Death
To the souls who live beneath our feet
To souls burdened by the dreadful dirt.
When I think of thee my heart beat
My soul to the ground, I feel thy hurt.
Through sympathy I think
Thou know the end of mirth
And life here and what it's worth
Please! speak to me so I may give birth
To thy anguish above on beautiful earth.
Me received no reply but a deep buried sigh…
For the leaden stone covers thy head
The squalid worms live in thy bed
I see thou drink from the roots of flowers
and thy see each one to its final hours.
As time passes
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poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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I don't know what to say....
When my old love for you dies a new love blooms. If I loved myself as I love you, a God I would become. When I am lost in the desert of despair, my memory of you is my mirage. A river of sweetness is your tears, their passion is my elixir. If there be no pleasure in our love anymore, than the pain of the pleasure once felt is my consolation. To others peace is the love of solitude, you are the love of my solitude. My heart is lost in thy abyss, and its dark depths I cry. O sweet love O sweet love! My love is in thy sigh. Thy voice brings sweeter messages than the angel Gabriel. If thou chose to hate me, I hate myself the more and thy hate I love, like hate has never been loved before. Underneath the veil of thy shadow my soul does softly glow. On thy skin, my color, does so eloquently express, the universal of love that beats in every poet's chest. I don't know why my heart beats the chords of love to me this day, but I hope they beat forever and to this charm I pray….. When thy speak of being misunderstood, my love echoes in thy heart. If I were to die, all my dreams and aspirations would be attained by thy one sweet breathe no death could take away. God should not give thee to one, one should give thee to God. I have nothing else to say, but sometimes all the expression of the beauty of the love I feel for you gets stolen by three words… I love you.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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A Happy Ending For Ugliness
Grotesque blood in his veins did offensively soak
All beauty from his flesh left humanly wry
Nature did create a human in ugly cloak
Deformed and hideous to every human eye
Man naught look, and looked the other way
As kids spat, laughed and did as they pleased
The ugly man sulked in sadness and did secretly pray
As the young children sneered and derisively teased
‘God love every child's joy, their every laugh
And pity every man, have mercy on the blind
Blame not nature, or nature's sickly wrath
For my ugliness, but be merciful and holy kind.'
While dressed in sodden raiment, penniless penury cloth
Putrid in scent, and malignant rotten skin
Each cloth hole pillaged by feigning disgusting moth
A symbol of life's cruelty, nature's many sin
Other men did say ‘Children! Children! stay away from him
He must not be a healthy man, but sick and ghastly
Ugliness in a human body full to the brim
Touch him and degenerate into death hastily
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poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Love's Lost Letter
As a traversed the earth, looking for gold
I realized my journey was tedious as time is old
Until I found something worth more than treasure
A beautiful soul lost in an enchanting letter.
Like a fool that I am I picked it up,
but to my better, to my pleasure I found something more valuable than ancient old treasure.
The Letter
Lost in heaven, I feel no love, without my dear- there is no bliss for me here. I see languid angels lament with love; the sweetest symphony of fingers playing on strings, strings of their lovers souls. But where art thou? My dear, without thou here, there is no love for me. Upon luxurious clouds, I see serene feet dance on loves free air, and scarlet red roses strewn in their lover's hair, and naked souls who with tender flesh kiss their lover's heart bare! But where art thou… if not here than nowhere! I see Mycenaean hyacinth flowers embroidered on jade green leaves crowned upon the brows of lover's hearts; laurels of love, a sight still not as beautiful as thee. Thee—Where art thou? I see children laughing on Persian green hills and infants sleeping on the delicate petals of giant yellow daffodils. I see pink hues flourish in the azure pastures of heaven, I see vivid dreams of those whom died, I have seen nothing without your grace, I am nothing here without you. This is not heaven, for thou art heaven to me! I see snowflakes toss to and fro in the whistling winds of musical beauty; snowflakes that resemble the eyes of Siberian Huskies—strange light blue snow with dark pupils, like marbles, put much more delicate. I see the maids of heaven with honey dipped blonde hair, drink the snow and twirl in fiery light. I see lovers hidden in a veiled mist indulge in love, where love does truly exist, but not I? I do not exist without you my dear. There is no love in the land of love for me here. Though I cannot weep, for this place is too beautiful for tears to seep. Still I wander in the land of love looking for you my dear. Tired, I close my eyes and see you there, with my soul on thy body and with my love thou wear the paradise of heaven, the land of love, the dreams of that I saw I swear.
