She was of the things she loved most amazed
by the soft and billowy folds, the white-plumed
rush of feathers blown black and gold,
thrown down round the splashing surf,
tempest-bound most gathering, searching
among seas hermetic cloisters for her lost haven;
tempted by the woof and weave, the lavender plea
of days sunk in the laving’s of deep sea-beds;
undulating winds, carved thrones of thunderheads,
tempting growth of her whispering cove of years
spent loosing that which all love knows and fears:
blinded by the lust of an arabesque of intricate invention:
of flesh, so cloying and innocent of that benediction
adolescent charm, wandering white star
cascading plumage glow-borne to extreme need,
dallying nights of foam and spray, blessed weavings;
by the waves silver tribute of her midnight refractions
scattering desperate moods; each grafting of silent tally,
labors of a heart’s dark entropic design; transparency
revealing all, the hidden life of ancient stars,
a testing of all we have been and are bringing us
to her golden sanctuary below the greenest sea,
her pale-fire eyes still charming all: life’s magic shadow-show
consummation’s prize within Love’s wounded paradise.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2015 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.
Dr. Rinaldi's Horror Cabinet 
This is beautiful .. the flow of sounds as they roll back and forth like waves, it’s wonderful.
I feel this is a poem I will coming back to read over again 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Glad you enjoyed! Yea, was playing with some sound poetry and decided to rethink Keats as if he were living now… how he’d make the blocks of sound mesh with the sea.
LikeLiked by 1 person