En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Http://www.ericajong.com/poems/onsendinghair.htm

There is a white wood house near Hampstead Heath
in whose garden the nightingale still sings.
Though Keats is dead, the bird who sang of death
returns with melodies, on easeful wings.

A lock of hair the poet's love received
remains in the room where first it was shorn;
An heirloom, its history half-believed,
its strands now faded and its ribbon worn.

On polished floors, through squares of summer sun
I felt his footsteps move, as if the elf
- deceiving elf, he called her - had not done
with making mischief to amuse herself.

I saw him clip that tousled lock of hair,
and though he did not offer it to me,
I felt that I was privileged, standing there,
and took his gesture for my legacy.

poem by Erica Jong
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Rope hair woman

Rope hair woman
Where you’re off to tonight
Rope hair woman
You’re lookin’ out of sight
O rope hair woman
I love with all my might
Rope hair woman if you could if you can
Let me be your dread lock man.
Dread lock man
Can you understand
That a rope hair woman
Does all that she can
To move you to that sexual point
Better then your hand
O rope hair woman
Here is my plain
Rope hair woman I will give
Up my womanly man
O rope hair woman
The world can understand
That you want a dread lock man.

poem by David E. Patton
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Lip Lock Rock

Alright
You look at me, the world in your eyes
You say like my style
Oh yeah
You keep hopin' till I make my move
You resist and give me that smile
Oh yeah
I just want a little kiss
But you keep on playin' those nasty little tricks
I'm longing of a - (...just another kiss)
I want a lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Whoa
You make a man so frustrated
You got my head buried in a hole
Oh no
Just tease me 'till I'm crazy
I'm runnin' out of control
I just want a little kiss
But you keep on playin' those nasty little tricks
I'm not gonna bite, I - (...just want a little kiss)
I want a lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Whoa
Lip lock
Lip lock
Lip lock
Lip lock
Lip lock
Rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Whoa
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Oh whoa
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock
Give it to me
Lip lock rock
Lip lock rock

song performed by by Alice In Chains
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Haircut

They sat me down upon their chair
Anxiously and impatiently I sat there
Nervous was I, so I whimpered out a sigh
But I was ready for them to cut my hair.

The hairdresser she talked to me for a bit
I felt happy and handsome I must truly admit
She felt my hair, as the patrons did stare
As upon that swivel chair I did sit.

I was then taken to the Shampooers sink
The Hairdresser shampooed my hair as I did think
I spoke, but I stalled, happy I am that I am not bald
So instead I gave my hairdresser a happy wink.

I was then led back unto my chair
I smelled the scent of her perfume in the air
I was then afraid, as I saw the tools of her trade
But she promised me all of her loving care.

Clip, clip, clip the scissors I then did hear
So close was that sound was to my ear
My hair it fell, from my head it was expelled
As I watched her craftsmanship from her mirror.

Then not long later she finished her job
I looked at my hair and I gave her an appreciative nod
She then finished the clip, I gave her a tip
At her work and gentleness I was both pleased and awed.

RANDY L. McCLAVE

poem by Randy McClave
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His Lock Of Hair

I looked at him and thought to myself
I must keep a lock of his hair.
So I clipped it while he was asleep
for there would soon be none to spare.
I remember when I saw him first
his hair was what caught my sight,
so full and wavy catching the light
as dark as a moonless night.
I would run my fingers through it
and see a smile on his face.
I would watch and see him groom it.
Not a strand was out of place.

Little by little it was not as full
and the treasure I would see
was slowly leaving as days went by
and I knew eventually
that his beautiful crown of glory
would become a thing of the past.
And so the lock of hair I clipped
was saved so it would last.
For now that his hair has fallen away.
I show him the lock I did save.
He smiles again as he's done before
as he finishes his morning shave.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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There Is

there is beauty in smaller things
a single red petal of a rose
in my pocket
a white pebble hidden
in my shoe
a lock of hair of my beloved
inserted
in a page of my favorite poem

a little space where i sit
in my garden
a single tree to shade
my head
a little bird singing above
my hair

a small rock where i can
just sit
and feel the slow
movement of this earth

in here
there is peace and quiet
in here
i am king

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love hair

I got down onto the bed and started kissing you but my long hair got in the way and I felt like I kissed myself.

Long straight hair which fell onto your head was the wall between me and you and I feared if I said: I love you, I would be saying it to myself.

