Damien’s confessions – A letter to Iris

Why do these eyes sink?
When you sing to the sky…
Why do you yearn for wings?
When I say I cannot fly…

Why does your hair sway?
When the wind sings a rhyme…
Why does this heart pain?
When tulips just don’t cry…

Why does your lip speak riddles?
When I wish to name them mine…
Why does your breath feel brittle?
Have I drenched myself in wine…?

Why do your arms not move?
Are mine too cold to give…
What have I to prove?
You’re all I have to live…

Oh! The queen of my throne!
I’ve roses but you bring me thorns…
Told you tulips don’t groan…
But your garden bloom spawns…

The Awaited Agony: Beauty and the Beast - A Gothic Etymology -Part IV – The Feast for Beauty

A palm bled to an attained calm,
For a nail thus painted blue…
What’s a till in a shivered palm?
His beauty in black perfume…

Beast:
Would thy breath be a demean vigil,
Why could thou not be hysteria in a gown?
Would thy hair sow this heart a till,
I’ve got tulips, but you wear a frown…

Beauty:
What demean vigil could this breath arouse,
I’m the queen to be named a crown…
No hair of mine shall slit your furrows,
No tears of yours would name a swan…!

A Key to "The Awaited Agony: Beauty and the Beast - A Gothic Etymology -Part III – The Feast for Beauty"

* To crush a wine – Inviting a fight

* Valiant - [val-yuh nt] –
a) Boldly courageous; brave; stout-hearted: a valiant soldier.
b) Marked by or showing bravery or valor; heroic: to make a valiant effort.
c) Worthy; excellent.

* Writ – [rit] -
a) Law - a formal order under seal, issued in the name of a sovereign, government, court, or other competent authority, enjoining the officer or other person to whom it is issued or addressed to do or refrain from some specified act.
b) (In early English law) any formal document in letter form, under seal, and in the sovereign's name.
c) Something written; a writing: sacred writ.

* Midget – (Bears no offense to anybody) [mij-it]

a) (Not in technical use) an extremely small person having normal physical proportions.
b) Any animal or thing that is very small for its kind.

* Braise - [breyz] - to cook (meat, fish, or vegetables) by sautéeing in fat and then simmering slowly in very little liquid.

* Bite a thumb – An Insult

* Frayed – {Fray} (v) worn at the edge, show effects of strain (n) A battle or a fight

* Frantic - [fran-tik] –
a) Desperate or wild with excitement, passion, fear, pain, etc.; frenzied.
b) Insane; mad.

* Succumb - [suh-kuhm]
a) To give way to superior force; yield: to succumb to despair.
b) To yield to disease, wounds, old age, etc.; die.

* Swan a Crown – to be loved and to be hated.

* Thither - [thith -er, th ith -] - Towards

* Howl - [houl] - adverb (used without object) to utter a loud, prolonged, mournful cry, as that of a dog or wolf.

* Weeping stouts burnt a whisker’s Carriage – Two fat things burning a cat’s carriage.

* Rapier - [rey-pee-er] -
a) A small sword, especially of the 18th century, having a narrow blade and used for thrusting.
b) A longer, heavier sword, especially of the 16th and 17th centuries, having a double-edged blade and used for slashing and thrusting.

*Amble - [am-buh l]
a) To go at a slow, easy pace; stroll; saunter: He ambled around the town.
b) (Of a horse) to go at a slow pace with the legs moving in lateral pairs and usually having a four-beat rhythm.

The Awaited Agony: Beauty and the Beast - A Gothic Etymology -Part III – The Feast for Beauty

The wax melts to crush a wine*,
His beauty in a valiant* daze…
Her delight writ* a giggle mime,
The midget* unfolds a braise*…

In valiant wits or so her pride,
Beauty frowns to bite a thumb*…
The beast frayed* as her tulips cried,
A cobweb whispered to a frantic* succumb*…

“A recluse is he?” panted Beauty,
“How could him swan a crown*???
Go thither* for his selfless pity,
You’d suffer prey to a woven howl*…”

