daegonius bonapartae


Beneath The White Tree - Poem by daegonius bonapartae

I sit weak heartlessly hearted upon the threshold with turban overhead and feet fixed rightly. In composition I sit so swiftly does hand Oh mine reach the white tree Oh flat is the white tree of beit my grounds to where I once do flee. Every hour of consent of resentment to where my sorted flies as birds of sky nearest the sun's red eye. Die do I when there u reach for my book of incantations that eats my heart teaching it a newly revelation exchange and every sensation of bristles o'er my bosom during meditation. A quince whence I raise upwardly to gaze upon the duhr sunlit salah thinking of the woman of tears I dreamt Oh for her I wept of blood and of love often did I imagine her image upon the white tree. Afterthought I journeyed under the quenched river to drench my red eyes upon hither and wither. Caught my eye did the bird of one wing as he chirped quietly o'er my sight could I not see walked to him saved him as he healed me under the withering parchment of meditation beneath my white tree.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Poem Edited: Wednesday, April 18, 2012


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