Who needs gold?
When love is fortold.
Now I know what love is...
I close my eyes
Perch my lips
And my sweet love gives me a kiss…..
'Never leave me for a minute again! ' said his sweet love.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Liberty and Justice For All
On this day, September 11,2012, I sit here in my soul and reflect about my fellow countrymen and countrywomen who reflect back to me their souls, their courage, their resolve and strength. As an American, the spirit of America is born in me, as I am born in the spirit of America. The will of not just myself, but the will of the people, of us all, moves in me this day.
Our lives, our country, changed drastically on September 11,2001, but our character, our principles of freedom, and the constitution of our nation and our souls did not change but persevered and remained in the forefront of our breasts as we braved the unknown world ahead of us. In God's heaven, or the heaven of our hearts, the lives we lost, now venerate us as we mourn their loss. There is no memorial as grand, no memorial as beautiful, than the memorial we hold in our hearts of the stories of courage, valor, and bravery exhibited on that day. A peaceful sorrow ascends from the mass graves of death, from the Pentagon, from United Airlines Flight 93, and the World Trade Center; this sorrow, this peace from the dead souls mouth whispers to me in vibrant silence,
'We shall be remembered, we shall live forever. In your hearts, our freedom lives.'
What has always disconcerted me is what should be impossible, is possible, and what should be possible, is impossible. A tragedy, an act of violent malice, like Sept.11, should never be possible in life. Indignation and hatred should never burn so immensely as to kill the soul that kills others; but it happened and it still happening.
Now let's work to make the impossible come true. Let's not question ourselves but move with more force, more swiftly to the American Dream; the equality of man and woman, the opportunity for all to prosper, the toleration of all religion, the respect for the rights of the individual, the freedom of thought and the freedom to eat its fruits, the ability to compromise, Justice! America we must become the ideal for the world to follow, we must beat our blood in freedom everywhere we go, we must live in unity, and with resolve stand our ground! This is our peace; this is what the dead souls of 9/11 whisper.... Liberty and Justice for all!
To the Servicemembers who fought, lived and died for our freedoms….
Bless the courageous souls who fought valiantly
And with honor and dignity acted gallantly
In our hearts, your hearts march brave
With solemn virtue, and our minds grave
We cry 'look at all the lives thy save! '
March On!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Love Divine And Divined Love.
Love has seeped out of the vessels of my heart and lathered my soul with pleasure. I cannot stop thinking of you and I cannot stop contemplating the beauty you possess and the life you animate. I pledge my devotion to your life and love for your soul. Each tear lost is a new love born. I keep crying and my love remains afresh and new. I love you so much lady. There is no prospect of my love for you dying; this is to my relief and this is my soul's resolution. In solitude, I have been thinking, why have I been so insolent, cold and misanthropic with those around me? It's because inside I have felt and still feel all my love concentrating on you. Nobody deserves what virtue I may possess but you my sweet love. No one will ever feel a tinge of what I gave, give and will give to you and solely you. Right now time and space is the mortal enemy of our love. I can feel the vexations assail both our souls as we worry astray. My love, let's not lose ourselves in this never ending maze but find each other in ourselves. Let us rest on the cloud of confidence which lies in our souls and remember that first and foremost we love each other. If love creates our vexations and jealousies love can extinguish them as well. We must concentrate our beliefs, our thoughts, our souls on the virtue of love, or its vices and uncertainties shall savage our hearts, our minds and ruin us both. The deepest meanings of life are not found in mysteries, but found in the virtue of the human soul. What we know can set us free from what we don't know. I know you love me unconditionally, and I love you; this will set us free from the pangs of separation. Love is the fortune that will bring us back together and love is the fortune which gives us wealth and beauty.
The ether air of love intoxicates our heart
No death, no time, no space
Can separate our heart apart
Through the mouth of virtue doth love flow
To the heart apart
So the heart shall know
Our love is loftier than the reality of our separation. How could it not be? What is a brief life on this earth compared to the paramount life of eternity in heaven? What is heaven but living in an inexpressible essence of love with you. Our love and what we know has told us this a thousand times and will continue to tell us a thousand times more the truth. I can see the truth and hear it. I can see us sauntering above time and space, elevated above the human consciousness, married in unity, in heart soul and body, in the imperial air of heaven, majestic with wonder, and in perfect love.
