Dowsing Anemone With Copper Tongue

The portraiture within me rose up To meet a constellation Borne on psychic waters. Geometry showed me its dark side And showered me with its arcing plumes. The Lovers met in deepest dreams - Tourmaline eyes glinting in the non-light. I bring to thee an Orchid I picked Once as a human From my Spiral garden I held the holy Tripod and All the nothing held its breath. Gemini solemnly split themselves - The world closed its eyes. Supreme love in the opposite - The world hid in clouds. From a severed two came one - The world quaked in fear. Galaxies slow, and ammonites - The foe e'en trembled in his darksome cave.

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025

Write down your dream of a powder-hill on a foggy windowpane Snow shakes the light off wistful and wane You left the hearth to put your head on the glass I would question who would not be moved by Whispered brilliance that each word exudes, my

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 25, 2025

Almost condescending it looks on from inside; I feel strong, this day will never wither! In sorcery is my most ancient thought, And I thought the sorcerer was right. It creeps behind a dusty mirror - They, in an attic I dreamt of once. Flow through me again, Wraitful One - I feel strong! Throw the tapestry o'er the oracles! Belong to me in Innocence... The shears cut cleaner than a child's first sin; I chose the grave in Blasphemous. It fell away a hundred times before, But orisons scratched veiled glass. "Thou art I," says Cast Away: And I am in an attic. I feel weak, this night will never bloom! I am I Now you're mine, my cunting child.

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 25, 2025

In a host of unbarred waterways The man bearing scrolls; These are faces I've seen written into sympathy - Kingly ships in ecstacy that fill'd their sails with delight. I printed out the fountainhead received to me in Languid Keys: A knowledge subtle drawn with sunlight faring well the matchless Seas! And up through the ductwork feels the bloody door, Mine if I remain, but horror; Remain, yes, where body binds the body, And awake is a lonely room away. Maybe a soundless rapture that dissolves the form. And pulsars deep in mourning (The Portrait Of the Music To the Poet).

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 25, 2025

"A Thunderbolt in the northern Sky... ...And the roaring of a Lion..." Swept up by the downy wings of angels Made from a heaven-laden voice, I float with all the weight of Ether - It pilots an aerie merchant's ship Across the phantasmagoric main. Courses waged by hermits to lonesome starry shores Bequeath their secret entryways; Lighthouses watch fervently the horizons of the soul. But Amaranth the Peddler waxes poetic to the Mnemosyne - His unmasked eyes deliver lunacy; It is a countless hour stealing Further into landscapes seldom drawn, Even in a demon's troubled head. He sells his wares to Vampires In bottles cork'd by Woe; Dreams in liquid lift their eyes To Morpheus enthroned Upon a poppy field breathing Slightly all alone. Feathers from a lofty wish Fall upon their own and fall Wearily to Earth - A stirring by the nightstand caused the Lamp to lift its voice. "Alack, a purloined dream Again distills thy trembling eye! What mystery remaineth ever so? Amaranth, a curse doth write itself Upon thy spectral frame, A thousand lives, a thousand days Disgraceth thus they name!"

Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 25, 2025