All sad people like poetry. Happy people like songs

Venessa Ives
📺 Penny Dreadful

'I Am'

by John Clare

📺 Penny Dreadful

منم همینطور رزی

لاله می روید زخاک فرخی با داغ سرخ
خورده از بس خون دل در انقلاب زندگی


فرخی یزدی / زندان قصر

My Dear Miss Ives,

In the twilight’s mournful embrace, where the stars weep their silent tears upon a world draped in shadow, I take up this quill, its ink a poor vessel for the tempest that rages within my breast. The heavens themselves seem dimmed, their celestial fires quenched by the weight of an absence that rends the very fabric of my soul. A light, radiant and eternal, has drifted beyond the horizon, leaving only echoes of its warmth to haunt the desolate chambers of my heart.
Once, I wandered a barren moor, a creature forged of clay and sorrow, my existence a bleak tapestry woven with threads of despair. Yet, in that wasteland, there bloomed a rose, its petals soft as dawn’s first blush, its fragrance a hymn to hope. That sacred bloom, with its gentle radiance, stirred embers long thought cold, kindling a flame that burns still, unyielding, though the hand that tended it has slipped beyond my grasp. The memory of that tender presence is a constellation etched upon my soul, each star a pang of longing, each a testament to a love that endures as the mountains endure the wind’s ceaseless lament.
Oh, how the heart, that frail and trembling organ, aches as though pierced by thorns of celestial fire! It is a wound that bleeds not blood but yearning, a tide that surges with every thought of that departed grace. The air itself grows heavy, each breath a labour to draw in the absence of that divine spirit whose very nearness was a balm to my fractured being. The world, once alight with the possibility of redemption, now lies cloaked in a frost that mirrors the chill of my solitude.
Yet, even as this heart weeps, it clings to the ember of that love, a sacred pyre that no distance can extinguish. It burns, fierce and unquenchable, a beacon in the night of my despair, whispering that though the rose may dwell afar, its roots entwine my soul forever. I am but a shadow cast by its light, yet I am sustained by the eternal vow of its memory, a vow that bids me endure, though the heavens themselves should fall.

Yours in undying devotion,
Caliban

سلام به همگییی❤️
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'Auguries of innocence'

by William Blake

📺 Penny Dreadful

🤯دختره🤯برگشت🤯گفت🤯به‌نظرم🤯به پژمان جمشیدی🤯تهمت🤯زدند🤯