The Midget anguished beauty’s Disparage,
An ambient liaise mellowed loud…
Weeping stouts burnt a whisker’s carriage*,
Asleep was that farmer’s hound…

The Midget:
“In this Braise blooms his blood,
A rapier* to a woven steed…
Of reckoning, yet a Shrub,
An amble* path of glee…. “

(Ps: This poem was inspired by William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and a key is also mentioned)

Part II – The Adoration of the Beast

Her breath’s a lucid shimmer,
Her hair to lain upon my breast?
Her scent screams tragic winters,
She’s tulips to a moonlight caress…

How could be her kiss a revel?
When these lips forswear…!!!
What grotesque in her heart prevails?
When this heart’s a woven frail?

Awaiting a cobweb of hostility,
Beauty wounds an unclaimed usher…
These eyes drool to benighted vanity,
A winter forgives beauty’s closure…

A syllable shuns the verdict’s keep,
Silence summons the vigil grey...
Joyous scent of his beauty reeds,
Her blossom’s a valiant fray…”

Her hair wrote a scripted ballad,
His eyes read in a frantic calm…
A kiss she sewed to a lucid pallet,
Her arms cleansed to lusted charm…

"She’s agony to a sweet embrace,
to her succumb bliss…
She’s rapture in a poisoned daze,
Nicotine in an anguished quilt...!!!"

Away, A Reverie!!

A splinter dawn, her picture frame,
Wood reaps this sin to her mist…
The blister for the manning soul’s adage,
Asleep, I’d drink her enchanted kiss…

Swaying winds to her benighted prism,
Lunacy adores her barb that slays…
Forsaken asleep, this fragile prison,
For agony, in her bruise I’d lay…

Mellow sinks this vein in wine,
This spell slits this breath apart…
Her hair recites fate in mimes,
Faith lost to her bristle heart …

In entrapment, she’d lay beside,
Her nails clutched this skin in vibes…
The broth washed the lust aside,
Her chanting wept pain in rhymes…

The Roslyn sang on its bow alone,
Her notes played my sorrow tone…
The jury shivers to a king dethroned,
The opera played as her weep adored…

Her curtains tied and this play was staged,
That song she sang to this night estranged…
The actor bows down to a blizzard’s rage,
And sleep, she’d lay in my winter haze…

The Winter Stray Poem...!!

The street wept the winter’s lust,
The wind blew its charm…
She lay cold on her bed of dust,
A needle lost deep in her palm…

The slum sang a hymn for the poor,
The bread lay sour on the rack…
She fled to grab a bite in a roar,
The stew there fed the rats…

Sleep broke to a dream of hope,
She watched herself laugh in glee…
The dew wept as the blossom spoke,
And the tulip began to flee…

Awoken by the traffic rhyme,
She sensed a pained day ahead…
Dwelling to a hoodlum’s mime,
The last bug sewed her bed…

The sidewalk relished the scent,
A child lay hungry in a fix…
She found the last of the cent,
A loaf just an inch thick…

Supper now a myth for the day,
She sat beside the child curved…
Watching the winter sleep away,
The troops found the shallow road…

The child lay still, awaiting breath,
She felt a shimmer down the nerve…
There it lay on the soil of death,
She watched its soul beside her lurk…

Wrapped in the morning news,
She picked the child in despair…
As the paper rusted the rue,
She cursed fate that was unfair…

The road was steep in static,
The winter stung her skin cold…
The leaves flung to words of manic,
The flu wept to a miser’s urge…

She reached torn, that bitter land,
The clay that yearned the parted…
Anger filled, she sunk her hands,
On that frozen clay broken hearted…

She scratched the soil to dig away,
Her nails clicked and bled…
The child lay judged beside her stray,
To a jury called life and death…

The grave was dug in a circle,
Her fingers bled to the moment’s wrath…
She took the child and began a murmur,
The last rhyme for the departed past…

As she kissed it, filled with tears,
She bid farewell and sunk it deep…
There it lay numb in fear,
She buried the stolen seed…

As the snow kissed the grave,
Her sight faded and the blood went stale…
The last of her breath gave away,
And here’s a tale of a winter stray….