September 25, 2025

Golden Stones.part two

From oft a sunny times benediction whose concrete pale revoked 
From the spectre of impuissant etiolate and benighted accost
Not crooned to the weary tales gobsmacked by wanton womb
Of passionate eyes that begat the youthful sinew of the sweet labour
Upon the ransom of sweet labour art the golden palaces been built,
Golden hills the epitome of gilded chambers for the freaks with plentitudinous midas touch,not mired with desolate palms 
Where peeped beauty broke the lattice of calumny,
To evade tarnished heels at the feet of golden hills 
Upon this moist of genteel molass a plaited heave of broken straw
Which rebuted ill witted navel from the sisterly vale of the tempest sun
Whereon wilderness ramblings might sombre what it sometimes stolid
Gone away from the mother's womb over this writ of sad tuned tales for the brokerage of halcyon times
The nebulous carapace of stardom and subtle bliss
Weeping eyes had turned passionate eyes 
Into vintage lurk of beautiful vineyards 
Had scythed that beautiful sinew in splendiferous roses might breathe
Nor all sinew ever stale ;but golden roses of heaven's fell upon them
As they waded through lattice of smeared eaon
Oft did sweet labour pelts them with golden palms to their ransom,
Not snubbed of consecrated showers 
Dancing amorphous at the velvet Sheen of the arms of the Morpheus 
Trenches in gallows in reprisal reprimands,
Laundering in the brine and brash tide ,sagacity of forlorn shrieks
Thralldom of the season envelopes the season of obscurity 
Not often crepuscular to renounce the rebukes it mints
Froth with carriage ride to bemoan the dancing distance 
Sometimes battery and assault could betray the nonchalant cobwebs
And lo where fabulous sabrerattlers winged eyeliner for hooded eyes 
Be dimmed with elopement and subterranean subterfuge 
The vociferous noises from the golden hills,
Nature cannot hide either the fragrance or the aroma 
Oft to elope uncut and so fair gems and fair roses at the top echelon had no veil
And every triumphal glide is heard atop the Himalayas and everest 
To the spheres of intention and its sphinx 
Cavorting birth of beautiful roses in the spring tide
The mausoleum of the wailing earth is dug ere its sobbing exit
Not morphed with with shack and shard of shrieking clamours,
To benumb the praise less palms of their carriage ride 
Forlorn shrieks marred in forlorn cheeks reddish pale deny
Behold intention o intense intentions hold the grazes prime
From the grazes lend of the passionate eyes 
Her pretense nor lax,nor lank is tied formal breach
To plead the mother's womb to consecrate and timely birth sweet labour 
Consternation in the gully streets of gallantry plays the talon of her crafts in sublime plow
Not the sheaved greenfields to jettison the golden ambush of sunny times 
Tis a million roses from the gallivant elves of sweet labour drew
From the feast of loose negligence slackly braided for the megalomaniac grit of iron palms
Of immaculate eagles and crystal birds in the sky,battling eyelids for the city of gold 
Which beneath by above they in flight spasmodically threw,
Upon those weeping earth catalogue of new roses are found in subtle ploughs 
Of rebuttals and rebutted poofs,had she the eagle dung in vain
Which stole many beneath a prey held in captivity of the eagle's escapades 
Predated thrown in the sepulchre of the eagle's playing mud 
Found no yet respite besides this moist temperament of the playing mud
With bestiality of the terrifying claws broached perfectly hapless preys
These ramrods of golden roses often birth passionate eyes with the burnish of her sweet labour 
Hence by breaking discontents break away from the fringes of penury 
What sickly intent of beguiling sport dost thou bear nebula of sweet labour to wade through the scarecrows of the murky clouds unscathed!
When sweet labour detest it be annulled so vanishes they the nebula from the nightmare of passionate eyes to dung the gallivanting pathways at the golden valley 
By grievances not suffocated by ecstasy assuage
Nor frightening ambust to elope from memory the ordeal of forlorn shrieks.
How unwavering affection stood up to the golden hills 
Mated to the womb of gallantry.




















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