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Life’s Grateful Announcement

It is not always one is touched
by the flare of feelings vast,
and quite unending, and to encapsulate,
that which has bloomed so astonishingly
with a word, or few, is a hope
I cannot have, nor grasp.
Not all things, or people, of great unimaginable beauty,
may be named or written,
and with a breath, so fleeting,
I bid acceptance of the fate
that graces me, and yet I look away,
wishing I could prove myself a writer,
and capture the poetry of my environments.

I am grateful for my life,
even if it is but a moment,
however, much like a cup of coffee,
all must be devoured, and all must eventually conclude.
I do not wish to write of how I die,
but, if you may honor me, I would summarise
how I did live, from occasions of much mature love,
where oxygen was fewer on passion filled nights
of highs greater still than ecstasy, sweat pouring
across my face like the run off from a waterfall,
to the lowest points of my existence,
when the touch of absence was filled
by graceless depressing sorrow, consuming
my every whim and need until even a step forward
felt like an unending sprint.

But am I in the moments that I have listed here,
or are occurrences little more than items
on a shelf to remember me by? Who is this person
that writes this less than fabled tale, and who
shall I be tomorrow, or the day after,
when words of my time upon this Earth
are not presented onto those few readerships
who place an ear to this aching voice of mine,
hoarse from so much writing, and listen
ever so closely to what I dare announce?

Queen of my Eternal Dreams

If I could say I love you like no other,
words would be barely tolerable
for only in my heart would the truth
of my affections lie, and it is only in these feelings
felt by the heart of yours, that my love
speaks glistening volumes like none
you have ever heard before,
and parts the darkness clean,
until only the beat of my passionate stride
remains in your ever blossoming ear;
queen of my eternal dreams.

In a world, of ever continuous
heartbreak arcades, my intellectual mind
shall ensnare your heart with thought
forevermore, and never shall it wane
nor fail to prosper. Like any drug,
love can be razed to the ground,
much like a cocaine field, and the ashes
of its existence can filter into the nothingness
of yesteryear’s memory. But my immortal
feelings, more stunning than a firework,
are the embodiment of perfection’s pull,
which encase you in a chrysalis of emotion.

Passion Dance – Poetry Reading

At this here link:  http://youtu.be/YF4rf6Ubp5k is a reading of a poem I had published last year. It is about the interpretation of 13 as an unlucky numeral, whilst attempting to find another approach to looking at this supposedly unlucky number.
On a side note, I think my interpretative performance of the poem might be a little deranged, and I believe it might be pertinent to note an f-bomb also makes an appearance.

Hope you enjoy guys!

An Ode to Memories

There will be no rebuttal
when I admit to the ghost
of Spring, which lingers
in the Summer air,
that never have I had
a memory quite like the one
of my graceful paramour
and I. Swept up upon the beach
of our unflinching admiration
for all that is perfect
and true, I was able to study,
with intimate satisfaction,
the physicality of you
and your life’s prose.
Never had I sown the seed
of romance like I did that evening,
beneath the gaze of the moon,
the two of us intertwining
a connection unlike any united before.

To The One I Hold Most Dear

My eyes had been making love
to your irises from the moment
you noticed my expression;
tempted by the exotic flavors
of your flesh, yet embarrased
for being caught red handed
with my heart grovelling
for your attention.
Vain flattery is incapable
of grasping the perfection
of your features, as the depths
of my passionate, yet imaginary
love affair with your corporeal self
blossoms irregularly. I realise
time has all but expired
and history shall never run its course
the way that I truly wish,
but if you were willing,
and I only have a dream
at my disposal, my fatigued admiration
for your features will humbly
undo your blouse
and let temptation relish.

With Undying Affection

Your smile, like thunder,
pounds in my eardrums
whenever it appears,
the beauty of its foundation
being incomprehensible
to behold. So I cringe
and shy away, believing
myself unworthy of
such a flawless sight,
which pierces my senses
like a serrated blade
that cuts down deep
into the fiery trenches
of my heart’s passion,
refusing to relinquish
its hold over me.
Although I have fought
the feelings postulated
by your very existence,
I have instead become
a slave willing to
humbly serve you,
with undying affection.

For a Teardrop of Affection

Dear love, have you abandoned me
this day? Have you granted me
the affection of the woman I adore?
If this is not the case, and the sun
has instead ceased to shine on me,
should I put my heart on auction,
and hope that my lady comes to me?
I can see it now; wanted, a woman
of beauty and intellect; of passion
and understanding; of truth and
divine appeal. Looks are not
everything, but it is true that I am
a man, and the shallowness of my
eyes prevents me from
acknowledging a woman, whose face
fails to capture me. This woman,
she must be an intellectual, capable
of holding a sentence between her
teeth, with enough space behind
her ear for a felt-tip pen. For she
is a writer, and words are her
kung-fu, and with just one punch
she will have you surrounded by
a sentence of her choice. This
woman, she must be able to
charm a cobra with but a glimmer
of a smile, for the poetry of her
personality permeates her world
with the everlasting fragrance
of the life that she enjoys. Her
laugh, must be experienced
in the act of happiness, and needs
to feel like roses caressing the
naked skin rather than the
shattering of broken glass. This
woman, she must have an accent,
quite unlike the one which escapes
my lips, for the sound of an
Australian, to me, has little
romantic appeal, and if she can
speak another language
altogether, well, she would have
certainly plucked the strings of
my attention, from now until
time’s end. This woman, she
must appreciate the touch of
jeans and trousers upon her
legs, not just the billowing of
the wind, or the glisten of our
nearest star. She must not
accommodate every feminine
tradition, and must be capable
of becoming not a stereotype,
but her very own person. The
colour of her eyes; her hair;
her skin, is all debatable, much
like the touch of tattoos and
jewellery, which inevitably,
will always have my approval.
Lastly, and this is non-negotiable,
this woman must be capable of feeling
an affection towards me, and if
this be true, then love it must
surely be, and with a smile, and
a heart of unending greatness,
I will tame the wildest oceans,
cross the driest continents, and
brave the most heinous of storms,
if it means I could kiss the woman
I shall marry and adore from now
until the collapse of everything
that makes me who I am this day.

