Dignity Surrendered

Each in turn is required to surrender his dignity at the entrance to her parlor, gladly did her previous suitors release their burden. She will allow none to influence her resplendency. The endless assortment of bewildered men do but love the scent of her taintless body. In her attribute stars do retreat to more welcoming skies.

He holds tightly to the belief that he can better her frightful and trembling veil, but alas her shadow will devour the sun. So tranquil doth he step with the appearance of a juggler's feat. He will afford his open heart to quiet the myriad of unpleasantness which grows beneath her eyes.

He exits, invigoration and love denied, leaping past the mean-roof trees before distain belies his robust spirit. Onward past her grey winged path he strolls, regarding her wishing well of hate, unafraid to throw a penny.

Germs of Misery

The icy water breaks upon the bow of the crab filled hauls. The old men laugh at the young boys, who complain and shiver. For they, unlike their erstwhile companions are not straight with such an unforgiving chill. The dingy blue wilderness of the sea cries, and tosses her white foam across the red faces of tiny men gripping to support.

                From his throne above the captain shouts to speed up, the day’s pay. For the ocean is not a gentle lover, but colder than a fish and deafer than a goat. The weak men lay hands on the robust and the brotherhood is complete. Within the soul of the ship strangeness dies perplexed, and only familiarity survives.

                A lonely few remain, dismayed as to why sickness has brought them hence. Joy is but a faint forgotten scar, fondness lost in the germs of misery. This track will dry the sap in the veins of men, but upon land allow the gifts that govern spoiled boys.

-Johnny V.

Joy

The wind sweeps thru the palms to and fro, the tide brings the sand fresh moisture.  God himself insists we notice his exploit. His grace and wisdom enhance the shine of each star. The flight of every bird is part of his compel and will not avoid his sight. The morning sun caresses your cool skin to convey welcome ye each new dawn given to you anew.

Defeated and Low Men

As rain washes away my defiled dreams, I hold fast to the mask of sadness leaving gravity to suspend its duty one last night. Time cuts thick into my yellow soul, hope having long ago left me dejected and begging for God's detition. The last instant I hope will be tranquil for God doth save his mundane tasks for the weakest men.

I am left to cull what is left of my defeated spirit. Empty are my arms, desperate for redemption, leaving my sin to fester on the vine. My Jaunt transcends my cognition, while peace is trapped outside my grasp. And  joy becomes ash drying upon the taste of my tongue.

My station is at last circumscribed, I repeat the prayer I spoke as a shaver. My savior's ears will curtail all sound save his most brave zealots.  I am alone in my pyrrhic victory over love, forever the general of defeated and low men, returning merely as conquerors stained with kindred blood.

Remnant of Duty

Upon my threshold you landed, a broken winged and bitter angel. The tortured but silent cries you hid from the world played the sounds of Gabriel's Brass deep inside my ears. I took you into my compassion and nursed your tattered dreams and lost courage. Your strength diminished you clung to my solemn oath.

The further I cared for your wounded body the deeper became my love for your precious soul. But in synoptic time as your body matured in strength your reliance on me left your bosom. For never has the healing power of love been bested. I denied the truth of your move to personal indigence.

Although my eyes and heart did weep, my mind did apprehend that your invigoration was not meant for me. I know that our walk together was only a seductive tally, your ultimate step to disembarrass could only be taken alone. I was capable of assist no longer for even the Lord himself knows that love is the remnant of duty.

Indifferent Eye

             From the refuge of the deep brush she watches my fall from grace, knowing she, the single cause. I tread to the edge of the precipice, look to the heavens shouting my votive oblige toward her naked God. Holding still to the predict of our flimsy romance, and her promiscuous chaos. My eye, blind and bitter refuses to accept the expiring  ruin of her heart.

                Her fickle bosom perplexed by my hapless fate yet remains  unaltered by my despairing battle against her secret fire of unhallowed promises. I look down and know that this exit would feel like the stale stench of unwanted dreams. One small step, she gasps, as if to beg me restraint. But her need for delight outweighs her false sympathy.

               So with an indifferent eye she looks for me to prove to her my devotion. I fear that I will never atone until I resign my final dispose. Her victims crave that my wakeful nature will sink beneath  my devouring grave. So with my briny lips in full bliss I curse her Iron-foiled martyrs and with one inalterable measure bid my muse adieu.

-Johnny V.

The Rose

Stand prudent and be prideful in your passion for the rose, fear not the prick of the thorn. Know that it is only the stained bloodof pain which reveals the depth in the cloth of love. Step quickly on to the bright stage and let your follies be your only regret, because thru quiet and rest shall you recline in bier.

