Pic of the day

Pic of the day
Somehow, she's always the one up here.

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Epic('s) secret

Through the torment of life and the fear of damnation
flows the invigorating blood of imagination.
The nectar of creativity, aliased inspiration,
flows down a thigh, to the mouth of a lover's perversion,
taking the form of a red burgundy wine
mirroring the fiery breath of lust, divine.

Life is in the senses - yet we meditate.
Death is inevitable - yet we procreate.
The senses entice, ensnare and enhance,
yet in introspection, we try to dance.

It is the quickening of the pulse of an ever-tiring heart
that sparks off the passion that rips decency apart.
To reach deep beyond its bosomed burial -
The passion to exhume is the epic trial.

The fire that lies buried beneath
is not an heirloom to bequeath.
It dies as quick as a whiff of breeze
and can be fanned with equal ease.

As the heaving of anticipating breath does rise,
and the depth and intensity of mascara-laced eyes
betray the desire, 
the lust and the fire,
comes a moment of clarity and realisation
that true vision lies in allowing intoxication.

To taste the sweetness of poetic form
is the purpose of lips - soft and warm.
For in that moment of diabolic contact
the universe ceases existential impact.

No burning stars or spinning moons;
no flooding waves or shifting dunes -
The moment of wanton elevation
is its own emancipation.

That sliver of clarity is what many a bard
have fought to seek so very hard.
Would it, so many past generations, soothe
to know that the answer is such a simple truth?

This isn't a tale for the faint; not a writ of morality;
not of love or life or death, but within each, the duality -
The blurred line that fails to divide the sensual from spirituality;
for in a moment of ecstatic joy lies the coveted immortality.

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