Magic Shakespeare

The last romantic...

Briefly departs his Shakespeare

Pages serenading sublimity

Juxtaposing the beauty of the stars

To the abyssal depth in lover's eyes

Lost in sonnet sunset

And the pentameter of lonesome sighs...

His heart must surely be a fish

Lovelorn wanting such oceans of wish.

To feel alive from being torn

Into madness A tumultuous storm....

The last romantic far from paths

And roads leading home,

Far from metropole and reality

In solitude a garden gnome...

Deformed from lack of society's

Influential propriety

Of hurry get married, of monogamy,

Grooms bride for every norm...but no.

Oh how aloof and naively blind

Dismissing the tutors' lessons in mundane life

The logic of lovelife like reasoning

These days of mail order brides,

Milfs and Latin booty seasonings,

Are now for bid to buy (at auction price)

How is this decency or poetic

The Geometry of a fit sound mind?

(High on cloud nine, in line for a hookers time?)

Oh dear King Lear, what's happened here?

Sign of our times slow demise

Yet no one questions such schisms

Or ask why?

The illness of the romantic was once floral

It sickens with sweetness and aww

A dreamers pox deluded flight

Psychedelic was the high

(just stop all that effing rhyme time)



Perhaps it's self inflicted

Conditioned poetic days

To view all the world with love

Fauning eyes awake

Maybe in his idolatry of medieval adultery

There is a sort of peace

Of mind, of truth

May be accidentally it is found

Far from the madness of the heartless,

Mindless Crowds

Murdering muse and moody blues

By the numbers we color refuse and defuse

These digital days that pass in fog

Diminished worth

From fears' poison smog,

An unlived unloved life askew

Dead to chances made aloud

And The perfect time is now...


Perhaps the last romantic chooses to go without

Shredding a painful tear

Detours introverted meekly feels

Avoiding any meaningful kiss

With every passion

* petite mort...* a tiny death my dears

Some cannot handle such tragedy

Star crossed youth I hear are

All fools for love

And Still will / surely must die,

Whether from wounds of doubts

Drowning in Lies of ties that bind...

Still true love with imperfect hearts

Revere

Our Immortal beloveds

And the last romantic

Near or far away from here

Romancing whispers, the lovely

Untouched years

Heavy as a hollow bone

Broken in perpetual wish

His soul yet to atone a life of fear

Bewitched by drama's

Magic Shakespeare.

Reviews

[Johnny Dep]

To feel alive from being torn
Far from the madness of heartless..
These lines, I loved them, Of course your poem too.
Thank you Butch for sharing.