Dear lady I admit being a wanderer
Travelling the world on a bare feet
Without a penny in my hand to usher
On your path, for an idyllic greet.
I can offer you nothing that we may count
Neither the stars brightened by dimness.
I can try no courage to have you mount
The zenith of the snow and its stillness.
I could but, in any form mortal or ethereal
Wash the thorns with my immortal blood,
Which often have kept me live and reveal
The toxicity of all perilous thuds.
Life is where I may awaken you,
In mortality, ere and beyond the sleep of death.
Everywhere, I will pray you be true
In sobriety and in the hallucinating meth.
YOU ARE READING
Transcendence
PoetryHello, there readers! For a quick introduction to my work would suit its subtitle- 'A Collection of Scattered Feelings', I have maintained no fixed mood, so that my dear readers may see beyond a specific feeling, to feel it. The moods vary form sli...
