Closed

I turn to see you, a cigarette between your loveless lips. The orange burns the darkness as you fill your black lungs. Your skin once soft with youth, now dry and blemished with age. Your eyes once pools of love, now only awant for joy. Withal you almost stole my heart.

I saw beauty where only falsehood doth lay. I felt fondness where only a frigid soul exists. Your mouth that once spoke only honey scented words, now but a stank chasm for swine. I once held you captive inside a pallid and unfolding moon. Now I know your soul is but an empty chamber of Rome.

Oh why did my heart alight in thee? For you know foul my air with the bodies of your old lovers unburied. Your once gentle unrestrained spirit, now only a transient celebration of vague worth. Yet still men do clamber to your bosom unaware of the swindle of death that awaits them. I was an angel trapped in a golden web, now free of any of your wiles.

-Johnny V.

Devotee

      Her devotees, once great and fine men now kept in a charnel house, struggle as angels caught in her silver web. She as lovely and graceful, like a dancer upon a cloud of gold, her soft feet floating above its sheen, making it softer with each step.
      They like panicked, bleating sheep unaware that she, their malefic Sheppardess has in store only a fatal fall. None shall elude her grasp nor bunk her manipulative trait. For she is wise and accomplished with her forked tongue.  Many have loved her but each in turn has ended scar ridden, and joyless.

-Johnny V.

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Silk Skirt

Look ye upon my maiden fair, as she dances across the morning dew. The gilded God of Passion smiles for she alone is beauty's delight. The pattern on her silk skirt glistens about as she moves with a goddess like grace.

Bleak shall not hold her, nor sadness enter her spirit.joy and live are her prosperity and happiness follows her whispered promises. Her soul, brightly clothed with gladness doth spawn a melodious hue of beauty.

Jealous Woe

I try to plant my humour in the soil of heaven, but I am befooled. The false dawn creeps and forces it upon the wet rocks, doomed to wither in the shadows of doubt. Angels doth pull a face as I toil fruitless knowing it will yield not a stem of value.

My joy is bereft of account and cold as ash upon the clay. My cries will only mock my lips and charge only silence to the savior's ears. His prideful sheep delight in their glib wonder. So I remain a tale of jealous woe told to idiots.

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Inquiet Smile

            I am as a scuttle pot, dusty and smutty, awaiting her cleansing breath to wash away my sorrow. With a wry smile she culls my hindered transgressions, and her joy can fulfill my most inscrutable desires.

            My deepest wounds will watch as she enters my soul, forcing old brutal foes made newly fangless to bite. She creates bumbling simpletons of my twin born gallant enemies. My joy increases with each graceful step she takes. I listen to her gentle voice which can if needed ring the ears of any who bid me harm.

            Alone she can sustain my struggled and inquiet spirit. She understands that I will hold tightly to my untruth until the pain of belief becomes too heavy to bear. I beg that her grace will complete my dismal and thirsty being.

-Johnny V.

Salutations

     Burn ye the flame of joy from all sides and hold fast to those so dear, for soon they will drift from your strength. Rage against the rejection of the betrayer resist the damage she does, let not the scarlet orb beat with wrath, stay true and pride shall not abate.

 

     Hold not any reverence towards Satan's anger though he may set your tinderbox spirit aflame, for Allah will hold you in his sight. Keep no fear then when conferred to the holy gate but look your savior in the eye and justify your worldly exploits to finish your journey.

 

     Do no become ensnared in your father's cold dreamless sleep, stand alone carry not his worry to your doom. For we all one day will find ourselves in the bosom of Morpheus. Our teeth broken upon the thirty pieces of wretched siliver bought to sav our soul, finding our demise as we backstep to our grave.

 

     Ah what a muddy and clumsy mess is man, yet once freed from our poverty we doth shine with his enduring grace. Those who belight in their lower stations shall not his savior's gladness, see. One must put the bastions of disease and squalor to the sword, even when rusty tearstained angels deliver grim salutations.

 

- Johnny V.

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December Snow

     In the want of sunlight the galvanic streetlamp shines its false securtiy. Rejected by those he loves, his courage belittled he is the once pious bird beating imoulded wngs in regret. The day ends and he sleeps on the shadowy cot of sour lies.

 

     With a shepard's manner, and timid cry he awaits God's notice. But God defers his glory for those he alone deems worthy. Standing under the wood structure in Satan's yard he shields his face fromthe cold December snow falling in May, and hiding his newborm path in its white softness. His mind swans to a more joyous time, before he lived on borrowed sorrow.

 

     The silky seductive goddess doth tempt our valliant paladin, like a siren in Poseidon's employ she calls him to the rocks. Her dancing shape is held forever in his serene eyes. He like a deffeated warrior with a gladsome spirit will her bidding perform, his soul lrft scattered axross the property of some unknown foe.

