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Giving you my Heart - Lady Veryon's Poetry

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10/27/2011 15:51:05   
Lady Veryon
Member

~:I'd love to hear your thoughts!:~

I write a lot of poetry, not so much as an individual "expression" (though I do have a lot of those floating around, I admit :p), but to express an idea or feeling important to me.
Tolerance, acceptance, love. Those are the big ones; I also like a few to magic or explaining somebody else's point of view.

That said?

To the work!!! :DD /Is excited

Thunderheart

There is thunder in my heart,
Thunder in my heart tonight
For a forbidden love
That I do not want to admit to you.

I long to take her in my arms
Bitter-sweetly longing for what I do not long for;
The woman with the sunflowers in her eyes
Is trapped inside the lyre of my heart.

I fear to cross the bridge to this plane
I’d like to remain at familiar lane
Because if she hears the song in my heart,
She’ll back away from me for fear.

Heart song,
You are my heart song,
You sing to the stars and the moon and the sun
Morning, noon, night--
You take my heart, dear.

You’ve had it longer than you know.

There is thunder in my heart,
but for you, I will plunge into the storm
will leap into the twister, stand before the wave
as long as you are the storming twister-wave,
I will be hungry with desire for your joy.

I love you, so much.

Don't you dare hurt me.


< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 10/27/2011 15:55:18 >
Post #: 1
10/27/2011 15:54:24   
Lady Veryon
Member

Menadacity

Last night, you laid with me.
Your wilting life respired in my arms,
I held your loveliness,
your whispered my name.

How I wish that when we woke
it was still my name you whispered--
that my hands could know your being,
that I could taste our moon upon your lips.

There is a decadence to Seduction,
that dark crescendo of servility--
rare is the common man to know the sweetness of that song;
so rich with promise.

Our youth was in the swing and rise of starlight,
embodied by the phases from our secret-keeper, moon
who boldly held his white lips closed
when we met, forbidden-drink, beside the boughs of Oak.

Our youth died with the taste of the moon,
so I cannot lie to say I've loved you:
You know as well as I that we are no longer young,
no longer hungry for something as common as living.

These days, my common soul has common troubles;
my empty mind dwelling towards
the obligation due to dull employ,
the youthful death of lust for life,
one I promised you, long ago, before I knew its worth.

No longer can I dwell in the lie of that sweet rebellion,
no longer can I run my fingers through the summer grass, your smooth hair:
Enriching Summer love, is not for everyone's like me;
Oh! My empty promises!

Still....

to have spent my meager purse upon your young desire,
merely for the feeling when you smiled, merely to feel the joy in my heart
is something I will miss, from youth-strung Summers
Summers when you lay in my arms.

These days, occasionally
my dry, cracked lips whisper your name before I drink it down,
with common man's clean water--
and then I remember:
you didn't exist.

Not even for a little bit,
not even at all!
Post #: 2
10/27/2011 15:56:18   
Lady Veryon
Member

Untitled

If emotions were a battle that men used to win their lives,
I would have won the world.
I see
That anger is made from desire,
And desire is made from wisps of magic on the dull and empty air;
That hate is made from love
Because without it, would we care?

Love comes from the soul
We offer it to ourselves and to the other,
Except those meant to be severed, who only offer the idea to themselves.

Fear is caused by truth;
Truth is caused by seeing.

If we look, we will feel.
The blind wear armor against that and wish they didn’t.

Love is the one thing no man on the world, no creature with eyes and a heart, may be immune to.

Love is my weapon;
But I will never make battle against you.

I love you too much to hurt you,
And hate myself enough to protect man against me.

I am not like Merlin,
With the magic in his bones;
Nor am I like Sarmation Knights
Their hearts all turned to home.

I am common entirely
Except that I have magic too
Except I have no home,
No gifts
Except the gift of words, of soul.

I flounder in the face of all but passion, love and meaning,
I am not made for usefulness, not made for work.
I am made for dreaming,
I am made for pasts and promises,
I am made to carry you all through your weary lives when your hearts are pierced.

I am extraordinarily ordinary,
World…
Post #: 3
10/27/2011 16:00:19   
Lady Veryon
Member

Juliet

I would like to know
Why no one writes about Romeo
Why it is that we are so focused on Juliet
And not the man for whom she died.

Does it occur to anyone
That Juliet caused Romeo’s death?
We weep for Juliet; the Victim
Not Romeo, that rugged man.

How can we be so heartless
To the plight he feeds upon?
Does Juliet’s dishonesty
Not shock and appall you?

If Juliet had told the truth;
Her parents would have cast her out.
But Romeo’s kindred would surely rejoice,
At gaining then a daughter thus?

