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| Topic: In Days Of Old | |
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I once was a cactus passing by
with prickly fingers and prickly thighs and the boys did try to stay away. They knew for me it was not a game but life or death like Russian roulette and it did not suit me, not suit me well or so they said, for a maiden to be as haughty as I. "take me to heart, don't lead me astray!" I said but all their wanted was to play. I disguised my thorns and thistles as luxurious hair, braided and molded it, to battled I went though merely content to dance. They pressed me close, ground me between their thighs left me there to moan and sigh, my beautiful thorns and thistles did die. I mourn this, for days, for months for years. Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone. No longer do I believe what they say. Where is the desert rose that I once was, who needed little more but sun, whose lovely fruit was eaten away and still would like to play? Where is the haughty me, my haughty self? For her I cry! For she was not bad,cruel or mean,just merely naive to believe that playing was fair. |
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wonderful analogy...and sad to know we can't get back that innocence of thought and belief
 
your writing always makes me think 
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wonderful analogy...and sad to know we can't get back that innocence of thought and belief
your writing always makes me think
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'I mourn this, for days, for months for years.
Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone.' I think those lines alone could stand by themselves as that particular stanza. They say it all and in my opinion are powerfully beautiful and leaving just enough wonderment for the reader to use their own perceptions in understanding what you are writing about.
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'I mourn this, for days, for months for years. Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone.' I think those lines alone could stand by themselves as that particular stanza. They say it all and in my opinion are powerfully beautiful and leaving just enough wonderment for the reader to use their own perceptions in understanding what you are writing about.
 
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I once was a cactus passing by with prickly fingers and prickly thighs and the boys did try to stay away. They knew for me it was not a game but life or death like Russian roulette and it did not suit me, not suit me well or so they said, for a maiden to be as haughty as I. "take me to heart, don't lead me astray!" I said but all their wanted was to play. I disguised my thorns and thistles as luxurious hair, braided and molded it, to battled I went though merely content to dance. They pressed me close, ground me between their thighs left me there to moan and sigh, my beautiful thorns and thistles did die. I mourn this, for days, for months for years. Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone. No longer do I believe what they say. Where is the desert rose that I once was, who needed little more but sun, whose lovely fruit was eaten away and still would like to play? Where is the haughty me, my haughty self? For her I cry! For she was not bad,cruel or mean,just merely naive to believe that playing was fair. I bow to thee...and...to your written words...can I have your autograph ?...lol...nicely done .... 
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I once was a cactus passing by with prickly fingers and prickly thighs and the boys did try to stay away. They knew for me it was not a game but life or death like Russian roulette and it did not suit me, not suit me well or so they said, for a maiden to be as haughty as I. "take me to heart, don't lead me astray!" I said but all their wanted was to play. I disguised my thorns and thistles as luxurious hair, braided and molded it, to battled I went though merely content to dance. They pressed me close, ground me between their thighs left me there to moan and sigh, my beautiful thorns and thistles did die. I mourn this, for days, for months for years. Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone. No longer do I believe what they say. Where is the desert rose that I once was, who needed little more but sun, whose lovely fruit was eaten away and still would like to play? Where is the haughty me, my haughty self? For her I cry! For she was not bad,cruel or mean,just merely naive to believe that playing was fair. I bow to thee...and...to your written words...can I have your autograph ?...lol...nicely done ....
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I once was a cactus passing by with prickly fingers and prickly thighs and the boys did try to stay away. They knew for me it was not a game but life or death like Russian roulette and it did not suit me, not suit me well or so they said, for a maiden to be as haughty as I. "take me to heart, don't lead me astray!" I said but all their wanted was to play. I disguised my thorns and thistles as luxurious hair, braided and molded it, to battled I went though merely content to dance. They pressed me close, ground me between their thighs left me there to moan and sigh, my beautiful thorns and thistles did die. I mourn this, for days, for months for years. Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone. No longer do I believe what they say. Where is the desert rose that I once was, who needed little more but sun, whose lovely fruit was eaten away and still would like to play? Where is the haughty me, my haughty self? For her I cry! For she was not bad,cruel or mean,just merely naive to believe that playing was fair. I bow to thee...and...to your written words...can I have your autograph ?...lol...nicely done ....
make that...Amazin' Grace !!...lol...remember what they say...just cause my head comes to a point...doesn't mean I'm sharp !...
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I once was a cactus passing by with prickly fingers and prickly thighs and the boys did try to stay away. They knew for me it was not a game but life or death like Russian roulette and it did not suit me, not suit me well or so they said, for a maiden to be as haughty as I. "take me to heart, don't lead me astray!" I said but all their wanted was to play. I disguised my thorns and thistles as luxurious hair, braided and molded it, to battled I went though merely content to dance. They pressed me close, ground me between their thighs left me there to moan and sigh, my beautiful thorns and thistles did die. I mourn this, for days, for months for years. Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone. No longer do I believe what they say. Where is the desert rose that I once was, who needed little more but sun, whose lovely fruit was eaten away and still would like to play? Where is the haughty me, my haughty self? For her I cry! For she was not bad,cruel or mean,just merely naive to believe that playing was fair. I bow to thee...and...to your written words...can I have your autograph ?...lol...nicely done ....
make that...Amazin' Grace !!...lol...remember what they say...just cause my head comes to a point...doesn't mean I'm sharp !...
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I once was a cactus passing by with prickly fingers and prickly thighs and the boys did try to stay away. They knew for me it was not a game but life or death like Russian roulette and it did not suit me, not suit me well or so they said, for a maiden to be as haughty as I. "take me to heart, don't lead me astray!" I said but all their wanted was to play. I disguised my thorns and thistles as luxurious hair, braided and molded it, to battled I went though merely content to dance. They pressed me close, ground me between their thighs left me there to moan and sigh, my beautiful thorns and thistles did die. I mourn this, for days, for months for years. Where are my thorns, whose beauty once penetrated their flesh? Vanished, vanquished, turned to daggers with in my eyes. The innocent excitement I had for lover's words has all but gone. No longer do I believe what they say. Where is the desert rose that I once was, who needed little more but sun, whose lovely fruit was eaten away and still would like to play? Where is the haughty me, my haughty self? For her I cry! For she was not bad,cruel or mean,just merely naive to believe that playing was fair. I bow to thee...and...to your written words...can I have your autograph ?...lol...nicely done ....
make that...Amazin' Grace !!...lol...remember what they say...just cause my head comes to a point...doesn't mean I'm sharp !...
well...I think you may have me whipped...on both accounts...but...I'll try to hold up my end of the equation... 
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 With-in you is a writer. Inside you is truth. On this page before us is the ink from your soul, your life's temptations,and contentment
A poet born again.
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With-in you is a writer. Inside you is truth. On this page before us is the ink from your soul, your life's temptations,and contentment
A poet born again.
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Truly unique write....
Very nice enderra 
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