 

-Johnny V

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Vile Whims

She exhibits to the world silk and pius robes, but they only hide her goddless heart. Her unfermented smile is but a curtain for an uncivil tongue. Many dance to her birdsong, yet she takes private delight as they tumble cold and tangled in betrayal. As one defeated soul walks away familiar of her true nature, she welcomes two delightful spirits strange and awkward to her vile whims.

She projects the splendor of Heaven's guilded ceiling, instead delivers the foul stench of Hell's lonely ghetto. Her words, warm and dipped with honey are merely a false voice masking her verbal defecation.  She gauges her victories not for how many pass through her bed chamber, but by how often they crawl away from her lair hopeless and shattered.

Dragon Bone

Her honey tainted promises sour with the stench of decite. I clean my lips, and lick my fingers in defeat.

Midnight knocks and shuts out the light. While I lose the scent of summer from my sight.

She holds out the joy of heaven to my eyes. But I soon learn it is but unreachable lies.

For a moment of her concern I would but murder the world. Her fangs glisten with the moon, their cold venom unfurled.

Upon my soul I carry her purpose alone. Longing ever to touch the seared flesh from the dragon's bone.

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Lust

               Her piercing stiletto heel tears at the leather flesh of my sitting room chair. Her nails through the dark layers of my tender back, streams of scarlet roll past my childhood scars. We kiss and her lips, drip of honey softer than sugar’s piquant sister. The whisper of her name opens her maiden softness willingly to my stern lust.

                I violate her joyous flesh and bite her neck as she calls out to the goddess who grants us this pleasure. She taunts my ridged manliness, we move in perfect synchronicity and become lost in the haunting inclination. Her nails continue their luscious journey down my back, as she rises and falls in our joint delight. I imbibe at the dark stiffness of her capped bosom.

                She strains under the shivers of her freed body, and I pulse harder still, nearing my tolerance. As I call out the name of my tender mistress, she silences me with her warm mouth and tongue. Our breath mingles and the pleasure we share nears its peak. Our bodies blend into one as we both let go our particular need, releasing the result of our lust.

-Johnny V.

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Cradle of Regret

     Once I craddled regret in my hands but as I brought it to my lips it tasted bitter and rotten. So confine regret away from your plateau, dine ye on mercy and love. I laid anger in my bowl but it was flavorless and stale, I pushed it aside and served forgiveness, suddenly my pallet was chock-full and sweet. Then I was constrained to sip of despair  but it fell dry upon my tongue. Finally filled my cup with the milk of tenderness.

 

      Today I put aside infantile emotions and painful aesthetics. Today I sour my mind to unthankful spirits. I regret those unable to verbalize of grace. My soul can no longer ingest these, it cannot be sustainedon emptiness and fear. I willnot consent my heart to wither upon the vine of false pride. Leave my aspect any and all who doubt my purpose or refuse my hearth. For I have come too far to accept only cold and causal agency.

-Johnny V.

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Poverty

They look to heaven with prospect ladder eyes, as the frigid wind cuts across their tattered garments.  Their earthly concern ends at the nearest school-yard, although their dreams may surpass the universe's knowledge.  However, here they are forgotten left like beggars in the snow. Lost inside a winter fog, unaware the news of summer's escape.

Ignored and abandoned youth ensnared twixt life and death, never to interpret to which path they belong. They are dispatched to the libraries of those in command, while the book of answers is kept hidden from their sight. Still they are asked to thrive in a creation where resolutions are equal with strength and control.

Those who hold the power will place the book within nurseries of their own result. Teaching the inhabitants to ridicule and scorn those who lag behind. Instructing they must shun and reject their unfamiliar plight, for fear it should envelope all.

-Johnny V.

Velvet Scent

Her beauty can set ablaze the frozen winter night. My veneration to her is boundless and complete. She alone brings joy to the darkest sapience of my tragic strength. She affords me but a brief moment to hold and taste her joyous smile. When done and my fill is had it was if I lived well beyond God’s plan.

                But that glorious and fleeting savour of her was greater than any addiction a soul could bear. For with each sip she fed my weak being and too my desire to be nearer. She could enrich my poverty by her very companion. It takes but her gentle carom and my fears are at once rendered orphans and will roam as vagabonds far from my stead.

                I am therefore in her eternal debt owing her my port of salvation. Yet not a single tally doth she scribe, for as each day ends my transgressions she wipes clean. Each new dawn with blank slate I bid her true pleasures bring, and caress her sweet grace in my velvet scented hands.

-Johnny V.

Pained Creature

The frail, wooden ferry drifts past my station. Charon’s purse is heavy with my gold. Yet he will not stop and await my board. I will not make the river crossing this night, for my duties on this side remain unfinished. I first, God claims must forgive the cruelty she imparted to me, but this I cannot do. For then I must concur that harm and mal-thought were in her mind. Defeated thought it may be my heart is unwilling to accommodate her infliction. I must also accept that she is less than I believed flawless and precious.

