That Irish brogue

I chased the rainbow with urgency,

Toward your wondrous pot o’ gold,

Methinks you possess a soul stunning,

Oh tantalizing gilt hail and unfold,

Sláinte, sweetheart, may you be well,

My sentiments for you deepened tenfold,

My pulse, I begged you a pint of mineral,

I fancy my silvers and thy golds to mold,

A spirit as archaic as the one you own,

Is adored plenty, ah too precious to scold,

Sigh how I singe over that Irish brogue,

I surrender to thee; I am yours to hold.

The Armed Poet

He drew his strongest weapon amain

Blackest ink my eyes have laid upon,

Imbued poetic verses onto one’s vein,

He dispatched words anew and bygone,

He dare not write in Shakespearean,

For he hath not the wit and charm,

But for poetry, he emerged a historian,

Unfolding stanzas I can never disarm.

The rain and you

I am wistful for the rain and you,

Homesick for a home I haven’t been in to,

Legends have said, the likes of you, undead,

So my darling, for me, please stead.

 

The rare droplet of anticipated mist,

I beg you a tear to quench my thirst,

Stream those lands with your touch,

I might have craved you a bit too much.

The Broken Beautiful

Once upon a blissful morning,

She arose a beautiful butterfly,

Blizzards stormed, forewarning,

Yet obstacles meant not to the spry.

 

Gray tinges of burdens, faded,

A new day is her white canvass,

Disputes held her captive, jaded,

But mornings were land of chances.

 

She swore to bring this heart no harm,

Today she smiles to the world, she wins,

Lending others pieces to keep them warm,

But then she sleeps with broken wings.

Once upon a haze

Once upon a haze, the skies blushed in lilac,

An appeasing sight after cloudless summer days,

It was then that my cravings of the warmth of maroon,

Crawled onto my skin, as I sipped Dulce De Leche,

Earth urges me to ponder as the leaves tint,

Seasons of God were always perfectly timed,

And there was autumn, perhaps the best of all,

I call it the sweet and tender version of winter,

Fall hushes the loudness of summery colors,

Neon yellows and bronze sun powders evanesce,

Fringes, tan browns, and burgundies hail,

Here’s to Autumn, the last chapter of the year.

She lost count of the days

Happy 4 years to this blog!

She lost count of the days,

Pondering on how they can harmoniously utter the same words,

How he completes her words,

And she completes his.

The moon is a witness of the wasteful minutes,

She has spent on the hammock,

Wishing upon stars,

Hoping her fancies are attained.

The night darkens to carry her to sleep,

But she refuses to shut her eyes off.

How could she envelop these emotions,

And pretend they’re nonexistent?

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