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Silver Mountain Tops

Bezpłatny fragment - Silver Mountain Tops


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...

„The Prelude — A Monsterful Plight”

‘whether the morn


or the eve of the world


whenever we stand


on the loathiest of the Earth


or the fairest of the Ark we ornament


whether 'tis an orison or a malison


whether thou art a lyght or blight


hence thou invokest


and the chant of volition thou vibratest'

— now, hie, the melodist endear’d

egad! — a fair fare above and beneath!

The Ice Queen’s Touch — Cailleach

the clock o' seasons

doth inevitably chime and chime

events do turn on a dime

at the drop of the hat


I am alive

between every second

of both my life and death withal


I would comprehend

the beauty of thine sojourn’d

although now thou just dost nought


yet excruciatingly have me scarifi'd


permit thou us two to abide untouch’d

allow thou my peace not to evade

out o' me

for once melt thou the icy armor

from thine heart

own thou a change of it


— withdraw thou thy

twistéd chiromancy

enfoldment o' a closure

pivotal to release


Beira

ice queen

I would keep thee

I would feed thee

yet thou needest to

unleash my grasp

Cailleach


— the crumbs within
are burning our unity

„To The Otherwhere — Our Alliance Wandereth”

afeared I shall avaunt to the modern machinery

wandereth our alliance — our unison decampeth

the mother tongue’s land the breast of so suckléd

I — the lover of her own acre in such reverie

the appetency purloin’d thro' the assay of a stay

albeit the billowing glistening wind

doth denominate my name

— worthy am I hight

with all the quarter’d to be

— caducity and nostalgia act degradéd


or is — my demesne obliviatéd — candidly?


my drought shroudéd via my drudgery

the lure seemeth fain, yet trepidation

doth remain natheless

— what reigneth and blareth forsooth

— ’tis the fervency in a bifold meaning


fie, fecking blizzard and thy caress!

for I — whether thy fizgig or a freak?!


Siberian frore thy palms and mysteries

howbeit hither by the closure embrac’d

the vehicle of the maid thou exposest endear’d

mazéd the measure — a bane mayhap

to melt the glaring hoarfrost of a caitiff

— perchance otiose the additional ice


or thy hands — our periapt — for ’tis quite a passage far!


rathe-ripe or nay — we rack’d as we vie

with the storm for the august way to smite

for the grins and guffaws of jesters to betide

and for such month of elatedness to belimp

regardless thou begrimest and expectoratest merely

forlorn and lovelorn

— lore and scorn

we thro’ meanders

of mind, heart and gravity

„Imaginative”

snowflakes do their utmost

to cover the vehicle

— with a wintry horde swaying are those their veils

like led by the frosty rose goddess

— her rimy calyx-crown sugareth our windows

with sparkling jewels — her descending petals

gently knocking on the diaphanous glass

and more glaring are only the heavenly bodies


the air is so cool as I deeply inhale

and so damn prolong'd getteth the path to cross

ill-lit — hallelujah — for perhaps only seemingly


the scenery so quintessential

yet either to cut my wings or spread them wide

fears o' unknown are connecting


my doubts want me to be depriv’d of my sight


the roads so onerous to proceed them by

but when I get there I know I will be alright


someday — oh someday I will — memoria to recognize


and maybe I will cut off the untoward creeper

sneaking after no matter the desert sands or tarmac

making love to the unfavorable cynic

in me — the maiden imaginative

„The Ne'erending O'ermorrow”

a frank freedom

— a candid independence

the acceptance entaileth

o' the possibility


o' the hazard grand


to unbridle the strand

and yet forbye the urge to hinder it

lest it to overtake thy mind

and sew a veil


a steam or a mist


with a material o' the anxiety

not to resist

for 'tis the spindle o' life

to-morrow for aye doth exist

natheless o' to-day

trow thou, dear

— na to have it miss’d

„Beyond The Harbor — Our Portion Fro' Afar”

English rains dancing

wyth Scandinavian snows

their margarites subside on the canopy

altho' it casteth a shadowy silhouette

at least from them harbor'd we can be

the silky damask to protect so we can stare a bit


and such fresh are these sceneries

and such exquisite are those vistas


scoping I do discern a glister o' hope

ne'er have I thought of them

purloining my breath away in a beneficial way


ne’er have I thought of them being so amazing


yet there is my regret

my own rue

o' these landscapes

being too few around


wee my estimate; for a myriad o' glistens shall surround


the barge that hath us

enlighten’d by midnight stars

alleviating this outwardly boundless dusk

to hold us in its compressing grip


however whilst we sway

and toss a smitch

I do perceive both

snow-white and sable swans


their gathering into a brawl

like committ’d to paper by Tchaikovsky

the divine Odette and the damn’d Odile

— in scrimmage they unleash their screams


yet we only do have a swim

thro' the watercourse

— the sea o' a rillet

such an opulent afterglow


— is it my mind or is it factual?


