My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose

[knightlyric]

Sapphire Eyes

Each night, I gaze upon the skies,

And think about your sapphire eyes,

Your pulchritude, your gentle stare,

To which no other can compare.

 

How many souls have in one glance,

Ardently yearned for your romance?

How many hidden billets-doux,

From those spellbound by eyes of blue?

 

Did those ensorcelled ever find,

Resolve to leave your spell behind?

Or were they fated for demise,

By glimpsing to your sapphire eyes?

 

I also ponder all the storms,

You have endured to find your form,

The tempests, torrents, blizzards too,

To crystallize those eyes of blue.

 

I’d wager glaciers are pristine,

And Neptune made so celestine,

As homage and to surmise,

The beauty of your sapphire eyes.

 

I’ve been allured by citrine glares,

But they were just futile affairs,

I’ve searched but still I have not seen,

Entice in eyes of emerald green.

 

Hazel, and Amber, and Gray too,

Are all enchanting, this is true.

But for me, none can mesmerize,

As you do with your sapphire eyes.

[knightlyric]

The Temptation

I seek sagacity, my Saint,

O’ pure ethereal fulgence,

Lest temptation tames my nerve,

And succumbs into indulgence.

Is valor twined with fealty,

Or is there independence?

The guile of sin’s adeptly veiled,

In perfidious resplendence.

Damned tapestry, thine Gods,

That despite their luminescence,

They’ve woven us secularly,

And left in delitescence.

And thus, I beg to thee, my Saint,

Unthread perdition’s lust, so hence,

My moral corpse may once more breathe,

And be of righteous quintessence.

[knightlyric]

Requiem of the Romantic

Love is such a selcouth passage,

And mendacious in it’s core,

It’s the promise of forever,

A false gambit, nothing more.

Puerile lovers will often sing,

Enamored salubriously,

And after life’s vicissitudes,

Only hum, lugubriously.

Love’s veil is sown in sweet beguile,

Stitched with fabric so malicious,

Its’ betrayal is never swift,

But tormenting and pernicious.

At first, descent begins benign,

Like the softest susurration,

And as a sorcerer’s spell, compounds,

malevolent iteration.

And through occult incantation,

It then conjures fear, distrust,

Anger, hatred, and resentment,

Disillusionment, and lust.

So fractured, then, the lover’s spirit,

Cannot exist, and so desists,

Here lies the failthful romantic,

Poet and sentimentalist.

[knightlyric]

A trillion souls have set their course,

A voyage to the beacon’s light,

And every vessel that’s set sail,

Though different paths, do end in plight.

The maiden journey doth commence,

In the harbor’s gentle current,

But as the ship streams through the seas,

The passive tides evolve to torrents.

A meager boat, in poor condition,

May yet best a docile storm,

But the vicissitudes of passage,

Ensure another tempest forms.

A stronger vessel, well-equipped,

Will auspiciously sail deeper,

But the fugacious hand of fortune,

Flees as ocean floors grow steeper.

Yet, either path a fleet’s been given,

Pays the same fate to each barque,

We set sail in search of beacons,

Then, slowly sink into the dark.

[knightlyric]

Every morn, just past dawn’s light,

I see his glare there, crystallized,

And with his sharp tongued malice says,

“Another day to waste away?”

I match his words intrepidly,

“I wake to songbird melodies

Whose pitch and cadence fill the air,

And save me from the dark nightmares”.

He quickly gathers his response,

“Now dreadful hours you’re to spend,

Denying every ounce of worth,

Reliving mistakes made since birth.”

I pause, think, then calmly reply,

“Experiences are never woes,

My past, much like a masterpiece,

Is woven still, on life’s fine fleece.”

Insulted by the optimist,

He gathers every heinous thought,

“And who would love you, imbecile?

No one in this world ever will!”

My ego, bruised, from such disdain,

Remembers to answer with hope,

“I’ve planted seeds deep down enough,

To know one day I’ll harvest love.”

Clinging from the thread of hate,

Flagitiously he iterates,

“This world has beauty, this is true,

But that does not encompass you.”

It was illogical, I deemed,

To combat a familiar stranger,

Though his approach was bellicose,

I gently answered via prose.

“You seek a dashing countenance?

I’d dare to say mine is quite fair,

From the crevice of my dimples,

To the curls found within my hair.”

As his invectives still pursued,

I kindly smiled and walked away,

For it’s a most-crippling infection,

Succumbing to your own reflection.

[knightlyric]

The 3 AM Poem

Like many poets, live and past,

At the darkest hour, I sit upon fresh grass and gaze,

And in the endlessness of the sullen skies a’las,

Ponder onto an enigmatic daze.

I start at three, from Insomnia’s call,

When the smallest thought knocks upon my mind,

Like obsession doth mad men befall,

The concept, Love, I cannot leave behind.

There mesmerized until it is now four,

I watch the comets glide and ageless stars in flare,

Then, contemplate with a melodic score,

If celestial beings also long for pairs.

Swift-footed night beacons to five,

As shadows shift, so love’s colors blend to regret,

Such as extinct empires in time’s elusive hand once thrived,

I behold romance’s silhouette.

Apollo’s chariots herald six,

But now my quill can only write in loss’ ink,

I, therefore, envy Aphrodite’s heretics,

Although Eros temps me with his gaily wink.