Heavenly souls may to you be denied but do not weep, for below God's sentry all have chance to brand their charriot's footprint along the sands of joy. Lips that once beguiled shall be ever tethered to your spirit and hearken solely to its whispers.

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Wet Lies

While she drowns in his insufficient love, he fills her heart with wet lies. His true suma is clouded in her passion stained eyes. Once caught in his false warmth she is ever lost, for his anatomy is a hospice with a more craggy bed.

His touch sears her pale flesh but she feels only the brush of a cool mountain breeze. His breath is foul and strict with the essence of death but her sense is only that of a flower garden in spring.

Their stumble to destiny's mark will remove her youth and innocence. He will emerge vibrant and strong for he long ago paid death's glorious toll, and knows well the frigid and dark corridors of Hell's library.

-Johnny V.

False Knight

                I step on the far side of the threshold and smile, for I foolishly believe I am free of her. Then like an infected wound she shows her true nature and the pain inundates back and drowns my very being, I am unable to stop her dapple brown swellings and their destructive spread eastward.

                I hold stock-still to her false promises. Though my pen is blunt and culls the dispose of humanity to her ink well, I will never write her anthem on given parchment. She crosses the wakening spring and can exuviate truth at a glance, she sips with greed from immortal drink knowing it laced with pithy hemlock and holds but a single glimpse of redemption.

                I see well that my valiant effort becomes a feeble attempt that will avail not. And despite my diamonds fleshy aura the valley lilies are deemed to wither. I battle against miters and crowns, hear my infant brother cry out, waste not new blood on old wounds.

-Johnny V.

Her Nervy Minstrel

He oft times is as a wild wretch and can drag down those near him to his folly where joy dare not cross. She was first to ever adore him, yet she refuses to follow him downward into his dank moisture realm. For it affords He oft times is as her as his handmaiden when finally desire to return consumes his wayfaring spirit.

Needing as he must to seek out the peacefulness and spongy sod of his quiet solitude.  Using tranquil eye she will recognize that he could only allow but a minor collection into his weed - hidden heart. So with gentle patience she waits knowing that his tattered soul although a splendor of woe will forever be her nervy minstrel.

So hand in hand they pace, she his alone and he to her. Unaware of fools and rakes, blind to the hapless stranger. Forever entertwined unsure where each begins or ends.

Blood Sheets

I imagine her blood on your sheets, for too often her sacrifice is unnoticed by your arrogance.  Daily she has made love's secret stand, but her endeavour doth fail.

You shall not renew your duty, for conscience shall not your slumber disturb. So then none we beg shall carry her ashes to the land of sleepers. Rather she mumbles and weeps along to the barren moors.

She has from you on bended knee requested a unique tender word, only to receive abrupt thunder and night - swollen humour. Her journey is but the keen and ill-judged actions of a whimsical virgin. Soon you will be but a memory the tally of jagged and girted bees.

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The Colors of Hades

     Thoughtlessly he plunges into the blood stained river of tears he cried over her, just to rescue her from a trap of her own fault. He like a child accepts all is well, but she will deny his ardent embrace the moment her tender toes touch the shoreline. At once she removes her rapturous disguise dressed only in her mystic wickedness.

      Haughty he carries her to the protection of his platonic shade and dons the fleece of the amorous hero. But he plays to empty chairs for her heart dwells with another. Gingerly he draws the feathered curtains tohold back the grey light of morn.

      Sne remains bathed in the muted lurid blue, settled in his nest she begins her downy-winged slumber. He takes the occupation of compassion beside her opulence as green pools shut out humanity. Again he is under her enchantment believing he will soon posses the riposte of true beauty, but only carries the blackened conclave of Hades.

Beauty's Quiet

From across the courtyard I spied her gentle object. Without a sound her eyes danced upon my soul, and I was forever her's to command. I approach her, my words like a fawn on fresh legs fall clumsy from my mouth. Her polite yet  hesitant smile charms the crowded room.

I await her reply, my heart pauses fearing rejection and even laughter. But her kindness is given without worry fully and unconditional. She speaks gently with the lips of beauty's quiet. I sense a doubt in her about my ability but she reveals it not.

Blind Ears

I did not request your passion while nailed to that dead tree, yet you demand of me a reply. You have given me drink from the milk of human kindness, but only long after it has outlived its utility. I am allowed to dine only where my shouldering ashes lie in wait. Bent so far past my throttle my bruised ego is forever shamed.

My retort falls upon blind ears, your back is turned to me for to hide your grin. I am not able to see your joy in the demise of your preferred creation. So on my knees I doth fall, as my tear dashed face begs to be freed from pain, and dragged to my final doom.

