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Trevor Morse  (email)



A Mandrake’s Gesture


Upon the mossy knoll, tears disburdened, of pliancy and of humility,                            [enter Geinere, the

The kingdoms abidance with propinquity of contour, marred with senility.                   forests, summoning

Betwixt the moonlight’s shadow on silky corsets of maid,                                                elementals]

A maiden, her lovers of the past, a dainty stroll, flaunting a crimson masquerade.        

An intonation within, angelic affinity…  “Your coquetry of intrigue unfulfilled,            [Belial]

As imbeciles, the royals vanquishing, for the witching hour thou have milled.”

The satiation of her breath, with passion and insolence, her bosom so tame,

To parlay, upon the presumption of angels, to foresee this wicked game. 

Exchanging vespers from here to there, blissfully a damsel hither,

Though as a rampant jester, only those mourn can tell, away to whither.

As the kingdom’s vehemence poured its blood upon chalice,

The vile ruthless befouled, pardons, a scheme of putrid malice.

This maiden, her’s a romance, a floundering upon the dreary meadow,

Belial encapsulated her presence, her maturity burgeoning, as a basking widow.

Belial’s vehemence, a rhapsody to the melodies of angels amid crying

Her tremulous heart bellows echoes of innocence, there lying.

As sophistication of her gentle sprite mused… this magical presence,

Like a virgin of chaotic confines, entwined, this phantasmagorical essence. 

“Where’st upon your throne of pride, betaking such ambience and cunning?”               [Belial]

“Another courtship, another attempt at fate, you charming devil, though shunning.”    [Geinere]

The maiden would hearken, the rhythms of her heart, praising the moon,

The fullness of her bosom, so exquisite an embrace, she desired blazingly soon.

Though amidst the silhouettes within her mind, a danger lurked, unseen,

Her desire, of hope and dreams, spoken, this vise of undine.

Though twilight revealed a dragon; a horrific plight of fate,

Falling afar, with the shadow of the setting sun, gently she did bate.

Her lips very supple, very exquisite, she was a cupid to Belial’s delight,

Embracing the art of serpent invocation, bestowed the gift of sight.

Emulating, the thickets impelling their pendulate, as blustery wind envelops;

A night owl “Hoooo’d” as scornful wisdom of doured enchantment.

A gallant interlude, moonlight shown through, revealing,

A saga of melancholy the wicked kingdom, felt reeling;

As angels of darkness and angels of light, of their virtues they’d oppose,

Of shadows cascading whispers that beckon knightly percussions of rose.

Her concupiscent cries would be so softly hewn felt,

As a lover’s quartet of silent lucidity, as chariots of Celt.

A beseeching cry resounding, portended gaily, giving way,

To surmise, grimace and defeat, gently at bay.

The maiden’s nipples swollen, her bosom with flush excitement,

Hailing her Goddess, she slighted very eloquently, an incitement.

The goodness shared she, puissant, of somber reproach, obedience;

The dusk laden sky flickered, with prose, with sorrows – gentle grievance.

An admiration of lost romance, Belial’s mysterious vengeant domineer,                                   

Spirals of chaos and chimes, of instilled darkness and climaxing fear.

Gently now, she would sojourn, Belial fervent a middling damsel; her lover’s sensuality

Exigent, her patience, to swell, between her, eternally.

As the betrayal that impeached the wariness of royalty,

The maiden’s demand for incessant redemption, valor and loyalty.

There stood she, upon a mossy knoll alit by starlight,

The moon’s sheen, on placid waters, calming the night.

And so it shall, her path of ardor amid royal gentiles at folly,

For the swooning maiden of midnight magic, a pleasant jolly.                                                  [exit]

From a dream awoken, a gentle fair common was she,                                                                [enter  Geinere’s

Her beauty unsurpassed by none other, than the colors that be.                                                       bedroom]

The maiden’s femininity, forevermore the victor, her prowess eternally abound,

Her passion a hearkening rose, this lonely desolate scorn, resound.

Feelings she possessed, a bit feverish, nothingness by way of harlots,

A forgotten squalor there now, a cherishing of saintliness and scarlets.

Though the venom there still, pulsing now, as evermore raspy,

T’was the wanton of men and merry-tide lusts… chastity.

Delighting vespers that were, of envy, of anger, a glee beckoning,

A madman’s exuberation, of deafening hysterias, her sanity reckoning.

Amidst mischief’s vertigo, a marriage arranged, a stiffening king,

To the harlots of penury assumed of Geinere… though she did sing.