I tried to move myself away from you but couldn't and soon my hair was all over your body, protecting it from my love.

I really felt like I loved myself when I kissed my hair that was against you.

And it started feeling weird after a long time doing it.

poem by Maria Junnonen
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Rihana

I am coming back
with the girl who lured
the city with her song

I grabbed her
As she oozed down
from the disco party
And just like her painted hairs
I yearned to be free
while rooted in her..

the strands of her hair used to
dance with all the rogue winds..

I have to steal
the menstrual blood of spring
to redden her lips
that were charred
by the kiss of summer

There is only a single room
in the thatched house
when I returned with the girl
who lured the city with her song

Sitting on its steps
that are plastered dry with cow dung
May be I will blacken her hair
with medicated oil.
During noontimes,
while I comb
and count her hairs one by one,
I will put to death
the lice I find there
and will claim that her body
was solely my own home

While thus crossing boredom
once, when I find a grey hair
from her head
Maybe I will pluck them all out
without her knowing it
When she comes to know of it
Maybe she will paint
those strands of her hair,
But never will she attempt
to lure the cities again.

poem by Sujeesh nm92
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Braiding

1.
We two sit on our bed, you
between my legs, your back to me, your head
slightly bowed, that I may brush and braid
your hair. My father
did this for my mother,
just as I do for you. One hand
holds the hem of you hair, the other
works the brush. Both hands climb
as the strokes grow
longer, until I use not only my wrists,
but my arms, then my shoulders, my whole body
rocking in a rower's rhythm, a lover's
even time, as the tangles are undone,
and brush and bare hand run the thick,
fluent length of your hair, whose wintry scent
comes, a faint, human musk.

2.
Last night the room was so cold
I dreamed we were in Pittsburgh again, where winter
persisted and we fell asleep in the last seat
of the 71 Negley, dark mornings going to work.
How I wish we didn't hate those years
while we lived them.
Those were days of books,
days of silences stacked high
as the ceiling of that great, dim hall
where we studied. I remember
the thick, oak tabletops, how cool
they felt against my face
when I lay my head down and slept.

3.
How long your hair has grown.

Gradually, December.

4.
There will come a day
one of us will have to imagine this: you,
after your bath, crosslegged on the bed, sleepy, patient,
while I braid your hair.

5.
Here, what's made, these braids, unmakes
itself in time, and must be made
again, within and against
time. So I braid
your hair each day.
My fingers gather, measure hair,
hook, pull and twist hair and hair.
Deft, quick, they plait,
weave, articulate lock and lock, to make
and make these braids, which point
the direction of my going, of all our continuous going.
And though what's made does not abide,
my making is steadfast, and, besides, there is a making
of which this making-in-time is just a part,
a making which abides
beyond the hands which rise in the combing,
the hands which fall in the braiding,
trailing hair in each stage of its unbraiding.

6.
Love, how the hours accumulate. Uncountable.
The trees grow tall, some people walk away
and diminish forever.
The damp pewter days slip around without warning
and we cross over one year and one year.

poem by Li-Young Lee
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Get Out Of My House

(hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!)
When you left, the door was
(slamming!)
You paused in the doorway
(slamming!)
As though a thought stole you away.
(slamming!)
I watched the world pull you away.
(lock it!)
So I run into the hall,
(lock it!)
Into the corridor.
(lock it!)
Theres a door in the house
(slamming).
I hear the lift descending.
(slamming!)
I hear it hit the landing,
(slamming!)
See the hackles on the cat
(standing).
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it up).
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it up).
I am the concierge chez-moi, honey.
Wont letcha in for love, nor money.
(let me in!)
My home, my joy.
Im barred and bolted and i
(wont let you in).
(get out of my house!)
No strangers feet
Will enter me.
(get out of my house!)
I wash the panes,
(get out of my house!)
I clean the stains away.
(get out of my house!)
This house is as old as I am.
(slamming.)
This house knows all I have done.
(slamming.)
They come with their weather hanging round them,
(slamming.)
But cant knock my door down!
(slamming.)
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it).
This house is full of m-m-my mess.
(slamming.)
This house is full of m-m-mistakes.
(slamming.)
This house is full of m-m-madness.
(slamming.)
This house is full of, full of, full of fight!
(slam it.)
With my keeper i
(clean up).
With my keeper i
(clean it all up).
With my keeper i
(clean up).
With my keeper i
(clean it all up).
I am the concierge chez-moi, honey.
Wont letcha in for love, nor money.
(its cold out here!)
My home, my joy.
Im barred and bolted and i
(get out of my house!)
(wont let you in).
(get out of my house!)
No strangers feet
(get out of my house!)
Will enter me.
(get out of my house!)
I wash the panes.
(get out of my house!)
I clean the stains.
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Wont enter me.
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Yeah! wont let you in!
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Let me in!
Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the memories!
Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the devil dreams!
I will not let you in!
Dont you bring back the reveries.
I turn into a bird,
Carry further than the word is heard.
Woman let me in!
I turn into the wind.
I blow you a cold kiss,
Stronger than the songs hit.
I will not let you in.
I face towards the wind.
I change into the mule.
I change into the mule.
Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw-hee-haw-hee-haw-hee-haw...
Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!