Yet Juliet hides herself in lies,
Juliet, ashamed of love:
So why on earth do we weep for the liar
While Romeo waits in exile for love?

Juliet has friends, family;
Juliet has clothes and home--
Romeo has a borrowed barn
And a failed messenger.

Yet it is Juliet we weep for,
Juliet for whom we pray.

Not Romeo, who gave himself.
Not Romeo, who died for her.
Not Romeo, who cast himself
From the streets of fair Verona,
Where they’d lain their scene.

Not Romeo, the handsome man.
Not Romeo, who put away pride
To meet his newfound in-laws
Who lost a cousin as result
Of Tybalt’s flaming arrogance.

It’s Romeo we blame for this,
Juliet we root for.
It’s Romeo that takes the hit,
And Juliet who keeps our hearts.

Do not you see the angel die?

Can not you picture the pain that he saw
With the evening paper
That brought him such grim news?

By the Gods, it’s Juliet’s lies
--Not Romeo’s, he’s far away--
That ended her life and stole his
While you weep for the docile female.

Well I am done with Juliet,
I am done with all her lies.
Instead, I’d like to talk to Romeo
Like to explain that it wasn’t his fault
That Juliet manipulated
Every nothing that she gave.

And the ring he did not give
Speaks volumes to his good character:
the name Montague did not last him
While his sacrifice stained the floor.

So please, do not let Shakespeare fool you
Regarding soft, sweet Juliet:
She’s actually a nightmare
And you buy the lies her tongue begets.
Post #: 4
10/27/2011 16:02:10   
Lady Veryon
Member

Gentlemen

I’d like to walk among the fey,
I’d love to see their faces.
Could they really be more monstrous
than the hearts of mortal men?

The idea of true gentlemen
is utterly enchanting;
Men who bow and kiss our hands,
Instead of playing fool.

Their music’s in my ears these days,
Their magic on my lips—
Invisible; and out of reach,
An irresistibility
that’s just beyond my fingertips.

So I no longer see the men;
No longer drink their faces
Nor wait starving for a smile—
A fairy prince has found me,
And we’re darker than the rest.

…We’re darker than the rest…
Post #: 5
10/27/2011 16:05:21   
Lady Veryon
Member

Reaching into time

There comes a time,
in every night,
where all the night is day...

And all that world
is gone away
while I dream
Of a dark angel's Fangs

My heart cast asunder
in favour of blood

And I wish
he would not
force me
to love him

But I am powerless
to resist him
the tears that dwell
in my empty green eyes
watch birds fly away,
free

I remember
another Vampyre
with long, glistening fangs
and a tinkling laugh--
which sounds of bells

I remember
trusting,
and flying,
when he was my wings,
and he stole my life,
forever.

What can one expect
of this once-living prince
do I expect Hell?
Heaven?
Is it my heart
he will collect again?

But the little broken peices
are harder
to find
than he realizes

All alone in this grim day-night,
My sun fades to gray

All my heart's little peices
Scream to fly
Even though
I have no wings,
and surely,
will die

< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 10/27/2011 16:12:13 >
Post #: 6
10/27/2011 16:07:18   
Lady Veryon
Member

Grass-Picking

Autumn is not a spiritual death.
The lovely leaves are dying,
Are beautifully dying,
Still dying.

Grass is yellowing with age,
Like discarded hay barrels rolled over peace,
So prospering peace.

I am not Prospering.
I am not Peace.

I will not allow the green
The green
To rest here;
Not if I can’t rest,
Can’t sleep as they do.

I run my hands,
Run my hands through the straw-grass,
I pull up the death,
Reveal the still-greens;
Feel triumph, feel guilt---
Am triumph. Am guilt.

A pile,
Death grows
From the sweet-smelling hay-grass,
Death grows.

Wildly my fingers run
Run through the dead-life of the hay-grass,
Like fingers through snarled hair,
Like lab rats through mazes,
Like colors through dark--
The death of the hay-grass,
I pluck it, I pluck it!

We are brother-sister friends,
The hay-grass and death-grass and I;
We are insignificance in itself--
Is that magnificent?

No one sees or grooms us,
No one speaks of us or knows,
Knows of the fingers through the hay-grass on
The wild-tearing fingered girl!

There is no conversation for us,
And now the school lot is empty
Save me.

The hay-grass pile blows from me.

I am insignificance,
Picking through the grass.
Post #: 7
10/27/2011 16:10:45   
Lady Veryon
Member

I write a lot about fey. It's a passion, I'm in love with the old-world mythology ideals. Sorry if it offends. Also...anyone know what type of poem this is? The repetition is something I learned in creative writing, but I don't know the type.

Wild Lights

The fey, they play their lovely harps
Smiling with their wicked teeth
With music stirring through the air,
They dance away their fleeting life.