Yes, this peasant of commons, her divine bounty an Eve of peril

For the march upon moss and quell, of soul bleeding beryl.                                                [Geinere casting

There being no more reprise as bitter, for her burden,                                                            magic]

She was to share, somberness for everyone,

A broom to take hold, her beauty so vast,

A coupling jarrago, so masterfully of the past.

Accompanying her garb, a splendor of spirit,

Rage!  A basilisk taunting, slain, our Christendom fits.

To this day of prayerful abidance and mourn,

Maiden Geinere awoke, scarlet fever, about a devil’s horn.

To the gardens she would succumb, to God’s pleasures,

As birds chirped, a sunlit golden carriage, of merry treasure.                                               [enter gardens]

For upon the day of proclamation of love ever-after;

Jestered by many, perchance a foolish folly, unspoken rapture.

Unbeknownst, a yield she must, to the forbiddance of Hecate’s

Personification and a dire love of familiar waft – desecration.

“For thee, upon the hour of striking, our quartet, profound,

Still-born, the forfeiture lag, a gentile courtship abound!”                                                    [Alarumdives]

A voice of princely charm did vesper in… “So abruptly taken

My blossoming serenity, tears of burden, I am left shaken,                                                  [Geinere]

The kingdom and its dungeon,” Geinere’s essence declared,

“What’st thou speak?”  The sentiment of conceit, she spared.                                           [the King]

An ill king, her mind ailing – fever coarsened her vein

Sorrowful thoughts of arrogance and its unrelinquishing pain,

Tragedy and grievances there upon, but for whom?

So yet to embark, tears began to stream, Geinere ungored at womb.

Her cheeks flush amidst the garden of golden,

Tarnished, the excitement, her triumph beckoning, molten.

Woes of peasantry, parrying royalty this sorrowful day,

Lacking divinity, there no poorer game, scarred virtue and betrayal.

Of bitter scorn and hateful deceit for it could, dastardly late of night,                                [exit gardens]

A handsome prince, Alarumdives, maiden Geinere, their delight.                                        [later that eve]

Amidst celebration, aye the more kisses, the commons beggar’d

Pricked ne’er a secret for the king found niggard.

Hence, a hidden Barbaso, royalty betaking an ensigns way,

Those of lower chaste, welcoming arousal, hastening lay-

By a king made bitter for his son’s charm, would pronounce,

Obliging respect for purest lineage, the kingdom denounced.

Of vainglory and sublimity his undertaking of Bane, as the waves,

Of splendor do owe, the decorum in regards, unexpected engagements.

For upon the decree of husbands and wives, princesses and princes,

There is exaltation, thought the king, superciliousness evinces.

As his snickered brow precedent the courtyard’s jester

Enmity of suchlike trite fling, arousing a pester.

Prince Alarumdives, parrying, rose to the occasion for,                                                        [Alarumdives proposes

The essence of Typhon; assemblage of crowd, celebrations of lore.                                  to Geinere]

The announcement of marriage, and its unition of

Peasant maiden to royalty, the ferocious feast of love.

Of joy, Geinere so felicitously embraced her prince, so handsome,

The vivacity of celebration, soon unbeknownst, Bacchus’ ransom.

Spirits and wine for the bounteous merry festivities did usher,

Well far into the eve, as the obscurity matured, the King did rush her.

Blown pompous, his dirty torch, a supplication of proclivity upon;

The scattering leets, close dilations wary, now raillery so fond-

For in chambers, ill thoughts would befall the selfish King,

Crusadoes…  “Dear Geinere, a moment, to jealousy” the sinners did sing.                        [the King]

“Yes, sire pardon?”  Geinere gladly stood with prose.                                                           [Geinere]

“Firstly, my dear, your love for our Prince, a blossoming rose.                                            [the King]

Be it subtle, erasing the inscriptions of royalty, not taken.”                                            

“My love so true, for our beloved Prince, tragedies forsaken,                                             [Geinere]

For beloved Gods, wholly, one in communion, here or hence,

Pray due your acceptance, for not pride, your repentance?”

“Which, I grossly offer, behold graciousness hast thou,                                                     [the King]

Admiration, I do, embracing a gift of repentance, from there to now.”

“May the spirits of darkness, bate me, honestly as I am,                                                      [Geinere]

Ably my blithesome King, cordial forthwith, this fashioning lamb.”

“Veritably wholesome Geinere, to my quarters, this parry precious,                                   [the King]

A libation of offering, your Lord, as I am, my Duchesse.”

