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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

Harbor Heart

Dreams within the gentle breeze
that on your lips leave my name
the scent that from the azure beckons
rests within every pulse of your heart

-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

#POEMOFTHEPOMENT

May Their Angels Always Fall

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,
No remedy, no respite, no peace upon the carrions, ensnared within the metal tombs that encase this fleeting heart.

Dearest console of mine, midnight veil on every of my horizons,
Speak those curses on silver-tongues, tear the words from their lips,
Onto those who speak against the grain, twilight deluge of pain and sorrow,
Accompany as through these atramentous voids we watch,
How sullenly sweet the willows weep, and arrid is their soil.

Break apart these vengeful bones as penance on the pires,
Amid the tormenting tempest blooms the foulest of the flowers,
Aroma bitter burns those lungs that breathe my despise,
And false prophets that do not warn and etch unto the eyes,
A tapestry of sweet unrest, prose of false witnesses,
My name should tremble their hearts, my essence malady their sunrise,
Never set the sun against the slivers of horizon, their cursed day always anew,
Birthed by rotten womb, delivered into forgotten tombs,
May their angels always fall…

-E.Mora

#angels #darkpoetry #poem #poetry