Plagued by scenes of my delightful youth I am made to fight against the unmolested dead. But even in victory their humor will not be wooed. My torment is a pleasure you must behold. Your laughter even in thy father’s judgment remains unshent. I am left to wallow in a nuisance so deep I cannot trust the hangman’s knot.

-Johnny V.

Apathy

Her glacial and blistered love is still his sole inclination, yet she has renounced his compassion a lifespan ago. He clings to her bosom despite her apathy, yearns to be in her favor though he must traverse the littered bones of her past lovers, once like hoofed satyrs now faulted by her cold rejection.

He is bound by her left-over passion locked in a dark and undergrown garden of his own creation and mistaking a stranger for a long awaited friend. Onward he stumbles, asking for forgiveness from those unaware of the path desperate for the mere suggestion of her dim love. Seeking guidance from counterfeit arbiters of decorum. Yet her harsh approval is arranged upon a level unreachable even by Hercules himself.

She evinced and proud of what is left to be, knowing that fate alone shall unroll the shades of the future. Tracking with bare feet through specious chaos, reaping tributes undeserving of her forgetful cause.

-Johnny V.

Tedious Wit

Falling upon her knees she prays that soon the tomb will finally hide her caustic tears, ending the afflict in her strength. But time is to be her unlikely Romeo but not her gentle lover. Trapped without a wisp of daylight, she grants dignity its last ignorant breath.

So she holds fast to his tedious wit, as his dastardly tongue utters indelicate tales of luckless fools. She breaths with all of Juliet’s passion and plays the function of the penanced lady. He still unperceptive to her careful and dewy placed wings.

His soft love hidden in her murky grey dreams searching for a place to reserve his poison. Tempted by his splendor she tastes not the bitter potable he leaves behind. She is mystified by the lambia he becomes. So her pale arms accept his statue like physique into her fold adding to the delights of his pride. Left is she holding tears yet unwept doomed soon to fall like wild torrents.

 -Johnny V.

Player

Player

I draw near to kiss your purple scented lips, you reject me. "No!" You demand, "It was only a small seed, but your delusions built a sturdy tree."

Your lips are layered with falsehoods! For it was you as well that watered and blessed the sapling’s insistence with your sweet words, and honey dipped lies."
Your need for a hero and not a lover was hidden from my knowledge and so I bore the weight of both. But you were a coward who could not correct me, and so the role was but a farce that kept my heart nigh.

I played the fool reciting your passion play in hopes that someday I would emerge victorious. But was never to be for when the lights did shine and the curtain fall the stage was filled with a different hero and the bill devoid of my voice.

The masses from their stations did cheer and delight in this handsome new imp. Never to know the true character of the night walks alone weeping copious tears false script in hand and weakened heart in tow.

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Decadence

Fraudulent gathered riches permits a man to take warmth in the winter, and peaceful sleep with a full belly as typical. But it can also cloud his belief in those left to freeze near the river bank, and bedevil his desire to commit to souls who languish for an adequate mouthful of bread.

Copiousness retained in a secure dwelling, makes knowledge of the plight given the man in a distributed shack less than water from stone. When hunger and cold haunt a man’s family finding relief in his heart is rare indeed.

When he whose needs are in abundance refuses to abandon the nectar of kindness all around him are brought to suffer. One must then be obligated to carry from that table of decadence enough to soothe another. For when wealth’s cup spills over his greed can oft surpass his kindness.

-Johnny V.

Savvy

As Icarus of old i reached for my secret too soon. It began as a meaningless spark but in my care burned with the evil passion of God's fallen angel. In her cruel spirit it would never move past a shadowy ember glowing cold in her skilled savvy.

Trapped in this conclusion I am weak and unable to understand any grief beyond my own anguish. My half-shut demons cry out to the very resplendency that rejected them when the rivers were young, untried, and corrupt with the touch of elf-like lovers.

So I, in wet and plendeous defeat willingly surrender to the convicted and disaproved waste once called my soul. Give in to the Orpheus-like power she weilds over me. I forced to lay in my tear soaked pain weeping from dawn's enterance till the lamplight has crept past my lonely threshold.

Beffudled

The first light of dawn breaks the snow-capped hills, but alas she makes ready her sleep and dreamland welcomes her familiar spirit.

Her night of punishment on men has come to a close, and her lover stripped bare of his shame is to her, now but an unremembered dream.

The memories of her embrace so linger upon his tongue, and his silence holds. For although his wounds will heal, it is his endless howls which cut thru the ears of time, and roughly float above its gentle head.

Still, she will rest upon white winged angels, and to peaceful slumber fly. For her sins are distant as a fresh glowing star, the thoughts of her night are but shadows.