“Indebted merrily, upon portal of your abode, made loyal?”                                               [Geinere]

Made dusty, the air murky cold, the laconic malice that boiled                                           [enter the King’s

Hushing silences, his royalty heralded a grouse lear,                                                           chamber]

Upholding his stalwart charter… a baffling bit queer.

“Rising Queen,” so professed the King, a cozening upon,                                                  [the King]

The vizards of this iniquitous masquerade, though fond.

“For our differences made sanguine upon this affair,                                                            [the King]

I will have your worthiness faulted as heir.”

The King rang out like irascible seraphic fire,

A rank and order of angel, so easily to conspire.

Geinere’s frailty, awash amidst anguish and desperation,

Her zeal imbued by his deceitful quarrel of exasperation.

His insolence, his drunken decorum, protruding,

As a writ man; a solicitous prodigy, this momentousness brooding,

As his stupor conceited to arousal, and power.

“Geinere calm thee now, the duration of this salacious hour.”                                            [the King]

Closer, though not as raught, as the King’s demand,

As baffled… “My Lord, pray thee… no… a diabolical branding!”                                    [Geinere]

“A bitter wench felt, be this night, ever-after hence,                                                            [the King]

I make thee worthy, art the entail, art the suspense.”

Tears erupted from rueful Geinere, her elusion of soul,

The King’s impetration a vexation, her innocence stolid.

Swindled now, a sullen amort, her delicate immaculacy taken,

Now left mad, sadness and melancholy, laborius aching.

Agonizing sorrow would now be her muse, tyranny,

Though unrightly touted, an accusation of blaspheme.

A seed of humility enshrouded with no roots,

Of nurturance, a passion shed, a scar upon scattering loots,

Of a forgotten King, to instill, a harlotry peasant;

Virtue upon, the dear maiden, tragedy presents.

As Geinere unwillingly embraced, a bastardly thee,

A disobedience of the King, his tenebrosity set free.

Of vespers of misery her turmoil greatened,

Her flower of purity, her essence forsaken.

An act maliciously, “Of devils and demons,                                                                         [the King]

Your angelic demise,” chimed the King’s reason.

His behemoth of propriety and lust ripe with vigor.

“In thy hopes of your goodwill, as vassal                                                                            [Geinere]

Maid darling, a call for repeal, a hastening

A falling from heaven, a filthy chastening!”

“Out of your chamber, beggingly, Geinere?                                                                         [the King]

For I am certain upon this night of hushed cheer.

Your wanted fulfillment of matrimony, guilt!”

Hereafter, the twilight faded, a moon blushing wilt.                                                             [exit]

Nowhere, now tainted, an unrightly maiden,                                                                         [enter Geinere’s

Her only hope of sanctuary, grossly laden.                                                                           bedroom]

Remorse for herself and dying love,

Her silence would linger, lightly as a dove.

Geinere’s soul became fierce, for her

Silence would sojourn, though to conjure

Redemption for this instillment, of wanton and lust;

Her skillful prowess, her warrior of Just.

Bringing forth chaos, crashing lightning her Goddess,

Of tumults’ vengeance squalled, her dire heiress.

From the uproarious heavenly sky, ablaze,

“These leperous times of saintly love, decayed,                                                                 [Geinere]

Porches of ward, may our devotion sate

A subtle devil delays, behesting betrayal and hate.

Be it of vast trenches, due your rank and garb,

For thee upon a graceful whim, mischievous Barb.

Perchance pray your folly of vindication and conceit,

My reputation banished into these fathoms of freak.

A conceivable Hell, this lifetime found, perverse,

Unholy absolute, tears of silence, thou rehearsed.”

An oncoming storm, a saga prelude, dire;

A recitement of love, of truth and of fire.

With qualm, with wit, chariots desire abound,

A reckoning to the gentiles, gluttony, drowned

By this vindicative act to take the essence;

Of purity so precious, dancing like serpents;

A tribunal of peasants upon the talk of lust,

The dire consequences of grim abaddon, Just.

“Geinere, my new found love, your essence and beauty,                                                [enter Alarumdives]

Of the divine, can’st be so familiar, this task of royalty?

A tragic array of misgivings abound?” the Prince,

Alarumdives, spoke ever so softly, akin to arrogance.

Though not knowing of the King’s wicked deeds,

This past eve, “My Prince?” Geinere concedes,                                                                [Geinere]

“What’st my father, for your derision, your saddened                                                     [Alarumdives]

Expression, this morn?”  Alarumdives asked buddingly.

