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GuyAdler Dorelien

The Ravens Caw

The ravens caw,
Raps around my flesh,
It ravages my mind,
Like an empty house.
Empty yet not, as scarred is the lover of this house,
Her words are bitter,
But they echo sweetly in this empty house.
Yet the ravens caw,
Has, left its mark, on my flesh.

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Rhapsody of a Simple Kiss

Simple a kiss,
Plagued in soft lips,
A lip genuinely pure,
On touch;
A lip genuinely in need,
Of a slow kiss;
A leisurely sweet kiss
Inducing and quivering my lips with a thousand sweet taste.
She smiles, genuinely smiles
When I kiss, when I whisper,
“I love you, genuinely love you”.

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The Family House

Look at this family’s house masked in beauty.
Waiting to be unraveled like a delicate rose.
so Let us take a peek inside
To witness the cracked floors,
the broken doors,
and the decaying rose petals, scattered by a child.
Left to be compiled
with the rest of this house,
rotting wood and flesh.
Look at this family’s house masked in beauty.

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Playing a masterpiece of false reality

Keys hit softly
Keys hit sadly
Yet it’s perfectly beautiful,
In every way.
It speaks of oppression
It speaks of war
Yet it’s still beautiful
In every way.
It paints stunning images of death
It paints stunning images of violence
And still it is beautiful in every way
Until
Until realities key is hit just perfectly.
And everything that was once beautiful,
Plummets into woe.

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A Cup.....

I drink from a cup filled with sorrow,
Bitter and sweet yet it has a symphony of no tomorrow.
And all around me I’m surrounded by these familiar and unknown roses,
All with an expressionless composure.
As I feel like any delusional man should,
Invisible and misunderstood.
Yet It’s funny and sad how sorrow and depression,
Becomes my sweetest companions.
Tell me death, tell me love
How these inspiring dreams do fasten an abandoned dove,
Into the cup from, which I drink my own sorrow.

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There she stands

There she stands in the fog of a bridge.
Her curves outlined and showered by an indigo moon.
Her face alluring, her hazel eyes cheerless,
That I wonder what bitter sweet secrets lay on the tip of her lip.
What may my love weaved of wind do,
May it speak of my feelings for such a striking stranger?
But alas I too am a stranger whose lesser and mysterious appeals,
Are like the fog that surrounds her.

Visions of my shapeless lips are kissing her lips,
Visions of her laughter are riding on the wind that is me.
And visions of eternal bliss with bitter sweet arguments,
Allows me to muster courage,
That could take a raging sea or an erupting volcano.
But alas my heart to is a shapeless thing,
That my feelings for her are left floating in the air,
Never being able to sooth her pain or quench my curiosity.

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