Her brutality goes unchecked, because men blinded by her flavour and beauty are befuddled and queer. Their flesh newly spawned with blood, feel not the blade till it leaves its ballied host.


-Johnny V.

Barbed

I spied her haughty eyes just as the bright sun again overpowered the unwarmed night air. At that moment I was evermore her trident squire.

Her soft ruby scented hair falls in delicate ringlets upon her patterned shoulders, each sun speckled mark a touch of pure beauty.                          

The courage she must evince each morning would bring battle potent kings to their knees. Unlike those powerful crowns - draped heads of yore, she faced her foes alone.

It is not the loyalty of subjects she desires, nor the admiration of numbered strangers. Only the safety and plume of a young, innocent, novel queen, for her acquisition alone can see this to close.


-Johnny V.

Unsullied Hopes

Eternally drunk on the wine of cowardice, she watches and seeks out the wreched in her lover. As he waits for her permission to endure her punishment. Like a goddless oaf he lays his palpitating and unsullied hopes at her pale feet.

She, a self-folding flower hides her true quality from presumptuous mortals, and continues to bathe unseen, gently emerging robed in purple flakes of mitigated fury. His fear rages deep inside his darkened veins, but his need to posses her wins the draw and ends his delightful misery with one final melodious moan.

Then like a well known charmed god she takes flight on winged heels. Passing high above the unvalued remains of former shaded heroes. They spy her scented glory as she clears their doomed stadiums desguised as as smile lip'ed serpant. Forever ignorant of the fire loaded bones in her past.

Ransacked

                Her frigid salt stained gaze follows her razor touch, burning fear into my tender new found flesh.  Her cheap and tawdry silence deafens my ears, rendering all mute. My tears fall like the famed Persian arrows, yet her smile is broader than the cold quiet sea.

 

                I beg for the release but my pleas are lost in her stale and passionless embrace. Her arms reach me, trapping my overburdened heart. Escape for me is infeasible; for her delay is darker than Satan’s bed chamber, her discernment deep as the hallows of Hell.

 

She refuses to accept the misconduct she has brought so she continues her brutal journey across my bewildered endeavor. I know all well the endless torture that awaits my commodity but helpless am I to defy.

 

The path without her is painless, but my freedom from her command is damage riddled and more powerful than God’s wrath upon those who disavow his potency. I cling then to false hope and ransacked promises made with postiche but seductive tongues.

-Johnny V.

Butterfly

She beautifies her eyes upon my ogre filled darkness. Her fondness and joy are stronger than the gnarled demons who reside within. Like frightened rodents they flee from the light of her spirit. Never before has one so lovesome and gentle been at my

Like the Philosopher King she leads me from the dark shadows to the bright truth above. Till the day I spied her delicate love, trust was vacant inside of me. For I know that betrayal  is not present in her bosom.

Her love knows no limit, her loyalty knows no bound. All who know her are sweeter for her smile. Her grace renders hope to those seeking acceptance. Her walk is as the butterfly's dance above nature's golden garden.

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Friendship

Rest not your hope in false friends, for they are very accomplished at dragging the cheerful past their limits. So proud are they to don deceit upon their thorny brow. They smile spacious when the sun is bright, but be weary for when the foggy mist rolls empty will be your hearth.

They will cling to your side and cater their own needs but vanish like the moon in daylight when your pain is great. Dwelling within barred windows allowing no percept beyond their dilapidated fence posts. Their compassion for any outside their own spirit is weak as a foal.

So sip first from the well of friendship for its tocicant can be fearsome and cause great pain. Long will be your convalescence, but the scathe will heal and mark your heart to remind ye hold fast to those true of heart and flavour.

Frozen

Would that her tempestuous words deafen my ears, for her silence is more ruin and deadly than the rains that defined Noah's holy task.

As her knight I would face Satan if she did but ask. But without a dictate or quest from my beloved I become as a candle's flame against God's mighty breath.

Death is more welcome than her refusal to lend me her tender pronounce. For it is her command alone which may console my beating essence, or my right to walk on soil for one more evenfall.

Left to suffer in the cold night haze, each frozen drop deepening my icy grave. With pride I attempt to guard my ache from my royal seige, but well does he know my grief. Even the gestures of his joyful squire do mot retrieve my anguish.

Alone then in my chamber do I weep, ne'er aware if she will again cede my heart a sweet noble deed.

Yet tis not to be, for her needs are far deeper than this humble knight's grasp. Like many before I will end my service and cumulate to a faint memory.

Jealousy

The sea can solicit a mother's compassion with a warm breaze across her moist blue bosom. Then her anger with indulgent, white, and foamed waves which can dwarf the majestic redwoods.