Smiling with their wicked teeth
They weave their magic through the air
They dance away their fleeting life
Eternity never blinks.

They weave their magic through the air
To entrance and mystify
Eternity never blinks
And the dancing never ends.

To entrance and mystify
The fey, they play their lovely harps
And the dancing never ends
With music stirring through the air.
Post #: 8
10/27/2011 16:12:38   
Lady Veryon
Member

Greatness

Sometimes,
in the deadly reaches of my quiet heart,
I wish for power.

If I were to find that place
pursue it, like the hound it is
There is no secret, no doubt or hesitation;
I know what I would find:
success.

There is an advantage to being quiet
when one is not among friends
an advantage to feeling, knowing,
the ruthless hearts of ruthless men.

I would dust the cobwebs
from the tired souls of human-kind
I would twist them, turn them
for the eternal spring made by my advantages.

There is no champion for which I could not find weakness,
not at least among those who have so relished the torture of me.
That deadliness is terryfing, and sometimes, it will not let go
because I know it's there, waiting

In the reaches of my mind,
where I let it lay--
too afraid now to discard it,
too afraid to let it stay.

< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 10/27/2011 16:29:57 >
Post #: 9
10/27/2011 16:18:50   
Lady Veryon
Member

Golden air

When I was living the last of my youth,
People promised me I would lose my strangeness
When the time came
When hell froze over
When I grew up.

Having hard-won wealth in my hands,
Having worked until I fell abed,
Having felt the glances that come from it, my other
I find that they were wrong.

My otherness is waiting
As certain as the work, the wealth, the glances
Biting at my earlobes
Instead of what the world expects from me.

I hear it, night and day
It haunts my treasured dreams at night
It rattles the veins in my heart
Like a tornado shakes the telephone wires,
And I am left alone with the noise
And the damage.

No tender music on my lips
No more sweet, new words to share
No new worlds to create
No pencils across paper;
I am empty.

But let it be said, friends
My otherness is not dead.

It has not yet managed to be slain,
It didn’t fade into the west with Tolkien‘s elves,
And I will fight to keep it
Fight until the end of always.

Even with the dawn
When it weighs down on me
When my shoulders slump and my eyes tell you
Tell I haven’t slept for wanting,
I will not let it die.

If there still were dragons
The way that dragons lived to be,
I would be that dragon.

I would line my seeing eyes
With Tutankhamen’s kohl
I would line my heart
With the treasure-troves of men.

I would touch my scaled arms
With glittering gold, with shimmering jewels
And you would be agape at me
Plain Veryon in immortal glory,
Dressed and scarred by battle.

I would earn your respect
If my eyes were lined with kohl
If my heart were lined with gold
If my tongue were lined with honey
If my heart were lined with knowledge
If my lips were lined with song
If my heart were lined like dragons’ were.

If I don’t have the scales
I have all the rest and more.

I would welcome wearied glimpses on my human skin,
If you would only look.
I would open my arms to you
If you had ought but blade to offer me.

I dare you now,
I call your heart:
Look.

Press your fingers to my arms
Close your tired, human eyes
And breathe the golden air with me.

Breathe,
Don’t Sneer,
And Look.

I, the dragon
Am right here;
Breathing golden air.
Post #: 10
10/29/2011 2:05:27   
Lady Veryon
Member

Pain

To be a clown
is to wear a face over our sorrows.
We smile and laugh and give out our hearts
waiting for you to scream and run.

Yes,
that is the essence of a clown.

Tonight,
I was in the forest
a "haunted house" of sorts in which I make my craft;
the wild woodlands of the home in which I've grown.

When the night had slowed
the woman I love more than any other came
and the moonlight rode her beauty like a horse with silvered saddle,
oh, my sun-flower eyes, my love--
she came through,
holding the hands of one who has stomped on my heart.

In an instant,
the hope, the smiles, the bad jokes,
the belly laugh that frightens
were gone
and I was left alone
left alone with shadows on the ground
shadows from the hope-ridden moon.

I ran into the wild parts of the woods
the part where people never go
and let the river escape
from the cage behind my eyes,
wishing things were different.


But they aren't.

My heart
is broken.


I don't know what else to do
I have no other to tell my sorrows,
nor beg for the warmth of another one's arms
all I have is words
words to an indifferent world
and the pain
in the shadows of the trees.

I am not beautiful
not like the one who took my lover's hand is
the one of the fine, thin neck and feather-black hair
the thin waist, the docile hips
no, no, I will never have anything like that.

All I have is words.

Words
wild, dawn-fingered hair
a quick-silver tongue
is no match for a face that makes common men gasp
in silent awe at beauty.


Tonight,
I do not even have the words,
my brothers
I only have the shadow-struck tears
and eyes that won't guide me to sleep.

< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 10/29/2011 2:12:17 >
Post #: 11
10/29/2011 12:26:15   
Lady Veryon
Member

Alone

In the quiet touches of the still and gentle dawn
my feet begin to wander without purpose
and I realize my eyes are searching for you.

My eyes
are always searching for you.

I remember how I knew you,
how I was so sure of the story from living--
better than I knew the heat of the low-hung night
better than I knew the taint of choking sun;
without ever touching my ten fingers to the truth
I knew our love would never end.

If I alone had been the author
the story would have ended so--
but as it is with all great loves,
I did not write alone.

Was it not you who gave the empty nothings?
Was it not you who put ten fingers on my chin?

In return for all our happiness together,
you snatched him like he were coins on the road;
you abandoned me for him:
you packed a black suitcase with silver clasps
and left our sweet palazzo.

For him.

Yet when you recount this tale to others
I have a feeling that I will be the villain:
perhaps for loving too much
for trusting you, always
for daring to feel your coveted soul
is the reason you punish me now?

I will never know.

Then, that is the trick
to having two sides to a story---
if both are vastly different,
only one can be the truth.

< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 10/29/2011 12:27:42 >
Post #: 12
10/29/2011 12:30:17   
Lady Veryon
Member

I really might get lazy and stop titling these soon

I am ice.
I am snow.
Breathe it in,
Let it go.

Pain
That isn’t
Yet is
Is still pain,

We fight and we fight
For a breath of the air
Who are we to breathe around it?
Who are we to breathe around it?

It collects and we sink
We sink and we sink
Down to the depths where we fight toward the sky….

I am ice.
I am snow.
Breathe it in,
Let it go. 
Post #: 13
10/29/2011 12:38:15   
Lady Veryon
Member

Love is just as mortal as we are

With you in my arms
A warmth overcomes me,
One made by you.
From beneath my heart-bones
It floods over me
Like the promise of life
That spoke so your lips.

Like the diamond that may glimmer
If we can figure out the cost.
Like the way you feel at bed-side
When we are alone
That moment when at peace we lay
Arm-in-arm and all at rest.

You are my life,
I, your companion.

With a vow I grant your wishes,
All you’ve wanted from your wife
And if I fail you, my darling
Tell me and I’ll change that life.

I want to be the best, your best
All you’ve ever wanted--
I know I am right now.
Using this moment where everything matters,
I’ll keep your existence and your dreams inside my heart.

I will be your wife.

Without the gleaming diamond
With the rainbows bound within
With the bronze ring sitting
With cheeky grins upon my finger--
I am already that, my love.
Post #: 14
10/29/2011 12:55:57   
Lady Veryon
Member

I would like to write
About my husband
When he wander’d in the wood:
He said he heard
(Or was it Knew?)
A scream
Of a lovely woman
That was lost there,

One dark night.

So he journey’d inward
Twixt the coyotes and the bukshah trees:
Searching for the woman
By whose scream he was entranced,

One dark night.

My son,
He also went that night;
A boy to help his father--
But it was not his father
That came back that came back to me that morn.

And so my son
Screamed for his mother--
Miles away I heard him cry:
“Mother, mother, something’s happened--
Ma, that woman is a lie!”

And as I asked him what he meant,
He shuddered in my arms, content;
And told me of the angel
Whose white wings were stained with blood.

“We found her just before the sunrise,”
He said (ah! said it in a grown man’s voice!),
“She was dancing in a glen,
One untouched by storms or time.

And she opened snow-white arms
And she laughed a twinkling laugh:
‘Darling, won’t you dance with me?’
Her sweet voice called to Father;
‘Darling, leave your troubles,
and sleep with me tonight...’

Her dark hair scattered as she twirled,
And from his world my father hurdled
To the faery woman
Whose sweet music did seduce.

To the woods they went, and then;
I found myself far from that glen
Staring at the treeline
Of the wood my father'd went in;
Went with neither steed nor hour...”

My son did weep
As sunlight streamed
through the stained-glass window
That his father'd bartered for...
For this father so seduced
By the faery and the song:

Was it directions that you wanted?
Well, it hardly matters now--
But stay not in the woods for long;
Lest it be you I weep for
On these cold, these empty nights

Let it be not your flesh, your life
that feeds that monster's appetite--

One
dark
night.

< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 10/29/2011 12:57:28 >
Post #: 15
11/1/2011 19:23:42   
Lady Veryon
Member

If the heroes from our Childhood
were judged by more than pages,
I do not know what we would find.

I picture
Princes in our nightclubs
raving against tight leather,
cold air greeting colder skin
both a-waft with promises
never-empty cups paid with dull and beaten gold.

