Calliopes Byronism
-an artist of truth
A villanelle will,
has fallen vigorously;
On the lips of Eden.
Platonic emphasis,
plays footsy;
With my charcoal coated
-heart
Ancient is my past;
silly is my attitude.
bare witness to my actions;
for my consequences…
…fare with the wind.
Felicity parlays satisfaction,
wrapped gently…
…around my barb wired surface.
-grinding my heart to pieces
Generosity isn’t close,
but kindness sits…
…genuinely with my heart.
-please understand
.
.
Careless to my emotions,
I am left alone;
With no one to lean on,
Oh but despair;
seems stained with a burden.
A burden to each is own,
bloody Mary is that merciful.
Crucial dividends,
bend shyly –a natural attraction
Negate the affection,
of eyes wondrous of your talent.
Repudiate the emotion,
spilt as a left over to your heart.
Exclude the smiles,
that are pertinent to unhappiness.
It’s all collateral damage,
franticly appending-a morale breakdown
Infatuation bleeds,
on the thorns of a medley.
-a melody of tears
.
.
.
Serenity
.
.
.
Is
.
.
.
Obscure
.
.
.
A second look,
was more easy does it.
Because the tune,
that was produced the first time was rusted.
I almost trusted.
Into your words,
I fell a hundred of feet’s down.
Tried to make way,
for a come up but I couldn’t play to the crowd.
Listen in now.
.
.
More words poise,
than an ivy left in a vein.
I left you in shame,
in return you all left me in pain.
I tried to remain,
so I could reason and stay.
But poor contingents,
skin my thoughts away.
My heart stepped on,
and left as a broken display.
As my fingers cringe and crumble,
I leave it to my instrument…
.
.
to
.
.
save
.
.
the
.
.
day
Creased unhappily,
with screams of fooled fans.
If only they knew,
it wasn’t me;
It was the tune that was produced…
…that should be applaud.
-I just let it be heard
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