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Little hands

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.

Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.

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

Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.

Lust and Dream

Wove ye dream and hung from moon

with bridle that enthralls the night

when on ghastly mare rides sinful delights

Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.

No Contrition for Blood

From where the umbrous hand doth reach
In the mist among the silent stars
to grasp within its cold conniving
my slumber upon the beasts hassock

I sleep within hungered maw
enticing famished ferality upon my crown
obsequious flesh for the abominable banquet
on the pyre, sweet aroma, sweet, lustful aroma

In the light of the burning moon
and blackened stars that harken demise
lo upon the nameless one
who laps at your miserable cries

Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.

The Mocked and Wingless

So radiant was the morning star
that from the mild eye came sorrow
and forked tongue whispered miasma
onto jovial hubris

Sweet nectar from the sanctified bloom
the earth was slaked by treason
and cast onto forlorn pastures
are the wingless quarry

Upon these hands sleep countless woes
and on rended back carry we eternal
the sins of our father and mother
mocked by the skies above

-E.Mora