DWP Praymore

DWP Praymore Poems

The Best Poem Of DWP Praymore

Dying Embers

Fear forces sweat-drops meandering
from brow into myopic eyes
of my poor head-sockets
to understate the obvious answer
required by the obvious question:
'So, old codger, you let her slip away, eh? '

Ah, but I did, I did, indeed I did,
yet is she not quite gone;
are those the silent steps of soft approach
her feet of deep desire avail?
Can love harness insatiable lust
only satiation would adjust?

Sighs and moans describe her skin
that like a sheen of negligee light
drapes forms of almond flesh
too near to ignore, too far to touch:
snow-petals of frail perfection
belie the cascading shroud of oblivious
self-destruction snugly hidden
and securely wrapped in dream-cloth
embroidered with pearls of vulnerability.

Death by birth in excruciating pleasure,
directional signboard to God
with spaces of temporary relief
mocking my forlorn hope,
I let her go.

Mentally I scatter her addictive ashes
longing to burn with her beauty;
close by her soul not too far,
sharing butter slices of nourishment
from her joyous voice that dances
on gusts of wind from heaven-sent
angels blowing breezes of grace.

Alone in the company of lovers
I cannot but flee her reality
to cover my suicidal obsession
exposed to the world,
as trees clap their hands
and mountain ranges embrace God
in a crescendo of tidal-wave exultation.

What could assaulting Cupid
and breaking his bow accomplish?
Nature awoke from sweet slumber
in gasping gurgles of disbelief:
I let fall my mask
onto a pillow of nightmares
that fade not with the light of dawn
or the budding of black roses.

Mead of motherhood flowed
in rivers of ecstasy from bridal breasts,
but I cared not a whit,
quaffed to my heart's content
and waltzed on to another bout.

As were crime a game of chance,
alas, I scorned romance
thinking to be strong and brave;
I watched my love slide to her grave:
Father Time collected rent.

Can you ever forgive me?
I let you slip away to disdain,
the flames of our passion I let
burn out and reduce to weak glowing
coals that aged into dying embers…

DWP Praymore Comments