At Dawn, my teeming mind finds rest,

Because through the introspective evening I have grasped,

That to demystify Love’s age long quest,

More 3 AM nights must be elapsed.

[knightlyric]

I plead you, inner poet,

Lift your quill in aspiration,

Though you’re weary of this world,

I beseech your inspiration.

For the lover’s broken heart,

Whose placebo has been lost,

Find the strength, compose a prose,

So he may blossom through the frost.

For the jaded, and the numb,

With frigid blood inside their veins,

Gift a flame filled sonnet blazin’

And let the fiery spirit reign.

For the skeptic in the lover,

Craving desperately romance,

Craft a tale enlaced in fortune,

So he may have another chance.

I beg you, inner writer,

Use your pen til words are spent

As a beacon for the hopeless,

Thus, your role cannot relent.

[knightlyric]

He Drew Watercolors

He drew watercolors, so I relinquished poetry,

He danced to Blues, so I abandoned tangos.

He fancied straight hair, so I trimmed off my curls,

He spoke of bright eyes, so I hid behind contacts,

He cherished water, so I extinguished my flame,

He endeared mystery, so I blurred clarity,

He eulogized death, so I foresook life,

He loved genuine beauty, but I'd lost myself.

[knightlyric]

Who Is This Man?

I’d like to know who this man was,

Whose hand I held in mother’s presence,

Whom I walked contently with into the clergy’s home,

And even in the Lord’s essence.

His palms met mine in perfect union,

Like skies to stars, and seas to sand,

In the new age of companions,

Very few could understand.

The tanned complexion of his skin,

And darker features complimented

The warm embrace those brown eyes endowed,

Like fire in winter, supplemented.

His countenance was divine inspired,

And his lover’s instinct altruistic,

Thus in waking from this dream, I pondered,

Is this man truly realistic?

And if this romance I’ve imagined,

This man I dreamt, this gallant vision,

I’d set sail, mount steed, take flight,

And make this rendezvous, my mission.

[knightlyric]

Rivers and Streams

I wade inside the rivers,

Tepid streams within my mind,

Yet, in the shallow water,

My deepest truths I find.

The current brings me wisdom,

On the tide, just softly dapped,

I'm not afraid of being lonely,

I'm afraid of feeling trapped.

Like the rivers and the streams,

Whom flow hastily to their wake,

Let my waves meander freely,

Til the merging at the lake.

[knightlyric]

🎶Ya se que se ha parado tu reloj, pero ahora mismo vas a hecharlo a andar🎶

Massiel

[knightlyric]

I wake to Autumn colored mountains,

As the breeze of Fall persists,

On the slopes of pine and oakwood,

I embellish in the mist.

[knightlyric]

To The Lovers of This Land

I held a rose tight in my hands,

By the seashore right at three,

Oh, how I sought to see your smile

Ascend luminously.

To calm my nerves, I quickly turned

To the waves caressing sand,

Eternal lovers they will be,

The ocean and the land.

Time seemed sluggish, so I raised

My eyes as far up high,

And gazed upon the union of

The gentle breeze and sky.

I grew impatient, but then glimpsed,

As the Sun sank onto rest,

Fair companions they have been,

The setting Sun and West.

At last, I realized what you'd done,

And I became irate,

But at the zenith of my pain,

I chose to not give in to hate.

Instead, I gifted my own rose,

To the Sea and to the Sand,

To the Breeze, the Sky, and Sun,

And the lovers of this land.

[knightlyric]

The Golden, Soaring Falcon

Oh my golden, soaring falcon,

Such splendor is your flight,

When the wind your wings do flicker,

How I marvel at the sight.

Oh such effortless ascension,

With your Midas coated quills,

Which Apollo's Sun have shaded,

Then descend in fearless thrill.

Though majestic is your climb,

Your sheer power is true grace,

As you plummet from your zenith,

At a reverential pace.

Yet, my golden, soaring falcon,

Past the dusk, you fly away,

My heart hovers, then it hangs,

Til the coming of Mars' day.

[knightlyric]

When, for Life, I Search Reasons

If I have too much passion,

I am seen as intense,

If I then act too distant,

Then, I lack human sense.

When I aim for the stars,

I am told it's too high,

When I aim for the seas,

I am launched to the sky.

When I closed off my heart,

How I found love a muse,

Now, once open to loving,

How I find it a ruse.

As I seek further wisdom,

I find further doubt,

When, for life, I search reasons,

Reasons, I'm left without.

[knightlyric]

The Starry Sphere

I twined a necklace round your nape,

Magnificently fringed,

If you recall, it binded a

Sphere from which it hinged.

Such envy I find for this pendant,

Your chest is now it's home,

Of all the stars, these touch your heart,

Underneath their golden dome.

[knightlyric]

Sonnet to the Grief of Fire

What grief it must be to be fire,

That's lit upon the rustic bark,

To set ablaze it's own empire,

In the sub-Antarctic night.

Then abandoned for the sunlight,

While the flames perish in vain,

Then ignited just to burn bright,

Then forsaken in the rain.

With all the fires poets use

To convey their love and rage,

One would say flame is a muse,

And the martyr of the age.

What grief for fire to have such depth,

Yet be extinguished in one breath.