She, like others before, is a bruised and pained creature of the Lord, with no desire to return to me. So hopelessly I linger trapped partly in both worlds but incompetent to join in the joys granted by either. I am but a surveyor, an observer of happiness and love enjoyed by others and pulled far beyond my grasp.

-Johnny V.

Love's Sojourn

Her articulation is but an echo within the wintry walls of my empty heart. I am no longer allowed to hear her false charms which once encouraged me blindly into a fresh Hell. I have moved beyond the matrons of prudence, their reprove harms me not. I will no longer give tongue and howl in the darkness. My anguish will not draw tears from eyes unfamiliar.

My delight for what is to come holds fast to its willowy mast. For this is a journey that has felt my charriot's wheels many a solar day.  I have passed this occasion more than I can remember. By chance it will become my endmost sojourn.

-Johnny V.

Courage

Impotent is he to filter the danger from the joy she provides his comfort. Yet she will not earmark even a sliver of the cognition to understand the difference. Her scent forever burned into the cryptic tumblers of his heart. But her mocking betrayal weighs heavy upon his soul, leaving it bland, dry, and awant for acceptance.

                Her cruelty will not encumber his stand atop the hill of passion, nor can she use her tyrannical sway to stifle his freedom to flee his brutal situation. So with renewed strength he can lay low the ramparts which she has held secure, and make weak her power to capture the whispers of mirth. His once weak limbs now bastioned with the impassioned flood of courage.

                He will however not taste the way she bleeds, for his mightiness extends beyond the ghosts in his head. He knows that life can be and imperfection confessed which atones prior sinful deeds. He considers that only desire lies deep within her cold heart of fame so he departs on impudent gossamer wings to become the thief of newly spoken dreams.

-Johnny V.

Blistered Hearts

        The apathy of the night’s sleep is inflated by the howls of the deep winter hounds. They squall with loneliness knowing only God’s reflective light. For they, like I are among the creator’s mishaps. Ignored as he dotes upon those made opulent by his grace. So we roam unnoticed, and spurned until blame and punishment are needed to unburden the beautiful.

 

        Ignorant are we to the fears we create in those so deeply loved. Their inclination to leave us only the menial of tasks, then brushed aside as a flower of lint clinging to her skirts. So we the lunatic fringe crawl along the dark and angry thoroughfares desperate for even and neglected brass farthing, trodden underfoot.

 

Left then with blistered hearts, spoiled and yellow with age. God’s laughter at my pain familiar as a lover’s touch across my thirsty ungentle skin, cold as a spinster left at the altar. Weeping copious tears while the stingy gadfly turns dumb and paralyzed with love.

-Johnny V.

Nectar'd Kisses

Her smile brightens the vastness of my prison of disposition. Only her unequaled touch can prevent me a mortal sin. To her I owe my egress from a decent toward madness. I hold her heart to my dignity and beg to remain forever within her ardent sight. Her regard can turn my Spartan furiousness to Athenian humour, and her nectar’d kisses turn my stale flesh to rose scented vegetation.

-Johnny V.

Unwashed Queen

Desire presents to me her boney and faltering hand, gloved in childish joys. I take it wanting to amend my cheerless dreams, but tis for naught for my heart is a vacant chair dusted and weak from years of ill-use. The old and unwashed queen sits alone at her brittle and peckish throne. I kneel before her unholy gaze, which is indifferent as the hermit amoung the crowds.

The orb of day begins its climb. I see only the speck that will cloud my joy. Small and meaningless to others my darkness wanders thru the wickets of my spirit. Yes my dimpled cheek may smile but nothing but her embrace will ever gladen my garden. Rejection dooms me to walk the gallows wrapped in the petty shroud of inconstant affection.

-Johnny V.

Neshama's Quiet

Her sadness is long but will not stain her dark beauty. For her loveliness comes from a deep stead where the pain will not tinge. Her past has left scares more numerous than the scientists’ resurrection but she manages to turn them to mellow and gentle flowers adding to her grace. Her dark and bright eyes make the moon herself too shy to radiate.

 

Yet her great poverty is seen only by those allowed inside her endless quiet. Ever the respite for those in need, she cradles her desire for a different time. This is done oft to her detriment for the kind heart can attract the lying tongue. Silently she suffers the unyielding pangs of guilt.

 

Her strength and bravery come from millennium of exertion by ancestors who moved history. Fearlessness passes through her veins feeding her spirit and authority in one enduring stream. She is owner of a shrine of truth many foes have discharged slings and arrows of hate to her berth. But a beauty remains that no vice shall mar.

-Johnny V.