Tuesday, November 18, 2014

A Nursery rhyme, not my authorship however in this case.




  


"Mistress Mary, Quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With Silver Bells, And Cockle Shells,
Sing cuckolds all in a row."

Sweet Love and Death's mercy!


I would think this song play well in contrast of reading this poem try it to know how I feel.






Sweet like deaths embrace to be no more sweet, If I had not Beloved I would adore death instead, for death meets us all, and yet love just as dear might pass you up and so sweeter is the deprived hope before death comes, to seek and look and wonder will my lover be in my arms before reaped and sighed with all my happy sorrow, but I ask does it matter before death?



No, my dear Love, for Death is merciful and if kind swift, and though you may be quick to day every life is no more quickened and this mercy before Love without a Home, my dear in the cold, with no green little thing to nibble on to be so hunted by Pan, fear not even Pan comes to death hunted by death and this is life forever consuming and being consumed, for love is just another fire even as holy fire consumes what not fit for your lips so is my love, consuming both sacred and profane lives, for Death takes all things!



After and a time, a bat of Shiva eyes, Aum that open and the universe is over and time departs and his eyes close to another day. For such was my life the darkness and the light and the returning and falling away to slumber for waking destruction and joy for such is my pleasure! Oh Love! I miss you so but shall we embrace and again to know your warmth once again, for death comes and time is short!




My heart sings before hope broken before broken promises,
and wonder without a hope to be dashed to bits,
before your mystery and torment's agony that wonder,
Shall hope keep my warm, no!
Shall anticipation bring me joy, no!
Shall desire for you bring me peace, no!
But I do, I do, I do, think the cold, sorrow, starving
 to continue my worth in all my woe,
a worth of your love to say,



I continue on not in hope, not in anticipation, not in desire,
but for you, my life continue on for you,
for cold, sorrow, starving are things worthy only death,
the taking of my life without you,
Oh my beloved, let me depart or come nigh onto me,
oh good comfort and tender compassion that is you,
for without you only death can be my relief!





Written by yours truly
Mark
Edward
De Zonia,
as everything in text, save quotes of dead men,
and nursery rhymes, when no one knows who,
yet I am even as an author writes what he knows!