1 min read
Слушать(AI)Wanderer in Circe’s cave
Thy couch - theurgy, panoply - art.
Tell, prophecy’s curse or merit?
Or prophesier’s metamorphosis int’ archer?
In names of whose mourns thou hear.
Renaissance Poetry
Conosceste i dubiosi desiri?
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Wuthering Heights - th’ last creak of th’ gates
Lunacy’s lucidity’s short, but inconsolable, Affiance commences peacefully and long lives. Thenceforth, I desiccate of thy return chalice. Cause old manuscripts are saved, but charred,
Wuthering Heights - memory’s an unsent letter
Arbor emptied occluded by autumn early come, Th’ stone giant’s rooted like a loner in candle spark, Door’s wheezing for mother nay listened to her wench, Th’ bench waiting for th’ nurse called long agone for lunch.
Wanderer in Circe’s cave
A crimson path led me to delusional arts, The swing of justice hoaxed me, As human tortured their faith in gyves To welcome torched Justice to vacancy.
