|I am crazy, silly, sarcastic, short tempered, very short, full of life, shy, honest, mean...very human like really|
By Blue Sea LakeBy Blue-Sea LakeBy Blue Sea Lake by unattainableMuse
FAR to look at: border pines horizon.
little to see
Lady Susanna and her StewLady Susanna and her stewLady Susanna and her Stew by unattainableMuse
Darling Susie, glorious yet
she sits by her gold like thorn,
floret fragile as the violet of dawn
brings forth she her inners out
fawn, roots and spices one.
Dew drops of salt grace her fair fore
and wretched tears of labour flow,
Dear Susie can not sit
and let her dinner rest in peace.
For, more more mo' and mor'
her mirror argues,
more or you may not be able to see in me no mo'!!
and thus Susie wretches until vine she is for the violets of dawn
and oh the poor fawn- from one gutter to another thrown.
Done with, not many lights to spare
Susie unfolds with haste and puts on a swift face,
And back she is from one thorn to another
to once more entertain with grace.
The Lords all flattered, grateful for her vision-
for all men without her presence
were in lack of wit or mission-
Her well practised sighs, the curve on the binds,
as sunny breeze cutting the through icy haze
-stench of wretch hidden by clever mint.
Full of smile she is back to her end of sturdy oak
I prayIn the dark corner of the room,I pray by unattainableMuse
where every one is making merry.
In the hidden closet of the house,
and ridiculous big parties.
Behind the books in a class,
and between book-shelves in library.
The crook and corner of the coffee shop,
among the crowd in a busy mall.
I tried to lose myself.
Behind a computer screen,
and a old picture.
Behind the pretty words,
relentless hope and useless crush.
Walk to the corner and ask me to dance,
read to me about the world and beyond.
Hold my hand and walk me out of the mess,
turn around and smile.
Unknown PricePregnant with Autumns flavor.
Rung from the green vine.
The soft scent of ladies in the orchard,
Buried under time.
They fall upon their corpses,
Filling the air with the foul
Scent of decaying happiness and
The sweet melody of fresh apples.
Now whenever our hands touch one another,
As you smile gratefully, for you own
My frail heart,
My mind returns to that night in the orchard
When passion bloomed.
When our lips were raw from the
Small taste of love
When we felt as one.