Magog and Summer's DoorA Poem by getinthecarplease
Lighthouses cloaked in wavelike fogs
drifting in silver processions amongst fern and evergreen. Spectral rivers of leaves spiral downward and rest upon the mists lifted into the gaze of bromine eyes. Mugwort growing along moat shoulders of the limestone citadel clasped upon an auburn coast. In summertime reverence, stands waterfall tears and shrouds of cadence reflecting tranquil walls of whetted minds and detached bodies. Hues congeal in narrow spectrums darting through the prisms as a theorem is gently noted on the black oak abacus. Phantoms of white smoke halos tremble through a willow dancing in holy midnight. Spiritual swarms of innocent absence thundering across deserts of glass and the observations of astral oracles in embryonic aquariums. Lindworm draped in blackened seas brewing eddy and hurricane to strike haggard lands. The glistening wicker masks stare through a faceless lens of colorless flame dying in the dawn. Audience of nightlife seldom staring at projections of reality on the screen. Scarcely writing cinquains and couplets for those blinded in accusations of pretense and cries for onlookers to feed scorched egos. Compromising malice intent on waking the worries and anxieties of class for just a pocketful of love. Traveling by his lonesome through wastelands of numbers, Magog dies on starless constellations. Wiccan herbs and remedies flood the briarwood pipes and respirates in gleaming ghosts of liquid skies and frozen fires. Poplars afloat on minuets of afternoon passionately performed in a potent pitch by the parting pilgrimage of spring. Now, he'll groove in fascinations, the comet's tail reverie in slumbers, alas... travelling by his lonesome. © 2016 getinthecarplease |
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Added on June 12, 2016 Last Updated on June 12, 2016 Author
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