Loving Hands Cause Pain
Loving hands cause pain
Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved.
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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.
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…
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.
Us
From within the solitude and gloom
in the dying light that was
comes the weeping muse
her crescendo mourning us
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.
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
ever dark gloom
Copyright © Ernesto Mora@ThePOEMHOME All Rights Reserved
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.
A Walk Among the Black Brambles
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 bird of regretful contempt,
how thine presence swiftly fled, into the
breadth of unending dreams, onto fields of
sweetened water…and dusk into your eyes
sets, the vessel enveloped into beginnings,
and weeping, the wind carries your scent once
and last.
Familiar euphoria of the Angel’s choir, the
perfume of innocence, the day mourns the
setting of the sun, night with eyes closed but a
slumber eternal, but never awaken unto that
yesterday, and grasp onto thine self the aromatic
nostalgia.
The longing of the cage that once was, bid
loving parting from the maws of that cage,
and hold no disdain within your ephemeral
beauty, the modest moments chained to my
heart, and ache upon that muscle, the
reminiscent thorn to tear that flesh.
Wingless bird of transient songs, no longer
intone the brass wires of your cage,
Sweet melodious and brimful with contrition,
bending with penance, arching, destitute of
console.
To read this poem and more available on kindle ebook A Walk Among the Black Brambles.
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