Pity excites no such
Essence of retribution,
Impenitent idiosyncrasy, but of
Revelations that pour
A perpetual multitude of
Questions upon a man's consciousness...
Content be the [indelible] soul of
Man to heaven but of hell, eternal anguish
undoubtedly from that of
Celestial above?
Oh, such merit melancholy upon thy,
[heart]
A catastrophe documented
Amongst catastrophes...
Having no beginning or end but lasting
for all eternity
Oh, who be I to grasp
The souls from [this]
Fiery Inferno
In means to provide
Sanction, the breath
Of the earth,
The substance only desired
Inevitably once in the grasps of hell with
one's
Vessel
About the Creator
Kevin Miles
"I only live to make God famous".
I craft “Accidental” masterpieces.
Screenwriter
Words were fed to me through the umbilical chord...
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More stories from Kevin Miles and writers in Poets and other communities.
Umbras
Micro progressions towards heaven Debonair, bedaubed…you settled nigh the sternmost postern…No ricochets (of) ere glowering enthralls resonating…caprioling amidst peripherals refulgent in blithesome candescence…enthralled, I’ve burgeoned the assertion ere the nullity afore a quiddity fore incognizance I intermittently subsist yearning ere your advertence…Ere certainty, Savauge…Mojito…replenished…honeycombed, perhaps a Scotch or Jack…hmmm…a gentleman’s drink…an umbra bomber jacket…caliginous skin settled, perfected…ambrosial, palatable, succulent…I actuate apropos you ere the fourth gest umbra and anon, each one accedes to micro (diminutive) progressions towards heaven…howbeit, i lyeth inconspicuous…damn near inconsequential anon tis’ “your” fabled, chimerical contiguity whilst caliginous albeit “your” drink subsists (is) mouthwatering…Our espies fastened, embosoming a perturbing in “my” quintessence…
By Kevin Miles2 years ago in Poets
Once More Unto The Breach
He let the sword slip through his other gauntleted hand. Athlistan stood atop the crest of the rubble of Bordanium’s ruptured curtain wall. Beyond, the remnants of the Saxon’s first assault regrouped. They would come again–Athlistan knew it.
By Matthew Fromm3 days ago in Fiction
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