Lucy in Wonderland

If where this river dwells
Could afford a potent sea?
Would the acid she smells
Concede me an eternity?

Eyes once open, to the doors let me follow
Your quiet steps and let your candy woe
Be pencilled on my tongue. The undone
Fluids, adorned and bashful of the sun,
Slip underneath to do without the height
And trip us to the soils of Elysian delight.

When white flowers grow
Surreal on a cherry tree,
A flashback laves my row
To stay here, all over me.

As falls a night, garden wears dreamless,
Your tunes of clouded shadow harness
My rambling fancy by smoke downright.
And mix colours of doubts that might
Of distorted reality or impressionism art
A picture your tale airbrushed in my heart?

The last dose, the final kiss
Any split second may flee.
The rabbit-hole I failed to miss
Now misses a storm in me.


(She's better ^_-)

 

Will to pleasure

"If you ooze masculinity, like some of us do, you have no reason to fear pink."

~ Alfie

  

To Stella

Void of days uneventful
Foretold by misread fate
Culminates my residual
Sublunary awe of late.

Junipers of this fairyland
How diverge, converge,
Lilac of scents transcend
Your imitations surge.

So fervent is passion
To stroll untrodden leas,
The hopes of intervention
Deadens me in pleas.

Solemn sans the caress
Fraying, failing on cross,
All so desolate and as
Flowerless as a moss.

Hence even so I espy
Faces to mould, manifold,
Lest unbeknownst how I
To you shall be sold.

 

Sleeplessness

(Words I managed to pen 7 years ago. Back when the news of a certain woman's infertility did leave me with few. Childlike? I was, amateur? I am)

Not tonight,
Not tomorrow,
Not in this lifetime,
Revelations, not in the stars any longer.

Heaven is futile,
An eternal aisle,
Not lasting a while,
And hopes certainly rattle with a sound.

A broken room,
An empty cradle,
An obtuse poem,
Never enough to slay this quiescence.

Tears are cure,
Cure is unreal,
Reality is nonexistent,
The very own cabbalism of overnight life.

The bred silence,
A barren ambiance,
Change it all,
Or please, let her sleep for another night.

 

In all so seriousness

Only poets aren’t entitled to compose,
We con artists too with our two pennies
And tales as romantic as Monday mornings,
Sometimes we settle for bait than a catch.

Slight more than to what meets the eye
I always fall short to grasp my discourse,
As never do I go to bed with ugly wenches
Yet I sure have woken up with a few.

If the Crucifixion was for self-defense
I pen to bring forth a divinely comic me
So you may again get down on one knee
My two pennies on my beginner’s luck.

To land this playfulness to a sober end
I bid farewell to this joke unwitting
Unlike long ago I’d say ‘So long’ after
So long that no one would long any longer.


 

Memoirs of Kal-El

 

Lex Luthor: Clark, you can't save the world. 

All you'll end up with is a Messiah complex and a lot of enemies.

Clark Kent: I saved you, didn't I? That turned out all right.