To cut the influence of an evil from my existence.
To scratch an itch that crawls and creeps
into my life at every chance,
to take from me my very pride
to sooth her own envy.





I

Her empathy-less soul

 

shall perish lone and old.

Amidst the fluttering skies,
her heartless mind unveils
her framed and crooked lies. --------
My veins dull, sunk and pale

but my silk is unified
to flutter the burning flames
into soft but dilated eyes
now freed from Prologue's shames.

Now the drenched woe rests not there -
but within another's sleep;
inject, Hermes, inject deep.

Take her breath of mortal air
and not let her sleep see rest
-> evil hearts remain unblessed.





Now that Ire's released
may I begin my passage.
Her bitter howl has ceased
to feed my lonely lust,
it's time now to adjust
to my tranquilities.
My time, my space, my peace
without the Crow savage.


 © Hylas Iris.

Welcome

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 DEDICATED

  TO THE LYRE OF

 

  ERATO

           Preface

To capture love, the lonely falls,
the rises of the mercy deep
are bound within a blood that seeps
the lone wandering madrigals.

The comfort of the nimble cloth -
to choke upon a dusty sky
dances among presumptuous lies
that seed in green developed sloth.

These stars. May I begin to write -
not therefore end this here and now -
rise, fly ------ this hazed and vacant night.

There is nothing to see but how
the beauty of sensuous verse
may not lay buried in the dirt.




A note, noteworthy of a moment's swift
fractured beats of platonic monuments -
the pawn of a carcasses residence
prays momentarily upon the gift.

Once more in rapturous flames enveloped
this beastly fever, mournful, furthering
the growth of a furious upbringing
until the bellow of the crow falls soft.

What can I do but wait, the gloomy sin
of carved hours echo the illustrious strides
now fallen to these here words, where within

are writing time bound, choked, momentous rhymes
that echo to the false and charmless heart
that Sonnet Sunsets still remain an art.




As the selfish acts of the greeneries
envelope, not tame but be so wild
again, have mercy on the seeking mild
choking the blank set vacant scenery.

Brandish my sword, set in sand
and carve
upon these willows of desolation

                    a rose shall bloom once more
                    not bound to weep or wilt.

Within my nauseous head
the seeking of my art

                     shudders.



© Hylas Iris.

Music: Lost Lyre by Koan 2012
Art: Landscape, Twilight by Samuel Palmer 1833