Faeo de Lyre
Biography of Faeo de Lyre
Literature is a precious truth upon a
Revelation of the untold tongue of
Grammar, that man is wont to utter.
It is that hard his science works that
Comes over any's unconvincing politics.
Aye! Come it to note that I Faeo
de Lyre a.k.a. Faeo 'Lyre' Clive ___ a
Kinsman of Olaudah Equiano a.k.a.
Gustavus Vassa, is about that which
Becomes literary; blithe would I breathe
Upon. In love, about health and life,
For the buyers and in withdrawal, I
Deposit intil the literary but from
Prizes for I know not the calling. I
Forgave this blood circulate and
Thus God breathe on him; that is
The Literary and in me as it runs
But in my penitence, as for God as
In Poesy mine. I bought this clock
But that he conquered my breast.
Poesy is what I labour to cultivate
In a bountiful fruition; to show
Thus in might intil that I dream.
I have no star in my store but legends.
Would one count my fingers? Of the
Leopard family, if added let's divide, I
Digest my peace intil sadness but sad
Intil the forgive no red. Lots shall
Not become me; when they shall, I shall
Not. Thus, stoical intil the fed, I
Shall lose over my charge. I am
Not a figure but one symbol, sunny.
This hand is the heaviest of me,
Though in breakages. Alas! The
Literary prey on my science. Introvert
I aimed, shakespearean; intil a
Catholic devout, teetotal, a non
Smoker and despite a bachelor,
Spends no leisure after philandering.
Stirred to forgo the proud, I lag
Behind no other's affaire but to
Grace any grass. This small I boy,
The bigger I man. I am not a
Star; I am a sun. I love but the
Modelling. Subsequently, intil a
Nom de plume, variously known made
I intil Mcfal, Mcfaleo Clive and
Faeo Clive until eventually settled
On Faeo de Lyre a.k.a. Faeo Lyre Clive
___ labels mine, as I take home but
Erect at me and in my family.
Post-penultimately, breathes my
Literature intil the honour of the
Bard of Avon ___ my ghost writer,
Gustavus Vassa ___ my native hand,
Family and friends, that herein
I gave up wholly to; then of all
Grace intil the almighty but Demiurge
I do not take fooled betrayed, but
A fool taken. Thus, playing 'round
Nature, measure me not unaware; you
Are but taking my back. Those are
Blinks intil the sightless; so kiss me
Intil that my tongue root, for I lay
On your neighbouring, and let the nib
Of our hand essay alike intil our
Inks scribe in either.
Faeo de Lyre Poems
Who is from the modelling in every man? No man not, but in individual, in The show, like the faces; and thus wont to fan.
Stoical But Strict-Fed, I Forgive Not Re...
I stretch and screw a lot Intil the sticking, I may fix and fasten intil a packet, I might still-knot,
Intil His Holiness
The Janus hand must not tick My clock; I may still pick From the calendars apart. From abstinence, my heart
Seduction Is Not From The Village
Do not look at my words but have; Where are the pregnancies intil added? Where are we romanced intil the fed Though inevitable? Who would carve
Intil my family and apartment, I am so seduced and thus Trapped. Lain arms apart and intil doors Open intil have an enchantment.
In a dry feasting, not In a fury or in the Insatiable. Neither for A victory, pyrrhic nor
'But poesy, My echoe is not taken; Thus, Let me
Poesy In Heaven
Welcome me not there, do! At the Cherubim and Seraphim Come I not; the trumpetings And banding __ celestial,
Breast And In Crack
The center commands the balance; thus, Intil her submits all sinew __ this heart. She holds the place __ the central part, Live capital defence, perfidious.
Afore forth, let me intil my brother ago, make. A brother that paved my scope, that intil This same breast, nursed, __ milky intil the Teeth and honey intil our tongue. Journ you
This sinew of yore, from this day, made And cannot forerun my heros past. Playin' 'round nature, as array'd, Science of date shall but breathe last
Half For A Brother, Prisoner
This touch, partial, chain'd your plays 'round nature, From your heart; flexibility intil fragility Yours, was his emotions. Do you know? And sure
Love! I dream not you sorrow; But men are bound to. Days would make but slow, But nature is, intil tomorrow.
I Am Careless
Not in my secret but better friend as Enemy, hold me now you can; jump that neglect Not. Slain intil easement and fragile intil pass. My goin' has b'gun and on; and of my pace
Love! I dream not you sorrow;
But men are bound to.
Days would make but slow,
But nature is, intil tomorrow.
Any query, intil me,
Shall make, but let me be;
Free and own are intil we
Thus, intil the b'holders to see.