I want to care not a whit

I want to give not a toss

albeit I do anyway

this river’s glowy overflow

may we reach the other bank

tho' the actual stream afore

— the fairest of them all...

...

„Dry Red Wine”

red — white — rosé

amber or sparkling

yet my esteem'd nectar of grapes

dry red wine of no matter the percentage


just another our sips of it from the chalices

I feel the ichor pulsing in my veins by the fireplace

— around one we’ve just gather'd

disembarking the paraphernalia whilst rubicund


akin to blood

thro' the ancient Egyptians

the Greek cult of Dionysus

Judaism and Christian Eucharist


the holy bliss it seemeth to be!

is the resurrection of senses pledgéd a gage

even tho' the mind is getting dimm’d?


entering the religion of vin de table not crave I albeit

my heart beateth fast

nearly poundeth of my chest like I’ve obtain'd the way

to be sensible of my aliveness

yet is it the gyration of the liquor certes carmine

or just my willful intention

to revive the internal vivacity

hither and thither 
— being express’d?

„Design Of The Vicious Circle”

art appeareth to be the anima o' some

the right angle providéd without

checking it with a set square necessitatéd

yet one wou'd probably still dare

— the description is wholeheartedly dramatic


the comparison even more tho' the lines are parallel


we all experience at least a nanoscopic part

— a regular polygon of thine own room

once joy and sorrow do swap

but as the inspiration — once it cometh

it might ne’er go and ne’er let go

maugre the most daunting storm

and the rescue’s precipitous arrival

the shady crisis for the ardent artist


sentiments and sensations do capture

a delineation o' the vicious circle

and I twirl around like a ballet dancer woebegone

its design is my irregular scene

the circumference are my arms spread as I surrender

the height o' my malaise is the measure

that lost line o' symmetry
runneth after to and fro…

„Forlornly Involved”

thou art so pedantically sharp

like the hon’d edges of my aspiration

I often viciously cut my originator self with

— unrelentingly bruis'd and doggedly batter'd

when thou art so brilliant beyond compare

the nonpareil so f****** clever and rare


and in the same of worlds here all I ever am


is the girl donning a flower crown

tangl’d into her long dark ebony hair

squatting and kneeling before like an obedient lamb


listening and sinking deep — soaking all what’s hearken’d


a divinity of god and a ferity of killer

in one I face them — own them encounter’d

plac’d and sat in the front of them erasing my poems

written off along with scribbl’d lightnings by daggers

and I guess I’m all these listéd just below


a masochist — a life lover — a misanthrope


two-facéd can be my feelings' exposure

yet at least triple my artistic appellative

high as Alpine mountains are my goals

yet forever forlorn the degree of hope

and the result occurring...

„Breadth Of My Expanse”

Poland — thou appearest a wrack

dight and fill’d by hatred blight

howbeit an organ of Europe cardiac

and my own heart thou art

Poland — thou a decay durst I claim and claim

albeit thro’ wailing chant

a native speaker in me so saith

and thro’ dirge plaineth thy wane

a breadth of my expanse

as I — depart’d fro’ thee

not for thy loss surg’d;


yet for towards thee the blunders

o' the clerks alleg’d — deniéd to indemnify

and thus the larceners of thy dignity they demoraliz’d

transcending into e’erlasting eminence and praise;

the boon o' rue within — nay mo ephemeral withal


— ’tis for the alleviation o' weep

— my wish for thee align’d

wilt thou follow the wistful’s hollow grief

the audition alarméd for what already is?

wilt thou become a safeguard to all the kin

hearkening to me hither so mere?

the martyrdom’s billows — the tides o' blood

’tis its meaning we no longer necessitate

tho’ for how long more? — they naysay the response!

the corses’ lacrimosa was yet conn’d

I thought lost I was thro’ my wander


yet thou seemest more — ripp’d asunder

Poland — the one I bethink myself of

my eyne bedeck’d by the paysage o' thine

as if they both — hither and forth

and thee — one question dare I ask

afeared soon biding consign’d

'my mother tongue’s land 
— wherefore?'