song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Living Remembrance

HALF vex'd, half pleased, thy love will feel,
Shouldst thou her knot or ribbon steal;
To thee they're much--I won't conceal;

Such self-deceit may pardon'd be;
A veil, a kerchief, garter, rings,
In truth are no mean trifling things,

But still they're not enough for me.

She who is dearest to my heart,
Gave me, with well dissembled smart,
Of her own life, a living part,

No charm in aught beside I trace;
How do I scorn thy paltry ware!
A lock she gave me of the hair

That wantons o'er her beauteous face.

If, loved one, we must sever'd be,
Wouldst thou not wholly fly from me,
I still possess this legacy,

To look at, and to kiss in play.--
My fate is to the hair's allied,
We used to woo her with like pride,

And now we both are far away.

Her charms with equal joy we press'd,
Her swelling cheeks anon caress'd,
Lured onward by a yearning blest,

Upon her heaving bosom fell.
Oh rival, free from envy's sway,
Thou precious gift, thou beauteous prey.

Remain my joy and bliss to tell!

poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Under Lock & Key

Making promises you cant keep
Bringing down every one that you meet
Say whos it gonna be this time
Gonna use the same old line
Gone are the days of running free
Im gonna keep you under lock keep you under lock and key
Idle rumours surround you
I turned my head cos I knew they were true
Who you gonna lay on today
Ahh youre a bad news woman they say
Look what youre doing to me
Im gonna keep you under lock keep you under lock and key
Alright babe you had it coming and Im gonna lock you away
I said alright babe you best be runnin now
Youre thru with cheating on me
Im gonna keep you under lock and key
You wont get away this time
Youre thru with all your cheating and lying
Ooh this is the way its got to be
Im gonna keep you under lock keep you under lock and key
Im gonna keep you under lock keep you under lock and key
Im gonna lock you away
Im gonna throw away the key
Ah youre a bad news woman
Lock you away yeah
Throw away the key etc....

song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vespers

I'd like to think about her
And the way she used to love me
But I just can't live without her
'Cause her arms are not around me
And the season's getting later
And my body's getting colder
And the vespers ring and I'm all alone
Without my love beside me
She'd call me in the evenin'
And ask me to come over
She'd be standing by the window
With her hair down around her shoulder
We'd talk a while and then she'd smile
Then she'd lock the door
And she would sit beside me
And we would talk no more
The bells would ring at six o'clock
And she'd be in my arms
Her head upon my shoulder, gently resting
And then she'd wake and look at me
Not knowing I'd been watching
Kiss me softly, then drift off to sleep
She'd call me in the evenin'
And ask me to come over
She'd be standing by the window
With her hair down around her shoulder
We'd talk a while and then she'd smile
Then she'd lock the door
And she would sit beside me
And we would talk no more

song performed by by Jim Croce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nightingale

WHEN the moon a golden-pale
Lustre on my casement flings,
An enchanted nightingale
In the haunted silence sings.

Strange the song—its wondrous words
Taken from the primal tongue,
Known to men, and beasts, and birds,
When the care-worn world was young

Listening low, I hear the stars
Through her strains move solemnly,
And on lonesome banks and bars
Hear the sobbing of the sea.

And my memory dimly gropes
Hints to gather from her song
Of forgotten fears and hopes,
Joys and griefs forgotten long.

And I feel once more the strife
Of a passion, fierce and grand,
That, in some long-vanished life,
Held my soul at its command.