“The King has forsaken you, my love, our marriage                                                         [Geinere]

Troubled, his grievances.”  Her expression disparate

“My love… I see, you cannot answer to my request.”                                                     [Alarumdives]

“I am sorry if your unition is burdened, falling in jest.                                                      [Geinere]

Be it of ill conceit for a taint, crimson of mine,

To be torn apart from this kingdom from afar, adrift…

“No… Geinere you know my love for you,                                                                         [Alarumdives]

The deepest perils of valor, my passion of you,

My grace, my spirit’s nestle, my love it’s fullest

Joy, yours and mine; Happiness take’st

With thee, goodness of romance’s virtue.”

“My Prince,” her eyes welling tears anew,                                                                         [Geinere]

“Oh… Geinere, this morrow of midday true,                                                                       [Alarumdives]

For thee to wed, our passion fulfilled, this kingdom royal.”

“Yes, my Prince, pray our vows not to become shrewd,                                                  [Geinere]

May my Goddess, now Christom, strengthen you.”

“Geinere, what’st that troubles you, may I ask?”                                                              [Alarumdives]

“I am at no mercy, let us parry this, my past…                                                                  [Geinere]

May your father’s blessing bestowed not to discourse,

Our courtship, of love abound, of passionate whores.”

Proclaiming a sorrowful spirit hearkened upon,                                                               [ceremony]

This ballad of misery, for her grief unrelished,

The angels of Michael our saintly divine,

Answered whil’st upon this hour of thine.

An unwanted surprise, a battle to be declared,

As the essence of faith gallantly faired.

This day of celebration, joyous, the sun’s

Vibrance, a shiny array of angelic symphony – oneness.

The courts jester prepared daintily a march,

As the council gathered, Geinere’s, a burdening heart.

In anticipation, now, for the ceremony of marriage vows,

And unition of spirit; crowds upon glorious crowds,

Royals gathered, as a spleen for gossip to incite,

Her Magdalenic passion, though hidden, her might.

This ballad of acceptance cherubic as Geinere,

Gaily she spoke as the crowds did revere,

“Presumably ovid with qualm, wit and wisdom,                                                              [Geinere]

As to the smallest orb our very Christendom.

As horn-mad, to fetch me about,

The Kings they play mighty,

While their Queens, jester and pout.

Though ancient as jointure,

The merry plenty they must,

With lyric of masterful lyre,

A temptation, of wanton and lust.

The beauty of maidens, the fullness

Of their breasts, made ever-virtuous.

As the sun sets vertigo, the nestles

Sweet, of primrose and cressets,

Giving way to the very lecherous.

Oh… the love of Jesus, our very own,

The saintliness of Magdalene, the

Diadems of the Goddess Throne.

Amidst a canonized hearsed, our

Beloved sun, rightfully lets.

The essence of infinity, of Magdalene,

Again, a foul Nemean regrets.

As the green fonds, of winter ferns,

Shed to nurturing the bounty of essence;

Waves of nostalgia blazened, by

The midevening dramas of ill fortune;

The ripening of feigned ecstasies,

Of struggles made fragile and frail and

At no attempt, piercing thoughts of verse,

No love made without quarrel.

The evening gave way like no

Other, amidst melancholy and sorrow;

Amongst the quivering love of dying

Romance, there lied a passionate

Many, lending love abound, falling

Away, unsettling lives; whil’st amidst

The dramas of the unforeseen acts,

Of those enlightened, of the troubled few;

There’st upon, a mistletoe amidst the

Evening pine, as melting kisses

Of the dire royal love, made anew.

Can’st thou make what is, and

To whom thou must, for the better;

Upon thy throne of virtue,

The essence of vespers and lust

A forceful act, the endeavor fulfilling,

As a peasant of dire drunkenness, unwilling.

When in search of truth,

And its generous upheaval; there

You are astounded while we flounder,

The meddlesome reprievel; now we have

A nascent obsession, emitting the

Hearkening of the adventurous many. 

Wherell’st be upon this frown of

Forgotten labor and sorrowful penny.

As the decaying hands of dying virtue, nestle

Gentility and grace; laughing shadows erupt

Like lightning, evil sentiments and animus haste.

The fortune-tarot spun, everdaedal…

Like newly woven silk; a glower palanquin

Maiden, her voluptuous fervor, welted lascivious

Tongue… frothing milk; for the sentiments

Of insanity and love their vigor,

As Lucifer’s silence, and of grim; 

As left torrid, my dulcet celibacy… lost,

Let the wariness to its outstretched whim…

Victory and the great divine, find tribute.

To the hearkening of wallow, grimace and defeat.

To be the wounds of martyr, surrender

As a prioress, a mischievous retreat;

Solemnly… gazing upon the glistening

Immaculate tides, gallantly proclaiming

His stoutheartedness of truth, his felicitous taming.