Guard ye, she is at first a cruel and selfish mistress. Even while on land she demands the attention of her captives. Her mark is upon them, nare do they feel sound lest it be within her embrace.
...
Still she is quick to jealous rage and will pull the uncareful to his wartery grave. He lost evermore deep within her cool and profane womb. Those whom he feeds with his labor forever doubtful of his conclusion.

Alas swaggering sailors born of broken and stout men will forever follow her siren song blind are they to her false charm. Pledging to her their devotion, their industry, their chastity.

Johnny V

Her Magic

The moon deplumes the salty sea up onf the sand covered shores, so too she spills her sickness across my heart. First the gentle fondness consumes my spirit. In time its toxin corrodes my tender flesh.

Later as I cleanse the defectiveness from my soul, the scars are revealed and deep, the color of nicotine stained teeth ground into stone. The pain I know will last and become an endeaver of my need. Soon her memory will become as faint as a dead star.

Then like a sudden and violent storm she reenters without fear,  letting loose the arrow of pride. Her sweet and false joy dripping from her fangs. She is struck dumb as I react not. Rare is it that her magic is benign and unaccepted.

She makes one last plea, but her power over me has been incapacitated and empty for too many hours. She sends up an untamed prayer to God but he refuses to hear. For he is the curator of beauty and faith, but will always shun the darkness.

-Johnny V.

Communion Table

Life can reward, but more often she denies. Ignorant are we with our vacant stares and hollow eyes.

So at her communion table we beg yet again, dejected and soured by God's indiscretions.

Left with our empty unfrequent souls to cry with the dispirited half god of unwashed dreams.

Trapped in the steamed passageway of blasphemy, alone with our profane and uncheerful hearts.

Yearing for a time when we burned with the passion of youth.

-Johnny V.

Ignoble End

Trust not the scarlet orb hidden deep within your bosom. False is she like a sassy yellow god, and her courage is light as a bird's feather.

She will betray you with childish fury and untrained fear. Stand stiff against her tyranny, for bravery is her kryptonite.

Face the evil half-god with pride, she knows that regarded in your demise is also her ignoble end. So fling your plume stained gauntlet to the dusty ground.

Soon will she will accept her place and step back like the obedient prisoner. But let caution be your care-worn escort. For she knows of her tenous vantage, with one errant beat both you and she will end your journey far beyond the sparrows flight.
             
-Johnny V.

Victory

Doubt not your courage, for far more has been won with less.

Know that Nature protects her most hardened, like a delicate bird hidden amongst the pines.

Fear not your enemies those low crossing-sweepers, who look at you with distain. No, stand firm and savor their shallow wit, as they embark on their crooked titles.

Face their rage and foolish barking curs. For only thou will eat their screams and feast on their pain.

Victory will be yours alone. While those malevolent souls, remain poisoned with cowardace, and grasping at dangerous treason.

-Johnny V.

Forever Lost

Forever lost in the wisdom of her shame.
My distorted and accused heart leaves pride at blame.

Our strength lies dormant in her unquiet pain.                   
Weakened by love, she cuts deep my essence in stain.
                 
The Devil steps from the gallows and my time draws nigh.
Desire's thorny crown hollow and black is ignored by demons on high.

Her true thoughts hidden and decorated with a shoud.
I, am left an ancient spirit, lost defeated and proud.

My superficial courage hangs upon her bloody cross.
She leaves my soul in godless agony and fearstruck loss.

Pretend

They worship at her altar shine, but it sparkles with false gold.  The path to her forgiveness is littered with guilt and pain. They have yet to understand that the angel they love, is different from the devil of their grief.

Their grief is powerful and they would sell their souls to lift it from their heart. Alas there are no buyers for grief alone is worthless.                                

They attempt to curry her favor with feeble strives to undo the sins of their past. Unaware that the world of those attempts is different from the one in which they were committed. 

So unfulfilled they linger in her presence,  unattended and blind.  Simple empty ships alone at sea.  Pleading, but denied the tender touch she once pretended to possess.

-Johnny V

Mystified

She walks barefoot through the fires of Hades, and still leaves unscathed. For even Lucifer is left mystified by her cruelty. Her lovers are countless, and their souls forever hers.

The carnage left in her wake, is on the far side of understanding. So she and her devotees splash in the shallow pool of ignorance. Leaving their fate in the hands of false gods, and sleepy titans.

Unable still to be free of her enchant they linger in a purgatory of doubt, knowing only her fictitious delight. Clinging to hope in the dim light which becomes unhealthy in her darkness.        
                                                      
-Johnny V.