I picture Evil Queens
splendid in their velvet dresses and billowy fabrics
spreading their temptations
in the hearts of loyal men.

I picture
Gentle princesses
feeding birds in central park
serenading children with their songs
of rampant, troubled love
attracting stares for passionate outbursts;
summer dresses in the lucid sun.

They are human,
every one:
Human breath and human promises
human flesh and human warmth
human rage and human pain.

They are so much more
than stories--
much, I think,
like we are.

< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 11/1/2011 21:12:00 >
Post #: 16
11/2/2011 10:24:58   
Lady Veryon
Member

My love,
your apathy is drowning me.

Yesterday, every raindrop bore your beauty
like a man riding the silver-saddled moon,
I knew and loved you

now my eyes are searching for you
on the busy streets,
to find them empty of your heart.

I watch your eyes meander over me,
like I were a fallen sheet of paper;
you bend to pick me up
and then move on with your life
as I brush the dirt from my mouth,
the thirst for your touch,
for you.

My heart is aching for your forgiveness.
When I think of it,
the petals of flower-tears escape my broken gaze;
Regret lodges itself in my throat.

I cannot breathe
around Regret.

I can only offer words,
heart
promise not to overstep
the golden value of your love

and hope you understand

that I am human
and have bitterness.
Post #: 17
11/4/2011 23:01:08   
Lady Veryon
Member

Hung beneath the naked-dancing moon
there lies in wait a city of witches
with secrets creeping underfoot
and magic floating through the air.

With velvet garb and flashing eye
they walk the streets, nod to each other
with the Craft within their hearts
and magic floating through the air.

The choking sun is waiting
past the magic and the hour
and when it rises good and true,
the city's streets are empty.

Let me live
in such a city;

Let the magic stain my fingers
let their music haunt my ears
let the golden-sanded dawn
be my greatest fear.

Let me dress in velvet cloaks
let the craft move on my naked skin
as I move in honor
of the glassy, smooth-edged moon
a flickering fire singing its praises
as the warmth suffocates the darkness
from my soft and lucid flesh...

Let me live in such a city;
clear with magic in the air
rather than in a city of men
with arrogance on their fingers
and anger in their human hearts.
Post #: 18
11/7/2011 15:55:11   
Lady Veryon
Member

I want to drop out of college.
I hate it.
I hate the pencils on the paper with the facts I won't remember
I hate the feel of the too-focused minds, empty of themselves
I hate sitting down at a table and people making polite excuses to leave, one by one
nobody considering anybody else human.

I hate it here.

I really, really hate it.

I want to run away.
Get away.
Now.

I want to flee away from here
and who would notice? Who would care?

I don't care about these facts
the papers I'm supposed to write,
the math that I'm supposed to be studying
I really don't.

My fingers
want to make the pain in my heart stop
they want to make new people, places, words, ideas
they want to give me the wings I promised you
they want to make it stop
to make it stop
to make it stop.

And I can't.

Some people say when they are angry
they just don't care
well I care too much, too much
it surrounds me, and it's drowning me
and I feel like I'm running out of time
to change into the empty ones
that walk the clean and tiled halls.

I don't know what to do.

Being lonely is killing me,
really killing me.

I hate it. I hate myself,
I hate feeling different
I hate that nobody notices a girl crying her eyes out in the lobby,
flipping through classes she doesn't care enough to sign up for.

I want to wrap my arms around myself
and be comforted
but it doesn't work that way, not for me
not for the mermaid on the land
I'm drowning from the air in my lungs
and no one will drag me back to sea;
they like to watch me struggle, watch me die and watch me wither
wither like the sun in Winter, losing all his heat

I feel so alone.

Everyone says that.
Everyone, everyone says that
but you don't know what it means like I do
you will never feel it like I do.

I'm tired of people telling me to grow up
I'm sick of it, entirely sick of it
because I am grown up
I was grown
before you walked into yourself by accident
and I knew myself
when I took my first steps.

I'm tired of being alone,
but I know that change can't help me
I've tried so many times and it fails, it always fails
and my heart is broken.

How do I convey that to you?
Broken.
Destroyed.
Dying.
No longer stitched together.

People roll their eyes at me for saying that
especially when I use the language in my heart
but I am not wrong, I am not overly dramatic in this
weren't you listening?
I know myself.

I'm alone.
I'm alone and the world doesn't care.

And when I say to people,
"What should I do?" Please help me.
"Grow up. That's how life works."

That is not, is never how
you should fix my broken heart
all I want is a little compassion
the kind I would give you

I sit at night with my hands on my knees
trying to sleep away my agony
fighting off the feeling that I'm sick, despite having not eaten
and my heart is killing--

No.

No, I must not forget--
it is not my heart, not my soul that's killing me.