Divinity, of the burgeoning Hesperides,

To slay a swooning dragon, desperately…

Gently, for acceptance and kin.

To slay a swooning dragon for

Desperations acceptance… a cardinal sin

As the angels of titillation, of

Laughing ladies gently anticipated,

The doves of virtue and grace,

Beautifully a bastard of mote.

A master of beauty dazzling effects,

For mischief tidings, the whimsies

Of witch, sorrowful attaint, ghostly dialects.

For the prince’s coming, the sickest

Of sickly man, staggers, proudly the

Poltergeist wrote, for triumph proclaimed

Passion and blood, of lazars, the

Caduceus of darkness, chastity

And grim, our righteousness in light,

Sons of God they resurrect, to beg for forgiveness.

As the light of Venus, our amorousness

Of pathos, an alliance of golden virtues.

A dynasty brilliant, the blood of evening

Vespers, of red tides and eidolon choirs.

The phantoms revenant, a man

Of prickly ears, keen senses, an aporetic.

The blessing bestowed, now upon,

The harlots of misery, mysterious…

Her knowledge, her spare, her wisdom

Her wit, the crux of the ancient Hesperides,

The jealousy, of dear Jezebel, the maelstrom.

Of eidetic hysteria, an endorphin heretic,

As the tides of rapture, heavenly bliss.

The scars of yesterday, gently amidst

Harbor, this sorrowful treason, a misery of new…

Tremulous fashion; as the embers

Of autumn, scarlet essence and crimson tumults,

Of divine reason to pray, our virtuous faults.

Blazing lusts, the begging of forgiveness,

For certain… a champion partisan,

As always, revelry… the dying moonlight;

And hollows wailing, of murky shadows,

Stolid waters, and wary nights.

Our love, our pride, our lust and

Our passion, the essence of rejuvenation,

Renewal, an endeavor that was ours.

As envy talon’d a prodigious awakening,

Our hearkening scorn, of grace and  humility,

Amidst the beckoning of tragic gentility.

The woes of Luciferus cries, of wanton

And righteousness, a resurrection of

Elucidation, an earthly enlightenment.

As to when, the pen falls eerily,

The sadness of lust, a perilous dusk

For thee, that settles upon the many wary.

There spied the Raven, crying for thee,

The more merrily… when love’s qualm

Exacted by traitor, the courtships of

Evermore befallen, an arduous array…

Of made up serenity, this fate of endeavor.

By virtue, a fate for all, as pride brings

Forth the epic of death, an epitome

Of angel tyranny amidst hurt and loss.

Giving way to pain and admiration,

The feelings of turmoil to squall,

As decadence and poetic duration.

When the fruit of thine, your own

Merriment of pleasure, the tragedies

Of myth, of present, and of now,

Found only to riddle life’s cessation.

Of need, of ignorance, of majesty,

Of lies, an infinity of the divine,

Within, the secrets of whim, shared,

As the penniless, your life to mine;

Plot of treasures, of devilish wanton,

A fortuitous abandon of thee.

Perhaps a chance once daringly,

A ripe shaft of vein; when the virtues

Of nothingness, outwit the logic

Of reason, there lies the devil,

Grinning amidst treason, as Gods

Shed their grace and Goddesses

Parlay, the hearkened measure, of

Knowledge their seraphic treasure.

As the winds that chime, and as

The clouds that billow, questions we

Cannot, our love the lesser?”

Geinere’s joy and spirit made so ever-

Beautiful and joyous her Magdalenic passion,

Her wit and wisdom, the King’s expression ashen.

Though hidden from the stage, her garden

Of love, like no other, this ballad for pardon,

The gathered pupils from near and far,

Sighted tears of admiration and of mar,

Of disbelief, the King; his pious disobediences, 

Very kept subtle, for betrayal’s embrace, riddance.

As tragedy did fall upon this forlorn, majestic

Whim; a messenger, grief-stricken, hence an ascetic.

“My king, this glorious day made tragic,                                                                               [the Messenger]

For our kingdom under siege!”  the essence of magic,

For Geinere had spun, a web of soon chance,

To the north, a credence and abidance of stance.

“Speakest thou, this action made?  A                                                                                    [the King]

Declaration of battle, for no mercies

We have, can’st shall we, determine our strategy?”

The King’s voice, grave with anger and lethargies.

A call to the Prince, oh the mighty heavens did crash,

Bolts of resilience and vigor, of oncoming enthralls, made brash.