God's Dignity

All to often we grace God's stage. With lackluster, and mediocre talent. Lines  scarcely memorized, clumsy blocking and false props. Performed before an audience of deviants, both vintage and newly fondled. Our attempts at dignity feeble at best.      

Courage that is nourished within our breast, turns sac cloth before our superiors. The gentlle morning mist becomes violent torrents of ocean waves when brought before his torch bearers. So we continue with dishonest manners, clinging to the nook-shotten lands of our fathers.

But still we fight, for within each of us is the scent of God's courage. Bestowed since the sun was an infant. It is that power that gives us our victories, sadly the very same will be our downfall.     

-Johnny V.

Action

That moment when fear gives way to the stingy slut of action, we are forced to face life's ungoverned miscreants raging with hate. Forgotten, brefreft of reverence, and desperate for a skirmish of violence. Cries against our kin, those proud fierce solders of pride stand proud. That dismal battlefield of the commonwealth, grey as the sky at dusk yet unaware of its future task.
                     
When the final bugle sounds, the raw stench of a neglected sewer-ditch, fixes itself in the air above the blood stained and newly hallowed ground as the scarlet liquid feeds the soil. The once dauntless and sure generals with tear-dashed cheek evaluate what is left of their whorehouse of shame as they hang low their brows.

Our  cochineal courage lay dormant in need of approval from the law-stationer’s god. Many will leave with empty scared souls. Those who remain, battle-worn and grateful of a gentle rain. This event complete, homeward they march. Ever forward heads riding broad with the trust that today death has been paid his due.

-Johnny V.

Her Respect

Secure your terrors to the lonesome mast, step bravely into the promise of the future. Allow the most pearlescent star to forever be your guide. Once the sea calls, only a frightened few will have the strength to deny her what she desires.

Stand and face her vastness, knowing the countless victims that came before still imprisoned beneath her calm blue belly. Make the deck your rampart, and face her head on, for earning nature's respect is a treat for the very few.

Evoke and curse her winds and waves that thunder against your eager vessel. Keep your heart true for within the bosom of God we are all saved.  Beware for the sea, that beguiling and naive slut will drag many to her ultimate greed.

-Johnny V.

Conclave of the Gods

Do not be horror-struck to gaze into Lucifer's eyes. For he too a sinner, and as the serpent looked heavenward with shame with a mouthful of Eve's bitter fruit.

In the gentle and fond hands of God we are all one. Saint, forgiven each besmirch, and sinner wiped clean. Face the storm head on, for we are only brief passengers riding a phaeton chariot on this pale rock. Once departed our memory fades, our mark under a thinner veil.

Stand strong with righteous zeal and shun the path of the despondent bearded son, and revel in the conclave of the gods. Hold fast to the breath given you, be content as the robe-maker in his kingdom rather the king of the simple minds.        

-Johnny V.

Night's Mist

The morning dew conquers the night mist, my avendaged and broken siern peirces my hope, I call out yet my protective angel is distant and obscure.   

I am left to her fickle whims and mocking laughter. I conferred my naked and inpassionated soul unto the sacrosanct of her april scented bossom, but her release of me left it inbittered and lost.   

I handed her my heart fueled with the courage of 1000 martyrs, but reclaimed it dry as the desert sand on an August day.

I have overcome my wound although it is deep it no longer holds any power over me. Where she is to this day I know not, I worry not.

But as the morning wind brushes the trees I hear anguish. Alas, she has attended to the fools lined at her threshold. Those naifs awaiting a mere glimpse, of her deep soft emerald eyes.  

-Johnny V.

The Harpy's way

My heart is thronged with contradictory decorations, and allowed only second-hand emotions. She has left me inter-wreathed with brimstone and unmet desires.

Sitting upon a black-velvet cathedra she calls me from the lattice windows. Her compulsions are chief and demand attention. Grasping at my neck cloth she tightens her sinewy grip. My disadvantaged heart is forever padlocked to her and her kinsmen.

My work, she claims is incomplete, I must she says, entertain her Hell-born, savage obligations without hope of reward. For within her ungentle suburb, Midas holds fast to his coinage.

I am to be her caddy, her ploughman as she tends to her faithful and eager whores each awaiting her pansophy. Although she often speaks as a fresh trumpet from the precipice of a moral high ground, her slight and bifurcate tongue will indeed sour the truth.

-Johnny V.

Neglected Wind-chime

The fragrant mephitis of hopelessness lingers upon my tongue long after I have inquired of her. Her deceit hangs on my being like a neglected wind-chime noiseless in the silent air.

Like a beehive that expels its swarm, she liberates her past lovers, doomed to meander pathless woods, like shrunken fragments murmuring at her feet.     