You, all of you, have promised so many times
have sworn on bended knee
with the stench of truth on your lips
that it is not me that is wrong here.

No, no sir.

You know what that means?

Me feeling like this?
It's your fault. Yours. Not mine.
I accepted you from the moment that we met,
and you have not accepted me.

Stir your coffee with a smile,
and I'll sob in this stupid plastic chair
I'll wither in a web of your anger
I'll weep in the locks of your hair
and you'll walk away.

My pain
is not my fault.

The funny thing is?

It's still there.
Post #: 19
11/17/2011 1:04:14   
Lady Veryon
Member

Driving.

I stare out the window as the car moves,
dragging on the road like my life is dragging;
my thoughts are barely lucid for the lateness of the hour.

Headlights illuminate the signs,
signs which sing like glass in the light.

Nature stares inside my heart
as my driver passes him with indifference.

So many are indifferent now;
that empty silence is everything.

The only noise is the wind, the sound of my breath
and those tires, those thrice-cursed tires
on the dull and beaten road.

The moon, my friends, is out tonight
it makes the angry moment remarkable,
like magic in the hearts of men.

The low-hung moon is out tonight
yellow on his sultry breath
and the cities, the trees, the poorly built barns
all awake on the quiet roads;
all seem to be reaching to touch him.

I wish I were reaching to touch him.

Let my fingers touch the heavens
let my rough, my calloused hands
be the first to feel the night.

I cannot reach.

Every time I pass something
it covers the yellow moon;
a Harvest moon, my love
half gone, like someone bit into it.

If anyone had eaten the moon
who else would it have been but man?

The thought occurs to me, my friends:
Every single human
ten-toed human, two-eyed life
can take his time
and eat the moon.

Never, ever,
eat the moon.

< Message edited by Lady Veryon -- 11/17/2011 15:32:48 >
Post #: 20
12/2/2011 1:21:12   
Lady Veryon
Member

World Maker and Changing my heart

Once,
you were everything to me.

Your eyes were soft
your voice sincere
your hands were warmer than mine were
and I loved you.

Your promises were made in haste
to bring to me a smile
when I sat on the bus to race home
I'd think of your words and ignore the leering.

You kept me alive.
You were everything.
My world was alive.

I did not want to live
not outside the Roses
and the magic there
the love and respect I had there
just for being myself.

It is intoxicating.

More than I can ever know,
that is your set of wishes now,
My King, my Lord, my Cruelty.

You gave away my Everything
with nary then a glance.

When I knew you next
the boy I loved, I knew, was gone
and you were there instead.

You, with the blue coat baring my seal
You, with the wine glass in your hand
You, with the smile that melted me
You, with the voice that closes my eyes.

For all the harm that you have done
for all the power you are now
for all the nobility roused to your passions
I will never forget who you were.

I will always love you, Azrael.
My poor and lilting angel
I remember your voice
before it was magic, before all of this
all the pain I fear to write of
is forgiven

because I, and I alone
remember you.

Your harm
is the shield, the armor, the graves
the words and the speeches, blushing parlor maids
when I saw you last you ripped pearls from my
silvered hair,
laughing

and I thought
of the day with the grim sunlight
in the bleak halls
the horror story onto love
when you told me you loved me
when you told me I was everything
when you told me I was yours
when you looked me in the face
and lied to me,

so you could die.

The first day you met me
and knew who I was,
my precious heathen King.

And you died.

You died to harm me
you died to maim my shattered heart
you collected my soul in bottles
and used it to unbalance me.

You have injured me
more ways than any other man
woman
creature
anyone and anything
so many tears against your pain.

I blame myself.

You know that, don't you?

I blame myself
for picking you up off the ground, dusting you
teaching you blade and sharper-edged words
teaching you elvish to touch on my ears
teaching what I knew and how to use it
teaching all you'd ever want to hear

teaching myself
that you'd be happier

and now I know
that I was right.

Your happiness is a poison,
my sweet, my gentle "paramour"
it wraps around me like a false hope and rings my eyes
bleeds my neck and naked shoulders
as I wreathe in the memories
of the days when we were enemies.

You rise your way to power
on the wings of my favor
well damn your shattered heart,
you desperate plighted thing
these are my wings
this is my soul
these are my eyes for seeing
and I do not look your way.

I test you now, more thoroughly than I tested
your father
your uncle
our "parents"
I test you completely, I dare and I challenge:

Leave me.
Leave my world.
Rise the dawn, possess the day
and leave your velvet in your coffin
sip some coffee, take your riches
and leave my people safe from you.

