When Dying is a Custom

 

Swan-neck, do you know the happiness

I receive in the sublet time of simply

Gazing at you, grace-in-potion

Rose of poetry, liberation of desire

 

Entranced? Yes and well by you!

Knightly and worthy for courtesy

Brave in the relic of my emotive trust

Daring in the heroic will of your feet

 Serving you, generous and a pioneer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Swan-neck, how many are the spirits?

Who ask and require your good opinion?

Vibrant and lavender, full with infinite tomorrows

 

The future, God I bid it with a bit of you

All lie beneath the mud and clay while

I whisper of you and ponder your majesty

Dying is a custom, a well-known receptivity

 

To the will-to-love, the urge for self-forgetfulness

In the trance of the other, in the encircled harmony.

 

Reviews

[Kyle Sky]

I like the deep meaning and the words you used to present it. This is truly beautiful.

[ChaoticSoul]

I love, love, love your word choices! It practically oozes creativeness, and creates this fabulous imagery that I love. I always enjoy reading your writing, and this is no exception. Nicely written!

[Prophecy]

Yes the throb for beauty, it's strong in us, no?