She is brawny and proficient at being the affectionate parasite. Leaving those in her wake with damaging wounds yet unknown.

Those who flee grasp at innocent determination, but alas plunged into damp solitude. For she, agelong has been in Don Juan's favor, since Rome first embraced her heroes.

But the ill-omend who fall under her spell, doomed to eek out dark centuries of shame, in a sad unallied existence. Their forgotten epitaphs written with the smallest of crow-quills.

Their souls dispiritedly begging the lone withered branch to reveal her new leaf.

-Johnny V.

Winter Thin

I'm anguished by a mad-brain, trapped forever within an idiot skull. With a deep enduring and untremendous might. I cumulate my wearisome objects to my twisted majestic heart, ready as ever with its hollow mockery. My redemption stands near my garden of despair watching my demise with contemptuous indignation.

Still forever labouring inside my frozen gloom listening to Satan play his fistulous lute. With the passing of each malignant hour I grow winter thin and stale as I sip shamefully from my bewildering cup of delight. Never will I know the girl from the depths of the sea. For I am allowed only the assist of long forgotten and drowned deities.

- Johnny V.

The Engine's Roar

The rage of the engine stained her ears and moistened her femininess. Resilient black tires tossed rocks and dirt with little care. She felt the vibrations first in her soft, dark, bare toes. Then it rose along her silky and endless legs. She quivered as it touched her newly shaved space.

As before his steely, cold, black eyes hit her, and instantly she again was his. He stepped out of his car, the 360 four barrel still running. Drowning out all other sounds. Although she knew not his name she approached him. He took her into his arms, and drew her into his broad chest.

She could smell the scent of gasoline,  engine grease, and sweat. The way he wore his laboratory made her weak and helpless. He kissed her hard, his hot tongue flooded her small mouth. She grabbed his razor stubbled face and kissed him back.

Suddenly he took hold of her dark hair. She expected him to pull her closer to him as he was apt to do. Rather he rejected her lips, keeping his grip on her hair,  he took her forearm. He moved her, rough enough so she knew he was in control, but soft enough not to hurt.

When they reached the back of the car he picked her up and set her on top of the trunk. He reached underneath her dangerously short denim skirt, took hold of the crotch of her wet panties, and in one moved her tore them apart. He again kissed her as his thick fingers entered her wetness, she gasped. His kiss was hot, hard, and wet. His fingers thick heavy and strong.

With one final expert flourish he turned her over. She could feel the cold steel of the car on her hard nipples through her white blouse. His zipper came down and with a deep throated grunt he pushed his very hard, and thick cock into her eager pussy.

Beneficiary of his Wisdom

Big dreams became his very early, his skill with the sketch pencil brought him mighty praise.  Soon life's duty took hold as his path changed. Forced was he to leave the role of youth and brother to assume the parent tree, hanging his desire on the topmost bough.

His strength not only of body but of heart was known and borrowed far and wide.  With his countless skills and abilities, saying no was the hardest to accomplish. And when his nation requested his sacrifice he went without question. A select few would ever hear his grotesque sights in that time of fervent martydom.

She understood and loved him as none before. His devotion to her was gentle and complete. Those who came from that love became his joy and happiness. His pride in them floated to the ears of all he spoke to. From that moment his destiny was complete.

As one of those lucky four, my ability to repay the debt owed to him can never be met. He bestowed upon me not solely how a man must live but the proper acts of a husband and father. I will forever strive to meet his examples, and fall short more often than not.

His all too early departure on the wings of golden feathered eagles left a void in so many.  He rose thru tender clouds, to become part of Saturn's Fleet. But his love and mark will remain forever in hearts and souls of all he touched.

I owe not only my presence to him but my goals and aspersions. For I am forever a beneficiary of his endless wisdom. I love you dad.

-Johnny V.

Country Men

The sight of her brazen brow is finer in the light of tourch bearing slaves. For she is exalted in God's embrace. The powerful sound as his angels blow their monstrous horns.

Her voice is hope holding out its hand in the dark, and its sounds are of a calm-throated  and dream filled prophet. Under her watch those with loud endeavoring tongues are sent noiselessly into the darkest nights.

With one coquettish smile she can command bronzed centurions with spurring heels to march forward to their doom. Yet with the same she turns dilapidated streets into pleasant turf filled paths crowded with sweeping sandals.

From such far-foamed sea shores, noble winged creatures flee from their god of torment to her slumberous solitude, and
adoring tears. She can turn those with fanatic obstinacy into country men in a comfortable misery. Content to remain brickmakers and unwilling to disturb her slumber.

-Johnny V.