Leave the many women
women who feel like I do
women who look nothing like me
with alienated faces
with princess-thin waists
with jaw-dropping voices
and caress-worthy hips

you leave them
you be what you are, what you always will be:
human
or dying
gold
or beaten rock

Else, this time I will not forgive you
for you have damaged me in a way I cannot name to you
you have taken my rights for love, Lord Azrael
you've taken my pulse and my breath and my people.

When I saw her eyes
glistening with sacred tears
when I felt her heart
felt that she'd protect for me
she, the human,
like the ones you have so long neglected
loved me more in a single instant
than you have in an immortal life.

She is stronger, braver than
a thousand of your dark-Rose men
too cowardly to fight alone
the ones that you employ
as I recall
laying with my lacey gown
upon the floor of your revels
and screaming.

The world around us may laugh
the human world may scoff or mock
but you and I, the human too, we know the truth and all of it
and I will not allow you
to harm me if she does not will it.

Take my challenge or I fight you
take my challenge or I defend
take my challenge or I find
a reason to further an indefinite end.

Let my banishment be mercy
let you remember your wit and your skills
outside the circles of the things that mortal men will never know
employ their talents
seize your future
seize your soul.

If you ever loved me
if you ever shed the tears I shared with you,
shared on your human lips, my Lord
if you ever felt the magic in my glances
heard the silver in my laugh
then leave my broken heart at peace
and through your life do make amends.

If you ever loved me
even as half as much as I do you?

Leave
and see I'm right
Leave
and learn what I meant you to.
Post #: 21
12/10/2011 13:10:24   
Lady Veryon
Member

I love her.

She's taller than me by a little
smarter than me by a lot
she's beautiful, too, and aren't they all?

Isn't that how all these stories start?

But mine is.

My.... Leona.

My heart is broken in pieces on the shore.
My heart
is dying in graves dug for grains of salt
my heart
could fit its' pieces in your tear ducts if it chose.

Sitting here,
staring at your words, I know their truth.

You're right.
I've promised, multiple times, that I would take you to a Revel.


I can't.

Leona, my Leona, I can't.
Please, I can't.

I can't put myself through that.

Yes, I know; it's supposed to be about what you want
that's the condition of Love
but when I Think of someone harming you
when I think of the enemies that circle me like hungry wolves
I am crushed.

When I try to find the words
they die in my throat as quickly as the hope that you've forgiven me

for the lies the Law forces me to put upon your lips like paint.

The Law, which I Rule?
Yeah
more like
The Law, which rules its Queen.

I feel trapped by my desired
ensnared by my wishes
and crushed by your rejection.

Don't all stories end that way?
Don't all stories end that way?

I want it not to end at all
I want to promise you Eternity
I would give you everything
within a
moment, breath, or glance.


The issue with giving you everything
is that you don't want it;
you look at my fading summer-gold locks
and sigh
when I train you to defend yourself
and I take your hands in mine
the look on your face makes me want to cry---
the disappointment, the anger, the repulsion.

Yes, repulsion.

I have men to throw themselves at my feet
I have women who beg to touch my hair
many, many require me to survive my world
and you, for whom I have bled
will spare nary a glance.


People say 'my heart is breaking'
like there is no end to it
like their heart was whole before
but I know better.

I know heartbreak.

Heartbreak
is being so crushed with disappointment
drowning in so much pain
that you cannot let it show
that you smile and laugh and move
and live
so they never know
how much they hurt you.

You, my love, my perfect
my beautiful Queen--
you
are my
perfection

but you
are also
my heartbreak.
Post #: 22
12/17/2011 2:17:59   
Lady Veryon
Member

We would fight our weaknesses, all of us
And I advise if this is wise:
in the doing of the thing, so become we human again
Fighting a weakness and letting it live is to become stronger
And unbecome the death we’d seek from weak.

Cats and people run from it
Be the hour of dark or glittering sun
With triumph, harsh and bitter, in my stomach;
I know the truth of this crude thing.

They have been forced to notice me
They have been forced to see my face
They are the circles underneath my eyes
They are the fear inside my heart.

So does my empty magic come
So does the blood in my veins run,
Invisible anger is my power.

Sometimes I picture my blue-grey eyes
Fringed with thorns instead of lashes;
So do I picture thus our greeting.

Greeting, when my fingers touch your face
When you touch them back with a gasp of incredulity
With my too-dry lips upon your shapely cheeks
Vine-fringe draws your ire from my sleek and tender touch.

In the moment, your will eyes widen
against inner will do you glance toward the door,
My vine-eyes will see you with an unempty grimace
My vine-eyes will see you with a humorless laugh:

Your snippets of fear
are become my temptation.

Does that lessen my weakness,
Or does it lessen me?

Me,
Or you?

You,
Or me?

Regardless,
You will feel my touch
And to your touch I feel.

The moments will pass,
Dead.

Dead,
As weaknesses
are not.

