Daegonius Bonapartea

Daegonius Bonapartea Poems

41. Whistling And Ringing 10/28/2012
42. Love I 10/28/2012
43. Sane Yet Insane 11/1/2012
44. Bubble And A Veil 11/1/2012
45. Amazing/Everything 11/1/2012
46. Me 11/1/2012
47. Watch 11/1/2012
48. Stem Of Life 11/1/2012
49. Hope 11/1/2012
50. A Glimmer Of It 11/1/2012
51. Love Is.. 11/2/2012
52. The Master Of Paradoxes, Oxymorons, And Laws Of The Opposites 12/16/2012
53. The Venus Project 12/23/2012
54. From Peasant To God 7/20/2013
55. Hidden Town 7/20/2013
56. The Tyrant 7/20/2013
57. Death 7/20/2013
58. Sweet November 7/20/2013
59. He Wept 7/20/2013
60. Public 7/20/2013
61. The Poets 7/20/2013
62. Dreams 7/20/2013
63. War With The Countess 4/18/2012
64. Joyous Rain 10/6/2012
65. If Only I Could Stay 10/7/2012
66. My Vampire And The Four Items 10/8/2012
67. An Echo Unheard Yet Heard 10/10/2012
68. Uncle Iroh Format Examination (My Form) 10/31/2012
69. Kahlil Gibran My Master 10/27/2012
70. Options: Sucess And Failure 10/10/2012
71. Mask And Mask 10/10/2012
72. Small And Large 10/8/2012
73. 'We' Are All Books 11/2/2012
74. Dedication 11/2/2012

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Best Poem of Daegonius Bonapartea

'We' Are All Books

We are all books. And each in us are pages whether wrinkled, torn, fabricated or freshly formed.On each page is the ink of our life and the images of our life.In every book for every person there are differnt languages, interrpretations of the many actions that took place in the lives of humans, meanings that shape the structure of our book and a cover that defines us all that people look at when they first greet us or see us. Some books are old and some are new but regardless they are all books filled with pages, languages, meanings and 'life'. In these books are multiple ideas that are ...

Read the full of 'We' Are All Books

Joyous Rain

Joyous rain falls descendant upon my sorrow, Oh that joyous rain!

Returns to me sweet reminiscing memories of my goddesses mirthful all my solitude and pain

As years had passed, so had my vigorous love, beith once for mirth; yet her foreboding left me in cluttering vain

The action it lead me into was nothing more than a piteous pouring pit of that glorious joyous rain!

In all of which my soul shalt claim, whilst I stand in this striking rains all of the memories of that one of mirt

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