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#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

Dreary Meadow

I hear such rancid word

calling from maddening depths

from the umbrous meadow

forlorn is the verdant spring

where the winged husks sing

-E.Mora

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

The Feeding

This wretched skin, shedding among the dimly lit stars,
the sonata that harkens the storm, deluge of beastly origins,
akin to the gloom hours that prey on fear,
and among the ravenous maw, distasteful rhetoric,
cursed whispers that fall on dilapidated husks,
the hunger, the sinful hunger…

the intent is of abysmal inspiration, hades bears it’s teeth,
and frenzy unfurled into soft flesh,
satiate this hellish thirst and ataraxia upon my palpitating megrim,
the sorrow that pleads with it’s penance, vindictive among its sins,
the fury, the unsettling fury…

the hunt morbid, and calamity be damned,
to feed the vultures once in servitude to their cages,
these eyes! what visceral humanity they have witnessed!
and taste the flesh in offering to my essence,
pain me no more! plea to the stars!
pain me no more! and silence in response,
the tranquility, the vexing tranquility…

day breaks upon my senses and from black the cadence ceases,
what dance has partaken, strides upon cadavers,
and to weep among the remains, beauty in resentful mourning,
sing to me o’ ye remains! speak about the acts cast upon your flesh by mine ripping teeth!
and alas the silence, a song in of itself,
the lyric, the mournful lyric…

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

Dreary Meadow

I hear such rancid word

calling from maddening depths

from the umbrous meadow

forlorn is the verdant spring

where the winged husks sing

-E.Mora

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

Lust and Dream

Wove ye dream and hung from moon

with bridle that enthralls the night

when on ghastly mare rides sinful delights

-E.Mora

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

Us

From within the solitude and gloom

in the dying light that was

comes the weeping muse

her crescendo mourning us

-E.Mora

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

One the Eve

On the eve of your lips

whisper to me silent breath

the scent that stirs the heavens

and the kiss that placates the devils; everdark gloom

-E.Mora

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

The Lake

The streams wake upon a lucid dream, where I imbibe to slake my parched lust, and where the breeze upon my brow gently traces its admonition for my trespasses.
Here, it is where the fallen amass and gather at the banks, so clear is the water of life that perdition is seen, awaiting just below.
From the viewing-glass waters, reach out the wailing tendrils, the lost that bask on the warmth radiating from the innocent lamb.

A delightful endeavor, to bathe one’s sins within the lake of damnation, so close to the maw, the temptress whose fruit so saccharin, hangs low to the hungered hands.

It was the sweetest intonation, that from the lake came, my muse that called me into the wading, and drew me away with the ebbing.
And within my very lungs, brimming with sinful rhetoric, I drown though replete with repentance, amid feverish osculation on the lips of never more.
The warmth my dowry, I cede to you my love, and cold and entombed below the eve’s I be, but for a single melody.

The shade that cavorts from the mire, sweet frolic from the gloom, aghast the silhouette is mine, and careen my husk onto you.
Embrace the atramentous depth, so content with the amenity that was gifted to us, the cot from whence we shall rot.

Within my lucid dreaming, on an eve staked in disremembrance, t’was on the waters of Lethe we swam, and lost beneath the calmest wakes, into the deepest forest we wandered, into the misty fluora.
The unending black that adorns the treetops there, where the leaves whisper mockeries and the soil shouts disdain, no stars have ever set and no day has ever loved.
The mournful quiet feasts on your skin, hungered for your sanity, and the moments are as weighed as the penance for your sins.

So long has it been that beneath the waters guile we drowned, and within the wooded copse we have dwelled,
such sorrow causes the gentle waves, and in the wakes our mournful plea, awake us with your gentlest breeze.

In these waters wade ye not
for in the copse the lovers rot
the angels have long since wept
and in their wake the sins were kept

Into the mist such lust must go
and burdensome the endless woe
the fruit is bitter on one’s tongue
So rueful from the branches hung…

 

-E.Mora

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

On My Way to Perdition

On my way to perdition
I met a man cloaked in misery
who sat upon inverted throne
and sang a baritone litany

So enthralled to his intonation
the cadence upon my heart
from his eyes such delight
once I began to fall apart

Now I on this false kings throne
into servitude, my very bones
veiled in midnight gloom
chanteuse, I herald doom

-E.Mora

The Ferryman Doth Come

The Ferryman Doth Come

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 among the graves cold stones,
wept against the apathy on the pillars whittled from brittle bone.
Amidst the silhouettes was I derided, the epitaphs disremembered me,
the iron gates within the winds, whistled sacrilegious melody,
and from within the softened soil came impious discourtesy.

The ferryman doth come, two pence upon my eyes, one oar in Acheron, one oar in Cocytus.
The ferryman doth come, two pence upon my eyes, the bells toll the price for hell’s toll, two pence for my demise.

Weeping Stone Garden

Weeping Stone Garden

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 the dreams

E.Mora