Immortal or not,
we cannot kill them:
they are only as dead
as we want them to be.
Post #: 23
4/14/2012 15:39:27   
Lady Veryon
Member

Last night
You laid down on the floor in the living room
You raised your feet to the fireplace
And your hands fell onto your chest.

I mirrored you.

You came, without warning
Though I’m sure you were attempting manipulation
To me, to my arms
And pulled my face to your breast
Which was warm and comforting.

I could hear your rapid heart
Like the song of birds in an aviary.

I knew I was right.

I stayed still, silent
Felt your hands run over me
My arms, the crook of my neck

If I had been teaching, I would have said
'I’m part Vampire, go for the front'
But I was not teaching. I was entranced.

Closer to me, now
I could feel your cheek against my forehead
I could feel your skin against my skin
And I opened my lips, so thinly
So I could feel the skin you had revealed me.

You sighed,
You kept sighing; your breathing was deep
But your lips found my forehead once, brushing against my skin
And I trembled from a want I couldn’t stop
One I did not want to stop.

I felt you twitching, too
And hoped.

Your face swept against mine in a nuzzle,
You tightened your hold in the embrace for a brief moment
As though to make sure I was there.
“You’re asleep, aren’t you?”
No, I’m not.

I make no reply.
Your finger traced alone my collarbone
Your nose against my nose in a nuzzle

If I had opened my eyes to that nose
I would have kissed your too-thin lips

As it was
peace flared in my heart.
“I’m cold,” you said.

I went for blankets, stood up,
went to the bathroom and drank wildly from the faucet
When I came back, you were covered by red cloth
And I put my head where it had been,
And I said quietly, “I wasn’t asleep.”

The words played my pulse like a drum set
A bad, poorly-played drum set
But I couldn’t lie to you.

“Just chilling?”
You mocked me
I forgave you it
Because you had to know how much
I wanted--how hard it was for me to keep still--

I wondered if you’d seen
How I’d dug my arms into myself, held myself
To keep me away from you
So I would not steal a kiss, a caress
More than you meant to use against me.

You said instead, “Do me a favor? Lay the other way. Turn.”
I thought you’d given up, or gotten bored perhaps

And I did as asked, closing my eyes as my face hit the smooth table.

Your hands found
The back of my neck
Again
and I shivered
Your thumbs buried themselves in my shoulder blades
No words
Warm feet
Less pain from being on constant alert
Your thumbs massaging my shoulder blades.

So hard not to
Kiss you
Touch you
Move your hand to my lips, my face
So hard to just sit
And await it to end.

“We should move to a bed or something,” you said after a time
Your hand slipped down over my chest to find my stomach
A swift and simple movement
I bit my lip in focus
“Oh.”


You
Will be
Magnificent

If I can let you

Go

After you touch me
So nonchalantly, so carelessly

I wonder if you had desire
or if I was fooled.

Thinking

I shudder
And I sigh
For your fingers
On my shoulder blades
Your lips
On my forehead
And your heartbeat
In my ears.
Post #: 24
4/14/2012 15:42:39   
Lady Veryon
Member

I have a river in my heart
That shimmers like the sun
The water is just warm enough
To close your open eyes.

If your human eyes could see it
The water would beckon you home.

To me the water always sings
Recounts to me my histories
Who and when I’ve been before
Who I’m being here and now
Who I will be tomorrow
Come the finger-touch of dawn.

It sings to all,
Past, present, future
And, in the depths of my heart,
This is the song I hear when I smile.

You ask me
What I am like?

I say,
I am the River.

The moon is in the Water’s eyes,
Or so the people say
So is the past long written;
And I won’t deny that truth.

I am the falling crescent that is moon
In the darkness of my kingdom
Gleaming with barbaric night
I dance, I move, I dance yet more
As the River sings to me.

I say good-bye to sullen sun
I place my moon-touched fingers on the wind-swept grass

The moon illuminates the cites, stars you cannot see
I spin, I spread my arms like wings
And my light washes over your homeland.

You ask me
What I am like?

I say,
I am the moon.

There is a storm in my eyes
That would raze cities to the ground
As soon as I waved my hands to the sky.

My hands are still.

So are your cities.

Dust from the moon floods over my skin
Like jumping through a pane of glass
And watching the shards on the pavement.

My eyes would cloud with grey-of-storm,
With blue-from-deepest-depth
They would glow like lightning in the night
Around me would the aura flow
As my arms I flung from my body
And the storm would begin.

Waves from your rivers, streams and lakes
Through the wild streets would run
The rain would wait at your doorstop
And the waterfalls would race

If my I cloud my eyes.

I will not end your cities;
I will not cloud my eyes.

You ask me
What I am like?

I say
I am the storm...
Post #: 25
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