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Robert L. Bixler III

Sorrowful Cries

Clouds of cold, dark depressant
Roll over my loathsome state.
Life has become boring suppressant
To this romantic’s lost love relate.

Agéd air dust, in my lungs, consume
Encompassing sweet aroma
Of passion’s addicting perfume
As this Don Juan lies in coma.

Warm, fast flowing red liquid
Turns frigid blue, sluggish slop
As salty tear drizzle invokes mud;
Dried, hardened crust, from toe to top.

Compassionate, loving heart
Fades to solid, stone elect
As companionships depart
And stone, statue body erect.

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As Thee Will'eth

For the love of thy night creature,
Call’eth, with thy heart, dark romance’s very teacher.
As thee will’eth on thy heavenly plain,
So shall it be in thy hellish refrain.

To bask’eth in divine love
While’st thy bodies fall from above.
For this mortal sin
Will eat ourselves both from within.

Angelic presence should not be tainted
By thy demonic love, so un-sainted.
Pure Spirit of thee hold’st true
To thy darkened fleshly hue.

Still thee summons thy shade
And thyself appears as inferno’s flames fade.
True love, in eye-lock’eth gaze, commence
As we art to be’eth together forever since.

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Trials of Romanticism

In He walks, perfectly smart,
The one that every man should be.
One glance, He steals many a’ heart.
His finesse does every eye see.
Ear caressing words spoken
In palatable voice, an audible romance.
Hymns to heal the heartbroken;
Intonations to aide Love’s advance.
Upon sight and sound, her thoughts roam
As He is the one she would take home
For parental consent; Wedding bells chime in dance.

Though this future image is natural,
Of the romantic child’s truth,
Now, such actions deemed as in-actual
Since the young desire sweet-tooth
Candies that could decay thy very soul;
For the fresh hearted crave the entertaining one.
Wild antics, rash thoughts and a bad dole,
Know a boyfriend, single pun.

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