http://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Brisk-November1.jpg951904Morahttp://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/poem_home_logo_new.pngMora2017-11-04 10:21:292017-11-04 10:25:12Blessing in brisk November
http://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/split_intothree.jpg9511200Morahttp://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/poem_home_logo_new.pngMora2017-10-23 19:55:592017-10-23 19:56:58Split Into Three
http://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/Fingers-that-trace-the-morning-mists@2x.jpg17681686Morahttp://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/poem_home_logo_new.pngMora2017-10-21 21:32:472017-10-21 21:32:47Fingers that trace the morning mists
I hold onto your little hand
and feel the stories untold
a bond ancient
and your eyes take hold
be it into the night
or into the vivid day
I will always hold your little hand
onto the blackest of frays.
When the evening would speak, in its tones so silent,
into my listening heart
the melody was so bitter, it made me close my eyes, such a
sweet caress that lifted my head
onto the altar where you’d wait so sullen, with those tears on
your prayers, that pain on your bones
the moon would paint its carcass across the dismal black,
pulling at the strings on our backs,
what a beautiful eulogy will be written into the stars, and how
the sky will mourn, to catch those tears I’d pass upon the
thorny tapestry, and bleed into that evening again
Your fingers forever engraved so enrapturing, onto my flawed
skin your farewell, those moments onto which my days are
enthralled, those lips on my flesh, they flayed my innocence
now woe has besieged our obstreperous night, where amid the
tempest we dance
awaiting the dying morning that we know won’t come, await
those breaths that we will not take
speak to me though my stars have fallen silent, my last vision
should be of you, and never more beauty into my eyes should
fall, the windows shattered against the raging conscience
So long has it been, lost among the gray, the midnight draped
on my veil
drifting amid the blackened sun, pitiful silhouette in the night
Long ago, your smile was with me, and the evening would
speak to me
So long has it been silent, your voice has faded from memory
***
The music that inspired this piece
http://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/TheNIghtwemet@2x.jpg17681686Morahttp://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/poem_home_logo_new.pngMora2017-09-25 10:08:292017-09-25 22:38:11The Night We Met
So fallen unto the embracing kiss
of those lips that speak in silent love
with the dialect of reciprocity,
the idiom of amorous culture
so entrenched within the fleeting moments the evanescent evening that as a shawl upon
your silken skin.
Adorns your breasts with the stars aligned, a glittering gift from the divine. So enthralled to your scent, the very colors on the plumage so vivid.
The delight at first light, dulcet brown sugar, coffee black eyes. On the very sun we dance, and on the moon we love.
Within the eiderdown we dream, silent moments in between
So fallen are we.
http://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/poem_home_logo_new.png00Morahttp://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/poem_home_logo_new.pngMora2017-09-12 14:50:232017-09-13 22:42:14Good And Evil
In the somber, dying dusk, just beyond the pale, I saw you. In the atramentous midnight hour, I felt you. In the morning, by the dewy knoll, I kissed the stone of your sepulcher.
http://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/untitlr_ooem.jpg10821080Morahttp://thepoemhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/poem_home_logo_new.pngMora2017-09-12 00:00:232017-09-12 00:36:32"Untitled" a poem by Ernesto Mora⠀