Outlandish ponderous propositions,
From a red lady championing sordid lies,
Words imitating superstitions,
From behind deeply dead ocean blue eyes.
But what is to be said to such trappings,
Of voices in deceptive overtones,
Guised in rose petals and thorny wrappings,
To swim in shallows or the deep with stones.
Where many a soul have drowned,
Charmed by the hunter’s fires,
As his beast, so tightly bound.
With scenes of the grey in life,
The disillusioned riot,
The arbitrary is rife,
As they do feed the disquiet.
Lavender scents do stain,
Reminiscent of you,
With a sense that remains,
Long after you pass through.
Young eyes spy the past in a modern square,
A quest to find and behold beauty,
Vestal Virgins painted white and fair,
An artful hunt becomes my life’s duty.
With the luminosity of the known,
It reminds me of travels north bound,
First flutters with life unsure and alone,
And how many perceptions can be found.