Шрифт:
AN ARMLESS KNIGHT IN SHINING AMOUR
Your love for me all echoes tongues of yore…* oh knowest thou of thine passion source?
It must have come from sacred lore Germanic, well if not somehow from Old Norse.
Have dated from the ancient times when dragons only knew the dialects of flame and force,
Which have become to dragon slayers’ shame the paragons of business, tourism and whatever flying course.
With dragons everywhere I’m no knight, no slayer no knight – slayer neither here nor there oh where’s my sword?
No one has used one since the creatures stopped devouring men and now they hail you, yell at you to come into their throat, I mean aboard.
I raised no sword when dragon came to take you to the States.
I raised my brows as he knew where to land, the time, the dates.
To win a damsel over one would joust to hit opponent with a lance, his armored body falling to the ground.
However, now you wait for dragon to fly back with her, all that freelance and hoping that the beast will not be downed.
So not to be kicked off one surely would have to have a shield and wary be to counter any possible attack.
The thing with dragons is that being airborne makes them defenseless thus can be so late, can shake or worst – be hit, forever lose the track.
…* Your highness, does it matter what it is or where it shines from when I know your ardor for me is so very well fit for a king.
So fit, I crowned it all with yet another dragon which somehow at the very marching fondness season took you to Beijing.
It seems to me the latter day has left no kingdom that a dragon cannot reach.
Although there’s one I can’t – the skies, homeworld of dragons that does not abide by the king’s speech.
As much as I’d want to ride a dragon, I’d prefer to fly my love instead.
No matter what the distance is between us, it’s pathetic with the passion wings to spread.
They take me to the windless heights even to dragons unbeknown.
The dizzy heights a grounded creature by your splendor has been shown.
To get the better of a dragon lead to getting hands on cavern priceless treasures with the monster dying in that very cave.
Now you get better of yourself not to resort to drastic measures as in hunt for travelling treasures the unbridled skies won’t serve you a paid grave.
A night disarmed can make for shiny amoured days with you – it’s such a pleasure.
I fight the wait unarmed – to be a pacifist for you is such a timely treasure.
Desperation
Wallow in a hollow on a rainy day,
Swallow all the mellow that helped you ease the pain.
Morrow in a shadow still remains unknown.
Follow silent sorrow that brought you home.
Arrows strike, billow sound,
Sallow stain should abound.
Thinking, calling, twisting, mourning.
You paralyzed my heart and let me in.
A violent kind of art you waste in vain.
It seemed that every part of you was brightly clean,
I’m simply giving in.
Wallow in a hollow.
A narrow spot with a tiny flow.
Sparrow lying in a shallow,
Waiting for a bitter blow.
A howl of wind with toppling speed,
A tear-stained shawl is falling down your feet.
Faking, bleeding, moaning, pleading.
You paralyzed my heart and let me in.
A violent kind of art you waste in vain.
It seemed that every part of you was brightly clean.
I’m simply giving in.
All those things you attained I no longer obtain.
I cannot ascertain that your fame is disdain.
All those years in disguise, you’ve been tearing apart my vague eyes.
I can still visualize that I wasn’t so blind.
Though cannot analyze what you’ve done to my mind.
A Love Once Pawned One Can’t Redeem
Two sundry primes, the same phoneme,
Both being held in great esteem.
The twinkling dawn, the dusk agleam,
Their coalition’s almost a pipe dream.
Congruence works with opposites passim, a voice composed of whisper and some scream
If bridged together with a shim, appears so to take one for the team.
Converging lines fade dim before they shine in the extreme.
At distance rise insurgents to the lim to fuse into a single seam.
Each railway’s way too ramified to limn, its paths are but the same raceme.
At seas of mutual fervour in the swim I, notwithstanding, falsely deem
The liquid ardour has no rim, its seething truly reigns supreme.
Emotional debris all over him, impeding, they are not to bream.
With sentiments all deep albeit slim these murky waters teem.
A whole flamboyant, stable whim, a gasoline-like colour scheme.
Contented to the brim just like the cat that got the cream,
A navy out on a limb romances some uncharted blue, so it might seem.