„Gildéd Cage — The Beguiling Ambience”

O my Gildéd Cage! for thee

not only have I sojourn’d

forbye got my stay fanciéd!

— still! My question as sheeny glimmereth!


wilt thou merely grin outward?

for when thou blinkest

my silhouette quivereth

am I shelter’d hither by thine intrinsic side

or thy raison d'être — further to affright?!


O my Gildéd Cage! for thee

not only have I sojourn’d

forbye got my stay fanciéd!

— still! My question as sheeny glimmereth!


wilt thou open thine eyes?

or wilt thou prolong

the closure as my soul exiteth?

for it doth possess the aptness to leave

a wherewithal’s gleam tho’ my head

with two minds crown’d and embellish’d


O my Gildéd Cage! for thee

not only have I sojourn’d

forbye got my stay fanciéd!

— still! My question as sheeny glimmereth!


for thou — my refuge,

my drought quench’d thro’ thy goblet,

my delightsome aliment!

abroad want I be not

howbeit the accouchement meaneth

attachment — ne’er service nor slavery


behead me not — for I still adore thee!

tho' the various canvas calleth me


O my Gildéd Cage! for thee

not only have I sojourn’d

forbye got my stay fanciéd!

— still! My question as sheeny glimmereth!

overcloudéd or overshinéd?

might I leave providing

my return I shall plight?

„Phantasmagoria — Part I — The Surreal Tryst”

my coves put me to bed down

and for the first time have I liéd

in the sheets at variance fro' mine;

it shall be nought but a bludge

for to have the slepe acquir’d


— outwardly;

'tis a thesis to overthrow

and all the dusk to beset me in the room

like a homestead for the pit lord dwelling in

within another clock chimes that eve


and was it behindhand

— was it behind time — dilatory

or was it the final silver lining

to the murkiest of my clouds?


hearken’d to his balming voice pristine

that beorn — he iwis wileth me to heed

is somebody carrying a vigil lyght for me

or is it one’s wish to have it precipitat’d?


’hist! — something inly terrific shall I acquaint thee with’

— his oath’d pledge resoundeth as he cometh

and upon me his huge yet smooth hand bestoweth


against the edifiéd lore

by my neurotransmitter

— own’d the phantasmagoria

'tis a trickery mayhap?!


’follow me to the waterfalls’

— he giveth his utterance beaming cordially

thro' the deofol-black eventide

with a sprinkling o' the snow-white spots

'twixt somewhither


my eccentric heart showeth

approval to such guide

— 'quotha, aye, lass!', ye say?!


tho' portray’d as a hallucinat’d dream

so puissant enow I mote beġiete a beorht flake

betwixt flowing tufts o' feathers

to ālimpan a gleam of attempt — prithee!

idiosyncrasy or a mirage?  glareth!

adventure peradventure afore us!

beorn — wilt thou

refell me so august?

„Phantasmagoria — Part II — The Eve Of Emeraudes”

gramercy — as I forwander thro'

a wilderness unbeknownst to me

my wee feet gently yet curious

caress a dyre soil

like beneath my silhouette 'tis Elysium


— nought to sting

to fester nary

nay, no quagmire to repel

nor to bring to a standstill

nowise hither — e’ermore


nonexistent my acquiescence to discontinue

and forth — thither — thither above! —


the extraterrestrial rays

bestowing upon the sublunary world

an eve of emeraudes — in hues of teal we mantl’d

— smaragdine — lo! behold!

a transparent form of beryl

performing the regular show — a maelstrom

with its stars like lozenges of argent adamants

to enlighten my gloaming

— their flawless glow fro' afar

e’en beyond the matrix

of my distort'd imagination

athwart — my corse half-alive

in a reaching blithe arabesque

nu paradise afore me 
— forthwith, I pray thee!

despight my lurking crisis 
— parfay my glee…

„Phantasmagoria — Part III — The Canvas Amaranthine”

alow the soil pulseth

and anon my heartbeat blendeth

forby the crepuscular track o' defile

cover’d to escort me

to lay my eyes on a sheeny water tide

— descendeth it upon and fulfilleth the space

o' the indistinct and bottomless hollow's depth


— with so much grace streameth the cascade


and even the glorious Apollo

I could see sheepish — blush’d rubescent

by such vista of the potential

bliss and delight like by the satyr in Marsyas

being skinn’d alive — flaying him

due to the battle he durst ignite

the god avow’d he shall indemnify

'thou chancest the lure forbidden, peasant

thy bane malignant — ne’er enow! come thou hither,

believe ye me — the chant of thy hurt — only my boon!

nought do I owe to get prov’d — ex cathedra my craft!'


the nature — on his side howbeit as Herbert inscrib’d

to hight and to dight — an artist shall thole


livid and ghastly — alack — the gore!

amaranthine — ’tis a hue of such splendor, tho!


apoptosis with a sound sole, yet thro’

my rebirth I glare and in awe they glore!

autotomy — I disown and ignite a branch of my tree

still color’d to the core!


