Monday, November 19
[When poetry hits me I am inspired like that]
I hope my presence hadst thee bored not my wyf,
The heavenly blessing blossoms of Eden.
Then Venus came and called
The noisy master of arrows for a piece of bliss,
That was the element of lyf,
But little winged boy did brought yet nought.
It ain't hurt my heart and it would never
If thy sweet pearls were not matter of Noah's enemy.
Those enemies were made of the brightest shattered of sharp glass.
They kill me hither whenever I gaze at with bare eyes.
Thy warm breath is the strongest storm
Even it tears the trees apart on earth
And bothers my little boat that is sailing to thy undiscovered pink lands.
Many missionaries art hit by the noisy boy
Yet wherefore art thou not?
Art thy heart baked with grey substance?
I faint to follow thy garment's trace
As if Phaeton is struggling to take away the light of the day.
Nature is aware it is the sweetest deadly sin
Those sinners were cursed in your grace one by one
For thou makest them fall deep sleep like Sirens
And heartless oceans swallowed them
So there is only one body survived
I shall know not if thou want me thy loyal servant.