Ah, my Love, in robes of white
Standing by a moonlit sea,
Like a lily of the night,
Hast thou quite forgotten me?

Dost thou never dream at whiles
Of that silent, templed vale,
And the dim wood in whose aisles
Sang a secret nightingale?

Whither hast thou gone? What star
Holds thy spirit pure and fine?
In this world below there are
None like thee: and thou wert mine!

For a season all things last,
Love and Joy, and Life and Death;
Thou art portion of my past,
I of thine, whilst Time draws breath.

Fades the moonlight golden-pale,
And the bird has ceased to sing—
Ah, it was no nightingale,
But my heart—remembering.

poem by Victor James Daley
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Margaret's Bridal Eve

I

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Tall Margaret wept bitterly:
There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

II

O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:
There is a rose in the garden;
Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:
And the bird sings over the roses.

Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:
There is a rose in the garden;
You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when he kisses me!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, 'tis which shall sweetest be!
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when I awake in the morn!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, you are his, and the ring is worn:
And the bird sings over the roses.

Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress:
There is a rose in the garden;
Poor comfort she had of her comeliness
And the bird sings over the roses.

My mother will sink if this thing be said:
There is a rose in the garden;
That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;
And the bird sings over the roses.

He died on my shoulder the third cold night:
There is a rose in the garden;
I dragged his body all through the moonlight:
And the bird sings over the roses.

But when I came by my father's door:
There is a rose in the garden;
I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell:
There is a rose in the garden;
Could I follow the lover I loved so well!
And the bird sings over the roses.

III

The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart:
There is a rose that's ready;
Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

The frill of her nightgown below the left breast:
There is a rose that's ready;
Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

But where the West-cloud breaks to a star:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O few are the brides with such a sign!
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I went mad the fault was mine:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I must speak to him under this roof to-night:
There is a rose that's ready;
I shall burn to death if I speak in the light:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound:
There is a rose that's ready;
Than when I scored you red and swooned:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I will stab my honour under his eye:
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you!
There is a rose that's ready;
Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean:
There is a rose that's ready;
You carry no mark of what has been!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

IV

An hour before the chilly beam:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The bridegroom started out of a dream:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and there espied:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The figure of his silent bride:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and let her in:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Whiter looked she than a child of sin:
And the bird sings over the roses.

She looked so white, she looked so sweet:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She looked so pure he fell at her feet:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He fell at her feet with love and awe:
Red rose and white in the garden;
A stainless body of light he saw:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!
Red rose and white in the garden;
My bride! by the angels at night are you led?
And the bird sings over the roses.

I am not led by the angels about:
Red rose and white in the garden;
But I have a devil within to let out:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret! my bride and saint!
Red rose and white in the garden;
There is on you no earthly taint:
And the bird sings over the roses.

I am no saint, and no bride can I be:
Red rose and while in the garden;
Until I have opened my bosom to thee:
And the bird sings over the roses.

To catch at her heart she laid one hand:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She told the tale where she did stand:
And the bird sings over the roses.

She stood before him pale and tall:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Her eyes between his, she told him all:
And the bird sings over the roses.

She saw how her body grow freckled and foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.

With never a quiver her mouth did speak:
Red rose and white in the garden;
O when she had done she stood so meek!
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom stamped and called her vile:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He did but waken a little smile:
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom raged and called her foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.

He muttered a name full bitter and sore:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She fell in a lump on the still dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O great was the wonder, and loud the wail:
Red rose and white in the garden;
When through the household flew the tale:
And the bird sings over the roses.

The old grey mother she dressed the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
With a shivering chin and never a tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you but done as I bade you, my child!
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not have died and been reviled:
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He eyed the white girl thro' a dazzling tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you been false as the women who stray:
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not be now with the Angels of Day!
And the bird sings over the roses.

poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just Put A Ribbon In Your Hair