Apollo, come thou nigh,

with thine argute boon own me bestow’d!


for I myght grant ev’ry bibliopole

— am apt — I swore!

a swink of mine — one day my oath!;

for the readiness avouch’d shall I hold!


Marsyas, carnal thy martyrdom;

yet for the glory of art thy squeak and blood!


the craft na for the meek I daresay

— a distaste and ache so strait

yet we necessitate their bloom!


neither the greying e'ergreen nor the doves

of stone hither forsooth;

albeit when my time hasteneth enow

for them ne’erexistent I have myself

amidst the vital blaze from carnage swoon’d!

the whatness claim'd to have me absolv’d indeed

for merely my silhouette doth burn!

to grant it a yet another glow not to forsake my lore

and the nature’s wisdom sougheth…

„Phantasmagoria — Part IV — Silver Springs”

yode amain unto the earthly innate natural reflections

deeming the marvel o' how wide this element was

yon — the water itself — out o' four

able to master both — a succor or an annihilation o' life


rehydration or mortem

diving in tranquility o' turquoise

or floating in a flood with only one hand above

leaves like emeralds or embers unlit

lands o' azure puddles' ruthless augment

sink or swim — sense the thrill


'tis the silvering spring before me

— will its tale be the source

of my fortune or my fatal disaster menacing?


bending over her royal highness

such a circumstance rare to cause my obeisance

no longer desolat’d is the speculum

— no more idle nor vain as into my eyne

she regardeth and to my soul whispereth

ye gods, 'tis a reflecting surface
ye gods, 'twas a looking glass

with a wealth o' wisdom to vocalize

'burneth not, yet smouldereth she;


the combat within


— the warfare an remain’d —


ne’ermore the score


— the youthful she alyght


natheless kisseth the icicle’s hoar


not to carve, yet — not refinedly — but entirely;


to injure!


— nought of a flame aglow, but a cinder,


a fistful of ashes, a choke multiple


and a stalactite whettéd entwin’d mayhap!


— the emblazonry alike the entents all golden,

yet possess thou a mean as gilt beholden;

sweet child o’mine, espy and ween thou sober;

trow herein a creator not sole, but a dyad of 'em

— twofold somewise

the tale’s moral befalleth'

„Phantasmagoria — Part V — The Trance Of Recoil”

undertaken the exuberant lore,

so farewell the astonishing grounds

irradiant and way more than fine;

REM and non-REM sleep stages

nil did collide — the trance o' my recoil

the sway o' mine — into rock from a waltz


harking back — retracing steps

o' the lucidity — the recrudescence


Adam’s ale cataract — entwin’d clear-sightedness

and the prudence o' thine

— twofold fistful of percipience

what I have learnt to pour down on me

as if it was the amphora

fill’d with the distinctness of water

or the sweetness of the honey cloy’d

— such costless meed beareth the cordiality own’d!


oh, farewell — a fair well

for a while ephemeral or two — nay a dern my pine

tho' shalt thou be aware — reck thou as I avouch

for I don’t want thee to be

nought but for a stellar dream

„Phantasmagoria — Part VI — The Dubiety Come — I — Bestow’d Upon…”

such mastery o' this exquisite whereabouts

o' this home on Earth — of ours the charm

shall bear a tale as old as time

and universal to all of us


and it—

it hath!


tho' what about

an I still untold what to espouse;

how to comport myself in particular?

a pat on a moral backbone too lief

— is this the allure o' my struggle?

the dubiety come shuddereth the awe

and a naïveté to forage the stunner

behind the whole nine yards


so quher indeed is the place o' my wee

comparing to the world’s entirety

pounding chest of a heart?

what is the exact quiddity

of this precious piece of advice?

„Phantasmagoria — Part VII — Faithless”

it costeth me an arm and a leg

to help myself omit and pretermit

this fantasy once deliriously hanker’d by me

as such comely portraits

such neighborhoods the distance o' yon

like from faeries to the hilt

with messages seraphic and prophecies divine

found out in thither — the wellhead empyrean

would never be disclos'd to eventuate unimaginary


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