“Messenger, retrieve the preparations, summon forth                                                       [the King]       

Our army at once…  My son!”  Trumpets blew, sounding their worth,

As alarm and anxiety did ensue, the celebration

Halted, “My Prince, calm’st be, pray!” the King’s reverberation.

“A call to arms for certain,” Geinere, her demeanor shaken,

Her Goddess crying out, as the premonitions left taken.

“My love, I regret these tragic circumstances,                                                                    [Alarumdives]

Our labors, pray not, lost to this hellish trance.”

“My Prince, my love, I will await these temptations,                                                          [Geinere]

Of Belial, ever so gracefully, with the fullest expectations.”

Madness exuded like the war cries of epics,

And sagas past, myths of man, wielding their brazen relics.

As the eruption of noblemen, peasants once afar,

Amidst celebration left jeering, preparing now for war.

“My father, what troubles plague us?                                                                                  [Alarumdives]

The trumpets do sound, shall we not impede, virtuous?

For a moment’s wisdom pray, we gather and bring

Forth a judgment, non-grievous, I demand.” 

“Alarumdives, Alarumdives… why we struggle;                                                               [the King]

And endure our precious privy, our passion,

Our victorious role, a maddening hysteria.

Turmoil, envy, malice… the perilous endeavors…

This kingdom, rightly now, yours and mine, forever.

“Father, this constance, of foreboding respect,                                                                 [Alarumdives]

Be it compromised, I plead for precious love.

My Geinere…” Alarumdives spoke unsuredly.

“Your wisdom exceeds you, a gentle harmony assuredly,                                               [the King]

Be it sincere, your declarations to cherish,

This unition, of marriage not as virtue, to embellish,

For love’s royal, to the commons, naught;

This battle, staging as war closely, a test, though fought.

These ardors of dire circumstance, tragedies upon,

A falling star, my mercies, this calling of crusade

Of scarlet tides and of Eden’s embrace, may

The spirits that beckon, bring forth and away.”

“As graceful knight I embark, these ardors                                                                        [Alarumdives]

Be it of ill-virtue? of ill decree?  Blood of martyrs.”

“Much needful preparation, call’st to arms,                                                                       [the King]

For the galleys of this kingdom bulge

With cannon; to the balcons to esquire,

Gather hence, I salute, a masterful crier!”

“Forevermore, I must uphold, boldly, righteously,                                                           [Alarumdives]

Justice and its decree, sworn, as I prepare thee

For battle, ignorance I plead for my precious

Love Geinere,”  the explosive wailing of the righteous

Ram’s Horn, a call to bravery, cannons did erupt,

For the hills of high, there did stand a surly corrupt,

Platoon of bard and knight, vixen angelic.

Ablaze with perils of passion, both tides

Strode for climax, sure mighty, though as Gods

Did pray; for sure hope, the horns would

Summon, the raging winds of Tyr…

Alarumdives strode forth, leading a mighty stir,

Of rebellion, the contempt of his desires, of emptiness.

The King and his bastard portrayal, the vastness

Left to relish… “Your blasphemies supposed,                                                                 [the King]

Confuses me woman, conjurer of elementals, now disclosed,

This sudden mise of war?  How you wench?”

“A dove’s cry, a looming hawk, a bleeding stench,                                                         [Geinere]

For the remnants of war, for filth and dishonor,

For you this meditation, of failing innocence, and murder.”

As the tempest, assured accusal, to himself he would hail,

At no delay; be it sorrowful, melancholic and frail.

Poor Geinere, her shameful grave of reputation,

Upon the King’s declaration of confinement.

“These battles upon this kingdom and afar,                                                                     [Geinere]

The God’s, surely your act of decadent tsar,

A disgraceful act!”  Geinere spoke with venusian flame,

“You, oh glorious you, debauchery and mindful lusts,                                                  [the King]

For you, dear ponderous, only you, to blame.”

With no delay… Geinere put upon the cellar’d

Dungeons of hideous sloth, nowhere now, for trial

Would quicken, perchance, worse tidings, anger and denial.

“The Gods, I do ask betaking repentance,                                                                        [Geneire]

This kingdom of chivalrous blood and acceptance.”

Upon this span of chaos the King’s grief more strickening

Of chaos and plight, a child to bear, a coming of the quickening.

As time passed, a bastard child of royalty to lessen,

The guilt that was nourished upon her womb a blessing.

Desperately seeking mercy from the treacherous King,

For his proposal to Alarumdives, a new Princess and ring.

As the dark bliss that was Belial opened upon Geinere’s goddess basking,

Her entrapment within an inferno dungeon more for the asking.