Sailor's Lament

When she walks by even the sea-king bows his dripping head. Her soft feet lightly mark the walk but leave blanced soil for all who follow.

Her beauty, bequeathes even rebellious tempests, abandoned and begging at the door of the almshouse. She can with ease entrust the most herculean of men with vigorous cravings, each crying an urn of lonely tears.

She leads the most powerful to the altar of the dying, forcing the most devout sailors to allow the ocean to swallow their very stealth.

She alone finds support within the very jagged rocks that take ships to their ultimate doom. As she sits alone draped in golden robes, and pride. The inviolable lovers of the sea become forever a part of its salty realm.

- Johnny V.

Moms of Steel

Left in a berth not of her making, that found Cupid sad. Fate cast her in a tumult and unquiet role, where she would question her very soul.

Closer to her privateness she pulls the woolen scarf of those who came before. It has become her bower in times of perennial tears.

Long before Triton first blew his horn in the time of the old gods, women have been allotted this unique task. Armed solely with a silent lyre and told to bedight tiny angels left unnamed.

Her maddened brain is obscured by steel clouds, and carried by old wives. Yet she endures alone, and with a bewinged quietude, delivers once drunk children along destiny's cartroad to their glossy and red-litten success.

Left tangled in weeping vines, battling half witted men of primitive rank. Her voluptuous rage has left them rapt in tender hoverings. Forever seeking Virgil's counsel as offensive and simple minded paupers. While she with nimble toes, mellifluous sorrows, and ambrosia breath can call forth the divine armies.

Encumbered Souls

She enters as gently as a shadow upon the breath of God. But her undertow is harsh like an indignant empurpled hound.

To the world she exhibits her sovereign diadem as soft, ashen clouds post storm. But alone with her lovers she is a ghoul - haunted turret waiting to cumber their souls with her pettish tears.

She will never have to wrestle her future demons. For so many with the faith of northern brothers will from ebon ramparts, fight with blue and black thunder. She forever slumbers in her mansion of deception as those that love her lay dying in a shack.      

- Johnny V.

Sweetness

Although we were but two ships on a moonlit sail, her power over me is an aeonian flame. I claw and scrape at the speckled grey flesh, but to no gain, for it is her memory that torments my very being.

She has a sweetness which is both timeless and tantalizing, but gnaws the very whiteness of my smile. As vermin to rotting flesh. She will never allow me to stray far from her strength for her desires are gravid.
                                       
She understands she can live beyond her safety, for many blind to her danger will pacify her time and again.  She never need fear retaliation for an embattled soul hasn't the strength to pronounce sentence.

Knowing that she holds a past darker than the far end of the moon. Their love forever her's, and their empty tomb unwilling to seek a new passenger. So hence they remain a hollow vessel,  broken and damaged, for all who later may seek satisfaction.

-Johnny V.

God's Blind Spot

I huddle quietly in God's blind spot. Hoping to avoid his gaze. But he knows of my heartache, despite his refusal.       

I see my funeral pall unfurled and crisp. I become gorged on religious gloom, and send my sour prayers to a god dimissive of my endless pain.

My soul unloved, and rejected,  smiles and reeks of old lovers.

She bathed in mockery and a grey silence, laughs at my false heart. She is as the silk girl bringing gold, both beloved and bitter.

Long before the mighty squires of Athens fell, she was wise with a saber. Now her path littered with the faces of the nameless, and godless.

But I still fortune's fool, entombed and tottered in guilt, stand inside of Hell and stroke the ring of Lucifer.

-Johnny V.

Vivian's Voice

Her beauty rivals even Venus in her glory.
Her sublime and bediamond smile has often rendered gods mute.

The silence remains unbroken as sainted maidens keep watch over the slumbering rose.
Not a single murmur is captured, for quiet even are the wontonest birds.

The river lords of long ago speak fondly of her stubborn soul.
Her once folded wings, once ill-formed and pacified. Now, spirited and unyielding, are patulous toward the noontide.

She is enjeweled in shadowy sounds, as she sails the tumultuous sea.

-Johnny V.

Trust

I carry what's left of my dignity in my pocket like lost coins. For she has spent more than my minor trust could hold.

She treads clumsily across the dried hearts of previous lovers. Her walk remains undisturbed for her skill is   unequaled.

The boulevards are littered with those desperste for her wine flavored glance. Even when they understand it encludes drunken despair. For the wretch is too delicious to feed their empty hunger.

From above the sky changes her hue and rolls to sleep and exposes her darker sister. The doomed lovers with their teardashed eyes, empty,  and turned earthward, slowly gather the lost remains of forgotten tomorrows.

-Johnny V.