With Crimson Passion

Have I flirted with you too much
my lady, or have I flirted too little?
Has my liking you being revealed,
or has it remained unseen by all?
Have my advances been too
ambitious –  is there in fact no
mutuality tying us together?
Are my feelings written across
my face, like words upon a page,
or are they still in darkness,
untouched by the dawn? Have
you considered me a lover,
and if the answer is indeed a ‘yes’,
I would very much apprecaite
the opportunity to submit
my application for quite possibly
the greatest job around. Will
this story end on a note of
happiness, or is this another
tale of agony verbatim? I only ask,
for you are a light bulb shining
brightly in a lighthouse on the
seaside, and I am but a moth,
traveling upon the night wind.
Hands have tried to swat me
right out from the air, for it is
believed by some that only
butterflies ought to take flight
upon the Earth. If this is to be
a tale of woe, when the hands
of you and I do touch, my body
shall be eviscerated the moment
my physicality connects with yours,
for in a tale yet to be touched by
humble love, a globe of light and
a sweet moth are not destined
to be friends. But if you share my
feelings, and believe the opportunity
for romance is one that ought
not to be forgotten, I will happily
fly to you, and kiss your crimson
passion with all my lusting heart.

The Light Beyond Dark Dreams

What are dreams? What is the point
to viewing the screen within my mind?
Is it the truth I see – of the future
or the past, that makes me long to shine?
I hear you say I’m sexy; I’m a spunk;
that you are very interested, is this at all true?
Call it my desperate want to know.
But never do you remain in one location,
and you are impossible to find, and all I want
to say is how I love you; I have since
the moment your image was reflected
in my eyes.  If I cannot be with you,
then what is the reason behind my feelings;
behind all of these dreams? If the fates
want something to be known to me,
I say they call all be damned;
why cannot they emphasise the truth
with words? I know I have a time constraint
before the woman I love leaves,
and if the answer is available, please tell me,
(I am a grown man after all) so that I may
pursue the beauty who has captivated
my heart so. If not, then leave me
in silence, for I cannot stand been toyed with
when I feel this way. Grant me happiness
or give me sadness, just do not provide
to me false hope, for the last thing I need
this night is the belief that the  woman
I love so dear has but a single romantic
notion of me flickering within her mind.
Tonight, please, may I dream
of the answer that I seek, or may I dream
no more of this forever, to spare myself
the pain. I may deeply love this woman,
but I cannot ever love someone
who feels not anything for me.

Unforgivable

Loneliness, will you abandon me this night
in replace for an infinitude of love
as unending as the time? Will you
give to me but a moment to have a life
with a beauty, who ought to have her
features draped across the stars for all
to see?

I proclaim that I be ready to remove
all that has halted my journey towards true
north, where the angel of my blessed dreams
waits upon a pedestal of scented roses for
my passion, which I will gladly give to her
in a chalice that has been emptied
of all the sorrow that it once contained.

A promise of love eternal and infinite
would be met with happiness at the gates
of true romance in novels written by those
who believe in endings which conclude
with the sound of wedding bells.

Instead, I sit before a pedestal which
encapsulates all of my mortal failings,
my tears salting all that I look upon
in these moments of undone despair.
Where once I thought I could find
happiness, I have discovered that I
am merely a fool, whose punishment
is that taint of disrepute which lingers
upon my skin.

I am no murderer, and I am not
responsible for the breaking of many
a young woman’s heart, but I do
solemnly swear in the courtroom of
love, that I, the writer of these here words
am guilty of asking a young maiden
to enjoy a dinner with me.

She waved her hand and could not
submit to the allure that I had thrown,
my chivalrous attempts at romance
being but a shallow pool in contrast
with the ocean of eternal magic she
wished to have bestowed upon her soul.

The answer ‘no’ would have been all that
surely did suffice, and I would have been glad
anyways, for her voice, like lavender, had
draped itself across my ears. But no, she did
not dare stop at words, for the moment
was to play itself out within the foundations
of her mind every night when she tried to
simply rest, the nightmarish imagery of
my love confusing the sanctity of her mind.

So, she shot me looks of venom, whenever
our paths did happen to cross, and I be
lucky that I am naturally immune to the
toxicity of her now rancid flavored eyes,
which were once so delicious, that no man
alive could have fought the urge to sacrifice
his very soul in exchange to look upon
such masterpieces.

I never meant the pain that now rampages
like an unrestrained fury through her mind,
but I on the other hand find utter strangeness
in what has here transpired. Could my
affections really be so horrifying? And if so,
what would need to be done to see to it
that I am eternally forgiven?

I wrote this in regards to a dilemma that I at present have. A few months ago I asked a young woman out, to no avail, for she was already in a relationship. I am uncertain of her status at the moment, but am almost certain that it may have changed. My question is; should I ask her out again? Any answer would be surely appreciated.

Thank you for reading ladies and gentleman!