A doom of closure now, for confinement for scores,

Of treason, of blasphemy, of harlotry and whores.

Time passed as her last leg of pregnancy

Kept secret, for the King’s surmise of child, malignancy.

This doom of mutual closure, as hedonous

As her wanton for lust; to pray for venus

For mercy and compassion, the illness of Raven,

And hereafter the months for Geinere, a Phoenix.

For it was upon her last leg of pregnancy,

Her love revisited, “Geinere, my beloved, please                                                           [enter Alarumdives]

Tell me of how these happenings of such

Blasphemy, for your acts, surely the inferno

From the north, I cannot allow this

Dishonor and shame any longer, of bliss.”

“To you Alarumdives, the truth be spoken,”                                                                  [Geinere]

“I will listen to your words though my heart is broken                                                  [Alarumdives]

With loyalty and consternation, if you will.”

“My Prince… the tragedy I am to share with much guile,                                              [Geinere]

For it was upon the night of our proclamation,

Upon entrance your father’s tremulous emulations.”

“Geinere!  Take this shelter of eve with the                                                                     [Alarumdives]

Merchant guards; upon your arrival your

Dire needs for labor,” unlocking the cage

Which for such a time, beheld her with rage.

Though God did answer, poor Geinere’s demand

For redemption, her troubling woes did stand.

For upon a year’s passage, a parchment read

The poor King of Wales, fallen, ill found dread.

For as Alarumdives, did so solemnly give his tithe,

Implanting poison upon, the King’s tonic with death.

As the proclamation, Geinere, therefore she read.

Naught as it seemed, so terribly said.

A missive within her percipience, so softly parlayed

Somehow, of better reason, “betrayed

Howbeit, the hour of twilight,” fell upon

Her muse, she most unwillingly fond.

A clash of freedom, she felt, epitomes…

Like a synapse of cosmic splendor, she loathes,

In hiding she’s been, for wanting to mire,

To the forthright of Wales, she must now conspire,

To her place of nestle, this moment be.

For if not, the shadows, a lonely esquire,

So now with deport, the resounds of love’s hymn,

To hear that princely voice once again.

To Wales she would, within her realm of mystique,

As hearing her son’s whimpers;

“Beholding suspect, of boldly made attempts,                                                                 [Geinere]

Making no assay at orisons.”

Her goddess almighty, her sparrow soul,

Gently swollen, her mind, of derision for dole.

Poor Geinere peculiar, the darkness of nature’s divine,

The quiddity of crone, her ailing mind.

“Pray my son’s embrace amidst this time, absent,                                                            [Geinere]

The tragedies of a subtle wink,

The decadence of sorrow will repent.”

A once blissful cosmos, now such an undertow

Of despair, subtley forgotten virtues, asunder,

These phantoms of sapphire and thunder.           

“If Wales destined this bitter vengeance upon,                                                                [Geinere]

For faith – a reborn fable, gentility of such,

A merry king, as fine, young and able.

My dearest son, your grace                                                                                              

And love, infinitely felt; we must,

Simply portrayed, presume gaily,

This virtue of nothingness, Nero!”

Geinere’s troubled mind, her crystalline eyes,

A brilliant hue; for her betrayal,

A mockingbird, a second coming of passion.

The pit before the pendulum, love,

A harlot’s candor, played out for

The delectation of lust, an assay gently of,

Policy, the essence of life and of love.

As chaos drinks, from an oak of chalice

Golden, an action of intertwine, smitten indeed,

Conspicuously cloaked, of forbidden love, to heed.

Animosity’s oppression, a kingdom of coven,

Amongst tremulous temptations, there enshrouding

The changing tides of climax, so tender, lovingly.

“A passado at pride, victory a match goose,

      [Geinere casting

Of absolution, of pursuit, tying the noose.


Oh these hours of mystery, deafened, sorely changed,

Patented figurine confines, of unduly chain.

Now mortified am I, more word of it

I must assume, a proteus of blessing made,

But to no avail, gold in an array of sweetness,

Of ale, hastening these spells of completeness.”

Dancing alone always, a tribute to war,

A solemn act, a salute performance to Moor.

The Gods clamor on, to the tributes of

The perilous north, an invasion of heroes.

The opulence of lunacy, manifestations of pharaohs,

Enslaying vats of freedom, as pleidean cherubs.

The merriest of scripture, of plentiful whore,

The aromas of twilight, laden, for the essence of Eros.

The embers of red horizons, the obedience of lust

As cupids delay, ages of rue and mistrust.

A seemly style, this petty derision,

This poor peasant now, exacting her decision.