Ascending from depths of earth
Our hearts unite in the ethereal realm
Wert love give birth to immortal mirth
In her life we shall whelm
Love has made ignorance more ignorant of itself and knowledge known to knowledge's self. Our love imbues the highest ideals of man and woman with marvel and real merit and made the impossible the only possibility in life and death.
The yearning of love surpasses fate
To the soul of truth, to the soul of great
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poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Strange Romance
"Romance is lost; romance is forgotten; romance has died; the young lady with ocean blue eyes and skin as fair as the tips of oceans waves heart has been broken, " exclaimed the poet whom is lost in an age that did not fit in his frame of mind.
In 19th century France, John would have been considered a genius but in modern day America people considered him insane. You see, he lacked the moral perception to discern good and evil. He saw the sweetness in sin and the vacuousness of virtue. He thought nature to be mundane and gave each of its creations the romance of the five senses. To him each flower could smell the honey of the bees, each bird chirped a song of love to the branches of the trees, and each apple could savor the taste of light peach lips curvaceous as a woman's hips.
"The young lily, the bella, whose blonde hair vibrates like tremendous threads of thin gold, glass heart has been smeared by lies, her gracefulness marred by a charlatan's cruel eyes. Her art, integrity and honor sold cheaply to dilettantes. Shattered in pieces one will never feel the full affect of her beating heart again."
Mr. Wilde's words "Thy love not art, " displayed their succinct potency as one subtle tear slid down his eye and dissipated on his mouth.
"Her love is pure, her love is marvelous, her love taste of passionate kisses; her love feels like sinuous caresses, her love burns in the inferno of Dante's hell; the woes of souls drowning in a whirlpool of sorrow can't light the flame and reveal the path to love for her again! " exclaimed John in poetic utterance after waking from a dream.
II
Mary sat melancholy on a case of stairs in robe of satin silk, peering into the sky, with angelic eye, contemplating the mystery of the universe, pondering the eyes of the night, the imperial stars that hovered the earth, with no meaning, with no thought, only motion, subtle and slow, the stars guiding her mind, the universe spoke! she heard voices in her head, which strangled her tongue.
"The silence of the heart, the sadness of her lips, the beauty of her hand, could leave an indelible impression in the softness of sand, " said John passionately. Mary felt nobody could hear her screams!
With the stars as her master, Mary wrote with pen in hand, the murmurs of her heart, the anxieties of her mind, words of one person, of one kind.
I dream of color
I dream of dolor
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poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Cuckhold
Two unsuspecting gentlemen were sitting in a room, conspicuous for its opulence and comfortable because of its color. John was reading a newspaper, contemplating the morbid style of journalistic writing, while Michael was staring intensely, as if he was in a trance, like one stares at a fire. The silence of the room gave John a potent feeling of loneliness, so he broke the quietude.
John: The problem with life is that it is so lifeless. Can't we just live? Or must we always live under the tyranny of compulsion.
Michael gave a furtive glance and proceeded to look mesmerized and emotionless.
John: What is this dreadful look? Clearly you have found a cure for the world's economic disease and have lost it?
Michael was displeased with the topic of politics and John knew this. Michael was forced to talk, to change the subject, he confessed.
Michael: I am in love! Just last month or was it longer ago? I met a woman, who I swear to the sweet Virgin Mary, whose heart beats the scarlet blood of Juliet directly into her voluptuous lips. Her brown eyes remind me of a hidden cave, containing a treasure of passion and an amulet of life. Her dainty little hands have the purity of a child's but the sensuality of a woman's. Her walk is so delicate, not even the tender blades of grass bend under her feet. Her mind is so elevated; it's as if the wings of an angel carry it. Her breasts are as fruitful as watermelons and her voice as sincere as this confession.
My only wish is to kiss her lips, caress her cheeks, and smell her long ebony colored hair. I wish to brush my nose against her nose, bury my soul into the grave of her soul, live by her not with her and even die next to her.