Bobby wants a 10-speed, an English racer
Jenny wants that fuzzy teddy-bear
Now your asking me
What I'd like from Santa, for Christmas this year
There's alot of things, girl you could buy for me
But they wouldn't mean as much, as you standing by that tree
Just put a ribbon in your hair, darlin'
You'll be the best gift anywhere
Christmas Mornin'
There's no whorley treasure
Id like any better, than you standin' there
Just put a ribbon in your hair
(mmmm...)
Colored boxes filled, with fancy presents
They were mighty pretty sites, it's true
But all those pretty things
They just can't compare
To the beauty in you
Girl on christmas day
The greatest gift I know
Will be having you to hold
Underneath the mistle toe
Just put a ribbon in your hair, darlin'
You'll be the best gift anywhere
Christmas Mornin'
There's no whorley treasure
Id like any better, than you standin' there
Just put a ribbon in your hair
Just put a ribbon in your hair
(oohhh baby)

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cuckoo

The cuckoo, like a hawk in flight,
With narrow pointed wings
Whews o'er our heads - soon out of sight
And as she flies she sings:
And darting down the hedgerow side
She scares the little bird
Who leaves the nest it cannot hide
While plaintive notes are heard.

I've watched it on an old oak tree
Sing half an hour away
Until its quick eye noticed me
And then it whewed away.
Its mouth when open shone as red
As hips upon the brier,
Like stock doves seemed its winged head
But striving to get higher

It heard me rustle and above leaves
Soon did its flight pursue,
Still waking summer's melodies
And singing as it flew.
So quick it flies from wood to wood
'Tis miles off 'ere you think it gone;
I've thought when I have listening stood
Full twenty sang - when only one.

When summer from the forest starts
Its melody with silence lies,
And, like a bird from foreign parts,
It cannot sing for all it tries.
'Cuck cuck' it cries and mocking boys
Crie 'Cuck' and then it stutters more
Till quick forgot its own sweet voice
It seems to know itself no more.

poem by John Clare
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Don't Be A Loser

don't think that much
and lurk in there like a curl
of your lock of hair

spread, move, giggle,
take the zest of life like you're

a bird flying on its new wings
taking the somersault

the best dive
the exhibition of its power
of flight

don't be a loser
say yes to life and grab every light
in this darkness

wake up
open your eyes and see the opportunities
waiting for you

right in your own backyard
asking for your name

it will not be long
the sun did not promise

but it will always come and shine
for each and everyone

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm Sorry Your So Happy

I'm sorry that I'm so scared
I'm sorry you cried my tears
I'm even sorry that you were
so glad to be with me

I'm sorry to've led you on
I'm sorry that I'm so worn
I'm even sorry for trying to be good to you

I'm sorry you felt so safe
I'm sorry for all your love
I'm even sorry to've been your inspiration

For everything you did for me
My firends and my family
Even strangers who I thought
could use a helping hand

For all the love you gave to me
The dreams that you shared with me
But most of all, I'm sorry that
I couldn't love you

I'm sorry for the good times
And the joy that I made you feel
The satisfaction that you got
From being close to me

I'm sorry for the laughter
For holding your gentle hand
And making you feel
so damned lucky

For every smile that I gave to you
And every kiss that you received.
But most of all, I'm sorry that
I couldn't love you

For every gift you received
Sent, but not with love, rather
The belief that I was doing the
Right thing

I'm sorry to've made you feel
That you were lucky
For having found me
Or comfortable now that you'd
Found love

I'm sorry I couldn't trust you
But wouldn't tell you how I felt
I'm sorry that you believed I
needed you or something
I'm sorry that, I'm sorry, so sorry that
I just couldn't love.

poem by Njeri Bondagebreak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Out

The things I said,
Whether written or not...
But expressed from my heart.
And you received.
Not to believe the depth,
Of my love felt for you.
I wish right now I could white out!

Erase and/or replace,
My committed devotion.
Since you would never come to know,
What it took to expose myself.
You would never come to know,
That kind of love...
You keep hidden inside.
You have too much pride.

And I...
Well,
I am seeking chemistry!
Not just sex.
I have much more than that to offer!

The things I said,
Whether written or not...
But expressed from my heart.
And you received.
Not to believe the depth,
Of my love felt for you.
I wish right now I could white out!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clip Your Wings, Baby

In the darkest depths far below,
The furnace may incinerate
Sin's vice and folly apropos
Before evil may saturate.
With no way to absquatulate
From what Death's disposition brings,
One must rely on their damned fate
And clip their feathery, white wings.

The mocking voice, Contrapasso,
Cuts sharply, harshly—biserrate—
Into the transgressions I know:
What bad intention does create.
My insult will annihilate
In sameness what the black heart sings.
The self must incapacitate
And clip its feathery, white wings.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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