A soothing of balance, emotionally felt,

Though not her own, goldenly her skin, a hue of melt.

“As to forget yourself amidst the battlefield,                                                                   [Geinere]

Your soul in jest, the prayers of the merciless you wield.

As war bells and drums trumpet, I do declare,”

Her chastity of fervor, a tragedy of heir.

As ghosts of rosate crimson foretold, do give way,

The harlot, poorest Geinere, of pride, not to say.

Only, at most, a passing noble to bare,

Her Goddess swoons, a lesson to share.

“As the tears of immortality, pour alike,                                                                           [Geinere]

Abyssal rains of eternal miseries this night.”

As the peasant damsel pondered a meeting of chance,

She cautions her fashion garb, as though not to dance.

Being somber and sullen, mirroring a bit drab,

A surety, her nature, redemption may she have.

As aurulent tears flow, amorous to dream,

Of morrows, memories, careening afar

Of placid glebe where saviors’ homage, they pay,

To assuage scanty graciousness, to betray.

To parlay his feelings of inner remorse,

Upon entrance of podium, a gentle retort.

Alarumdives, a king of moxie, sortilege akin,

Amidst charms of copiousness, of avarice and sin.

Caring little for muse, tilling partitions of death,

As his zeal that enlightens, though pride at best.

To condemn his acts and then his pardon,

Exacting faith, his patron of traitor.

Her lust stirs his wanton endlessly

She is the crepuscule within his soul, relentlessly.

Alarumdives, his embodiment of chastity, and king,

A slave to her seduction, her secrets keeping.

Venus, the lusts of angels, devils and romances

A passionate fire enshrouding them, gentle entrances.

Her cosmic treasure, ever so yearned, infinity’s

Masterpiece, the essence of musery within.

With resembling glome, a whimsical sorceress was she,

Of jasmine and saffron, cascading escapades, made heavenly.

A bequeathing kingdom of immaculate royalty

Though a wicked paramour, fathoms of dolor.

As sweet as fresh rain, as Alarumdives marveled,

Miraculous bolts of intrigue enshroud him bastardly.

For his darkest deceits, were sparklets of lonesomeness,

His trembling eyes crowd his vision with complexity.

Burning temptations, of a valiant ocean’s galley

Swaying reflections of light, admiring tranquility.

Beholding his essence and mystical hollow,

To travail, with serpent wisdom and wallow.

It’s milky white eyes of sayer and sooth,

While nostalgias settle upon, wenches with rue.

Erupting a foretelling, an epic of grace,

As of love and lust, silk, satin, and lace.

Though Alarumdives and Geinere so terribly in love,

As danger lurking, about a garden of grove.

Servants of great remorse, for the encompassed lover,

For Geinere passion bells rang, her kingdom to discover.

There amongst the quivering shadows-

A masterful elucidation, amid turmoil and battle.

Stood Geinere, her spectral self, ahead the kingdom

At once, to be hers… spoken silently, Christendom…

“The Gemini we were, for the splendor eyes,                                                                   [Geinere]

Upon that day of glee, while the soft winds of change

As heresy to have, their love unspoken, arranged.

The throne of gentiles and harlotry.

As coarse sodden as golden maidens

Of Spain, nothingness to the thieves.

A venerable abandonment, as pale

Spirited captors, upon these knots of evil,

With hysteria’s beckoning decree.

To take upon thee, amidst the vespers

Of dying blood, enchanting revelry,

Vigor and desire, as valor and chivalry.

When laughing winds, angels play

The resounds of God, their joyous choir.”

As Geinere as poised, her ritual upon

The merry, the welsh kingdom of fond.

It was her freedom, her prowess

That she so loved to share, while shining,

Now being nothing more than a forgotten love,

Dissolution, then blissful fields of autumn.

As lovely ladies revel as rainbow’s play,

Virtue was drowned in anguish, say,

To have a child to nurture, pray,

Shared treasure and only love to blame.

Significance of such to fulfill,

Their love, becoming grand as she milled.

As oc’eons of awareness opened that eve

A rose was hearkened, it’s thorny valor to grieve.

A crest of senseless fathoms, Belial,

To fornicate with death and mysteries of tomorrow.

Escalades of darkness, bellowed a murky symphony,

Sunset twilight, a masquerading epiphany.

A sullen emptiness graced the moonlit night,

A nexus of bludgeoning arousal conveyed

A degrading hymn of idle creation,

Giving way to Belial and demonic elation.

To welcome a Prince, mysteries to cherish,

Though a harlot only given to heresy.

There was no truth, which was defeat,

Amidst always a new beginning.