On Sunday through the witching hours, the midnight mass bells tolled. Yet pews were empty and windows shuttered, no genuflection at the doors. The altar stood bare, no widowed veils, litany was not intoned, hymns did not permeate the starless night, no vicar spoke from leather tomes. And I alone in this lonely void, trepid […]
This author has yet to write their bio.Meanwhile lets just say that we are proud Mora contributed a whooping 29 entries.
Entries by Mora
Poem Entry : Page 2 Wingless Bird Wingless bird of strife and sorrow, whose cage now doorless bids farewell, into the vast unknown venture intrepid, and behind leave ye sleepless blanket. Wingless bird of sullen eyes, such beauty in your freedom, that cage now houses days on end, a memory into memories of flight. Wingless […]
“Religion” is what every individual makes it out to be for his or herself, and as such it has become very perverse in that man has taken this ideology and converted it into a propaganda machine. I am no theologian, but my many years on this earth have led me to make my own conclusions […]
Within void-like black of the night I hear the hollow stones cry their stories of the dream within dreams of those that have slipped into Lethe’s stream Be ware not to wake the dead, They know the secrets in your head The anguish, the symphony of screams This melody that permeates into the dream within […]
I awoke upon the midnight hours, and peered into the spinning void that lay just beyond the foot of my bed. Atramentous, figureless, as I adjusted myself from the sleeping vertigo. Strangling the words were that danced in my throat and deceitful echos intoned my ears. Had I just heard my name called? In the […]
Black heart torn apart, rend onto solitude, In vain you palpate song of langor, misery intoned My chanteuse darkest eve, on dying steed that gallops, Into the hours and into maw, this home that we call ours, This crimson writing on furled brow, lyrics of demise, Trample underneath burning hooves, those smiles that be devoured, […]
“…and what splendor, to walk blindly into damnation, and into your bed, where the skulls do weep.” -E. Mora #PoetCatharsis
In this 2nd episode of ThePOEMHOME podcast, we listen to the reading of Ernesto’s poetry “Hearts of Bitter Harvest” In barren field, sitting upon marble black, painted upon a piteous facade, a farcity so contrived as to mock its own insipidity. Along its flesh, torn are the moments as leaf from tomes, bidding the warmth […]
In this first episode of ThePOEMHOME podcast, we listen to a brief reading of Ernesto’s poetry “Blue Spruce Trees”. Just one of many audio poems down the road in other episodes.