Surrealistic Masquerade

Form: A Glosa of Echo Sonnets

Texte:

A rose in the high garden you desire.
A wheel in the pure syntax of steel.
The mountain stripped bare of Impressionist fog,
The grays watching over the last balustrades.

Sonnet I

A rose in the high garden you desire,
the carmine lips that promise your delight
and fragrant pleasures found beyond the night
where flames of passion burn within love's fire.
And amber sparks the dreams which shall inspire
my artists touch as you my muse sip wine
and senses brush against a world divine
where flames of passion burn within love's fire.
To dance with you across the raging pyre
the wildest ride I found; your smiling grace
to take my hand within this secret place,
where flames of passion burn within love's fire.
A rose in the high garden you desire
where flames of passion burn within love's fire.

Sonnet II

And a wheel in the pure syntax of steel,
recalls the carbon nights I spent with you,
the ground lay scented with your rosy hue
those dreams, which I can no longer conceal.
Beneath the moon, you taught me how to feel,
the ebb and flow of love which courted me,
a cerise kiss opened my heart to see,
through dreams which I can no longer conceal.
You took my soul and let the stars reveal,
the love residing deep inside a thought,
a glimpse of existence my heart has sort
in dreams which I can no longer conceal.
And a wheel in the pure syntax of steel,
those dreams, which I can no longer conceal.

Sonnet III

Mountain stripped bare of impressionist fog
my soul as naked in your gazing eyes,
beneath the willow trails, you heard my sighs
while sat in love upon a seasoned log.
At summer's end the leaves so gently jog
upon the autumn's breeze where we first kissed,
when in the garden high above the mist
while sat with you upon a seasoned log.
My life of art without the missing cog
as empty as the board before the paint
until you gave me love without restraint,
while sat with you upon a seasoned log.
Mountain stripped bare of impressionist fog
while sat with you upon a seasoned log.

Sonnet IV

The grays watching o'er the last balustrades,
are fading in the autumn shades of red,
as song illuminates the way ahead
at this first dance of Modron's masquerade.
My goddess brings a light to darker shade,
your sweetest love the waxen scarlet flame
that swirls inside my molten heart's acclaim
at this first dance of Modron's masquerade.
The love I feel like waterfall's cascade
amid the circle built of ancient stone,
where like a queen upon the rowan throne,
at this first dance of Modron's masquerade.
The grays watching o'er the last balustrades,
at this first dance of Modron's masquerade
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

©JGFarmer2016

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