John: Certainly you're on to something. Women have a remarkable quality of bringing out the worst in good men. You are so moral Michael, it's charming to hear you utter words of one of life's most mortal sins; lust.
Tears came down Michael's face at hearing such detestable language.
Michael: It isn't lust! It's love. My heart melts into sweet wine and I feel drunk at every coy gesture she makes. My soul skips like a child on a summer day every time she laughs. She is nature. Nature is she. She is art expressed through the body and a body expressed by the soul, she is complete, marvelous, magnificent, delicate, fragile, and strong; she is beauty.
Michael's countenance revealed a soul drunk with dreams, no rational man would believe a word he said, but a child, with its curious mind, would stop and be enchanted with his incantations, even though a child might not understand what he was saying.
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poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Fair of Beauty
I must confess! An angel must hide placidly undermine eyelids, for when I close them I see a word magnanimously delightful, and when I open them I see a pageant as sweet as a garden of sugar. I see the land of Lucien.
With languorous sunsets, charming lakes and emerald grass the land of Lucien is a place of beauty. It is a kingdom where romance lavishes the land. In the heart of Lucien, a small castle stands, ornamented with stained glass, beautiful balustrades and gothic arches. The gray stone which holds it together is forged by the hands of many peasants, but its form was conceived by the mind of one talented artisan. This gives the building a real integrity and a strange personality peculiar to one man. To that man no one knew or knows, no myth even could or can shed light into its mystery. "Mysteries shall be left mysterious, for shall they be discovered they lose their charm, " Madame Rupert once said with the eloquence of an aristocrat.
In this story there is no place for mystery, for beauty is forever revealing itself to us, but here is short history of Lucien. In order to understand this story I must give an account of the castle. The castle is called the house of Rupert, for the Rupert's have reigned over the land of Lucien for many a century. The family is everything royal except their horrible habit of being unconventional. They never marry within royal line, for they suffer from the malady of beauty and love and the lads of the family hold beauty contests to chose the wife they think the most beautiful. Dowries mean nil compared to a charming countenance in this world. They worship love, as other's worship the mammoth, however, they worship love with as much avidity as others worship the latter, that it would be quite pernicious to their name in a practical world, therefore, I thank Venus for making my land of Lucien quite unpractical, for here the Rupert's mania for beauty doesn't seem to affect their status, or their sanity, and more importantly their virtue.
Beauty! Beauty is the way of life here. The Rupert's excessive love of beauty transcends the emotion of admiration and even slips importunately into the realm of Justice. To the Rupert's, justice must follow the law of beauty, hence the inscription engraved in marble adorning the head of the entrance way which reads Beauty is Thine Nature, Justice Must Protect Thine Nature, and Good Shall Prosper Here, For Justice is Not Just Shall It Produce Bad Results.
The Story begins.
On this day, the 11th of August, the patriarch, the king, the majestic lord, King Eric de Rupert, dressed in raiment ebony, laced with gold ruffles, calls into session the Fair of Beauty. The king's brown Moorish eyes overlook the crowd and its meticulous beauty. The praetorian guards stand erect and proud; magenta rubies are sewn into the turbans resting upon their heads; their scarlet cloaks are stained with the blood of dead youth and underneath their pleasant attire lay a well of gold, for their skin appears to be laced with gold.
Dear reader, music always seems to sing from the heart. For musicians play lovely tunes with their skillfully wrought instruments. The ceremony is conducted in a way to infuse a merry emollient on all the hearts of all the spectators'. The scenery is potent in beautiful colors, an elegant display of fashion rests listlessly on all who attend, and an uncanny feast is prepared and served in lovely style, that one didn't notice, if what one is eating, is good or not. That is the charm of beauty here, it has no taste, like water, it is a necessity to live.
A squire whispers to his wanton mistress, "The King appears to be alone, for where is his noble wife and her amorous spirit? "
"The King looks so handsome this evening maybe he'll notice my azure mascara, " said Lyla to her girlfriend Plenie.
"The King sees nothing but beauty, that is what makes him so irresistible, " replied Plenie.
'For twenty years he has ruled with compassion and benevolence, and twenty years more shall he be loved with compassion and benevolence, " said Lorenzo the accountant.
(The King rises from a throne made of Persian Wood)
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poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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