desire - appeasement's replies

 

Simmers the touch with each sultry glance,

enchanting beauty casting a spell

Air alluding to shared savored bliss,

all fantasies and longings to quell

 

Titillating taste from moistened lips,

stokes the fervor of bewitchment's wile

Drawing you close with purposed caress,

comes felt tremble - with agreeing smile

 

Every lovely contour traced by hands,

pausing to heighten sensual sighs

As I take your sweetness to my kiss,

room's ambiance enthralls to sound's rise

 

To the depths I'll take you as I fall,

promised pleasures to body and soul

A loving aura being the dawn,

forever sharing its breathless toll

 

Dream for all wonders,

non-ending from start

Always in thought,

lady of my heart

 

Shaded locks of flaxen

shimmer for a wind,

Eyes with heaven's blue

beauty without end

 

Angel lacking fault

soul for my light

Meaning for life,

a love so right

 

© C.E.Vance

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A different thought.

 

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Jenna Rose

It's been months since we've seen each other

You've been in hiding

But I've just been busy

 

You peel out of that black little number

I look at your body

And I feel dizzy

 

Your curves are so perfect with your porcelain skin

Covered in silver jewelry

You blush a scarlet hue

 

I'm completely floored by your beauty and I'm left breathless

Every single time

As I reach out for you

 

I touch you so tenderly but hold you so tightly

You're pulled in closer

And wrap right around me

 

I reach both hands around your neck with no hesitation

I dig my fingers in

As you cry out so sweetly

 

As you wail and you sing and you yell and you scream

I hold you close to my chest

With my fingers so deft

 

After hours your voice lingers into a somber silence

We're together again

Wish that you never left

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this one about my guitar. It scares me a little, but I feel like writing should do that now and then.

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The Way It Is

My eyes seek you, to examine you, feeling you.

Though fully clothed, I know your body completely.

My voice softens, hoping to hypnotise and entice.

My touch, gently caresses you like a flickering flame.

Ever present the danger of your passion erupting.

I tempt you, even though you don't desire me.

You know I can make you feel ecstasy, absent to you

Yet something your young curious body longs for.

That desire alone so strong, yet still you hold back.

 

Would you give in if I push, can you keep saying no.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Trying to speak whats there...not to be so structured.

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thrown under the bus

nowadays all she does is whine about her bodily pains,

but when you were left alone, 

she stayed drunk, prowling the bars

days on end, 

oblivious to the emotional wreckage left

on your chest, like a hot iron

melted through the tender heart of a 10 year old,

the open wound to the 

skin, 

cauterized shut

too soon,

without even leaving any open flesh

for the pain to be released,

seared closed with the shame, pain, and false pride of generations,

sealed in for years like a safety box of magnets,

pulling you towards anything and everything self-destructive

in a desperate search for some morsel of hope,

that the next christmas dinner might be more than 

knocking on the doors of neighbors, being lucky enough to be

asked in to share a holiday meal, 

and an attempt to be noticed for something other than the burden

you were to her deep and fervent longing for 

the escape, into smoke filled rooms,

that reeked with the heavy, putrid smell of week-old frying grease,

cigarettes, and hairspray, that became one of your main

reasons for going to live with your dad--

other than the day she up and left for california,

a 50 dollar bill to substitute her mac and cheese, dribbled with 

one and a half inches of ashes off a pall mall,

only to be less than reluctantly welcomed by him,

and a stepbrother who most always was 

notably more worthy of better dirtbikes, nicer clothes 

and a much more frequent pat on the back 

for a job well done, 

that most often wasn't.

 

a dollar for him and quarter for you, along with the bottom bunk,

that smelled like pee from all the years he wet the bed,

only ever good enough for sloppy seconds--

and then there was brownie,

poor broken down swayback, with skin infections,

baldspots and degenertive bone disease,

in light of your brother's black stallion stud,

as if the 6 inch scar on the back of your leg wasn't enough 

from your father's drunken rage with a 4 inch hunting knife,

and the glass from the window that left it's souvenir the night he threw you

across the room, all before the age of 14.

 

shit.

i may have shot that horse between the eyes too.

 

 

 

 

11:37 PM 6/26/2013

©

 

 

.........

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just a poem about a kid.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=

 

.....

Howling


Cry with the wolves,

And watch the devils play,

With advantageous eyes,

On the souls of men.







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Every Day Again

Every day I write again and again

and again, until my eyes tire or

the sandman steals my dreams;


In reality I am the sandman

borrowing dreams from reality,

sleeping with the enemy. Death

smells like fresh rosaries early in

the morning.


Every day I write again and again

and again, like I've told you

before, yet some only act like

they listen and continue to

question my passion for writing,

my love for poetry, and the

feeling I get behind the

microphone when the word is

spoken.


Many poets are called, but only

a few destiny chose to make a

mark, take a stand and proclaim

our name;


I am Sergio Valencia a Fresno

poet, like Hernandez, Medrano,

Medina they came before and

paved the way for Dominquez,

Jasso, Zenz, and I to take pride

in our gift and share with the

world. A talent many posses,

but never flourish.


Every day day I write again and

again and again I will tell you this

is all I know. I write explicitly, I

write rants, I write criticism,

bluntly rude to get a point across,

don't expect less from the

Soulcriticpoet.


I own my worth, and value the

soul of mankind enough to

critique it.


Every day I write again and again

and again, because if I didn't I

would probably seek and destroy t

hose who offend me, kill or be

killed mentality...yet the offensive

inspire me to be free and bleed my

rage on empty pages becoming

masterpieces of poetry.


I am offensive by nature, defensive

by culture. I also write about love

and pain felt by others, mothers and

fathers, brothers and sisters yours

and mine, political views, religious

lies, short stories, and more; the

audience chooses to focus on my

dark side.


Grumpy or Cranky is what some

have labeled me, to them I will say...

I better not!


Today I will continue writing like

yesterday, tomorrow like today, and

when I die I said it before from my

grave.


Every day I will write again and again

and again till death do us apart!

Any questions?? Keep them to yourself!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I think this explains my point! I write for the passion not mention of name!

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tags:

An Expression Of Love

I am gravely sorry
That you hold pain within you.

 

We share love,

Whether you choose to accept it
In your reality or not.

 

I am empathetic towards your pain.

 

I am not a psychiatrist.
I am not a psychologist.
I do not know how to control your delusions,
Only you know how to do that.

 

I do know this.

When you can clearly see,
That keeping your mouth shut,
Instead of opening it,
Is hurting far more people
Than it is helping...

 

...it's time to open your damn mouth.

 

 

05/19/2013 10:04 AM ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

We all choose our delusions in life.

Desire

Folder: 
Protection

I sat alone in the corner

The room around me was dark

Then you came and I saw your face

And behold there was a spark

A flame which flickered shyly

Afraid to cast a glow

But as you came to know me

The light began to show

It chased away the shadows

It danced upon my face

It turned my hole of solitude

Into a happy place

When you put your arm around me

It was like the thaw of spring

And the coldness slowly melted

As my heart began to sing

But soon the growing fondness

Turned into desire

And the spark that once had been so small

Became a raging fire

Now the flames grow ever higher

I think we’ve lost control

My body burns as the once small spark

Eats away my soul

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