Daegonius Bonapartea Poems

The poets of old never knew the meaning of love themselves, they questioned it constantly and in the hands of ignorance they dwelled
...

Tis love my only bethrottle of innocence
whilst its shadow runs over me subtley
i thought the moon could deliver me penitentence
but this pen, and this ink still asunder under me roughly
...

Once I lived in an ocean trance where me and my maiden took course to dance

To sing a song of endless dreams, glory, and practical serenity
...

The blade of fate lay over my neck forceful and blatant

Cold But withered like a willow tree whistling like a raven
...

Trampling God's above the dimensions of time

Intervene profusely in each given century
...