Milo Of Meelos
10-07-2006, 07:35 AM
Hi,
I wrote this about a year back. I hope you like it.
One Cobblestone Boulevard:
Cracked paths, long ago were built,
Ancient taboos and gods were since broken.
They have walked my floors,
They have seeped my vigour and beauty and long since forgotten.
Distant thunders and ephemeral rains,
An ethereal sense of greater good
Knights, Queens and lovers,
Shall I tell a tale or two?
They were lovers, those two,
And their love was true as it is often true.
Yet they tread their own paths,
After promises of oneness, a spurious few?
Suited, well-fed gentleman,
Whose talks draw eyes upon his essence.
Like a man of nobility and mansions, all-given,
Yet he desires, his vanity, let all eyes know of his presence.
Head held high, a man of god.
A rapier by his side, has he taken a horrendous leap?
Promises of heaven on slaying the blasphemers,
O Sir Knight! May Eden be yours to keep.
Lads, young and just,
They are the wind of the new.
Let all things old be lain to trash and furnaces,
They are them, the now, the wiser few.
Aging, awaiting death he sits,
What does he feel, Bliss or plight?
A smile and a word of hate,
He is him, the then, the wiser site.
Lavishing young beauty,
May you be bed a hundred nights.
Is that not why you parade around so?
Let innocence be lost a hundred times.
I am but stones and benches and plants,
I am old and broken.
I am the unliving, the unloving,
I am but a boulevard of hope.
I wrote this about a year back. I hope you like it.
One Cobblestone Boulevard:
Cracked paths, long ago were built,
Ancient taboos and gods were since broken.
They have walked my floors,
They have seeped my vigour and beauty and long since forgotten.
Distant thunders and ephemeral rains,
An ethereal sense of greater good
Knights, Queens and lovers,
Shall I tell a tale or two?
They were lovers, those two,
And their love was true as it is often true.
Yet they tread their own paths,
After promises of oneness, a spurious few?
Suited, well-fed gentleman,
Whose talks draw eyes upon his essence.
Like a man of nobility and mansions, all-given,
Yet he desires, his vanity, let all eyes know of his presence.
Head held high, a man of god.
A rapier by his side, has he taken a horrendous leap?
Promises of heaven on slaying the blasphemers,
O Sir Knight! May Eden be yours to keep.
Lads, young and just,
They are the wind of the new.
Let all things old be lain to trash and furnaces,
They are them, the now, the wiser few.
Aging, awaiting death he sits,
What does he feel, Bliss or plight?
A smile and a word of hate,
He is him, the then, the wiser site.
Lavishing young beauty,
May you be bed a hundred nights.
Is that not why you parade around so?
Let innocence be lost a hundred times.
I am but stones and benches and plants,
I am old and broken.
I am the unliving, the unloving,
I am but a boulevard of hope.