Seth Diamond
Seth Diamond Poems
The Countess Close
The violet tress of clover blossom,
marks the countess' winter solemn.
...
Will I be somber?
Will your skin be smooth,
and silky as I think?
Will the nights last long,
...
Heavy lids; burning eyes
no more chance of getting high.
Dreams both start but don't sound
as carriage carts drag on cobble stones.
...
You are a myth
and every day
your father and I write
your mythology.
...
A Tyrant's Respondent
If a tyrant has no power;
then tease him.
...
She assassin smooth and sultry,
moves through the night air so swiftly,
long legs in the shadows moves,
take your last breath away smooth.
...
Halloween Girlfriend
She looked up to me
with surprise at myself, she
...
Finding Your Way
On the beach are grains of sand,
one will be of pure gold,
...
What Scares Me
I've been here and I've been there
and ain't nothing but one thing anywhere
...
Pierre to Marion From script: Love letter end of Act 2
Pierre: Frustration is a sign of desire it's true.
...
Surprise attack narration Act 1 Scene 7
Narrator Abelle:
Clouds along the moonlight glides
...
The Best Poem Of Seth Diamond
The Countess Close
The Countess Close
The violet tress of clover blossom,
marks the countess' winter solemn.
Her sorrow,
her cardinal wanton
for her prince,
falsely in prison.
There is no respite to her yearning.
There is no satiation to her craving.
There is no solvency to her predilection.
There is no end to her attraction.
There is no limit to her aspiration,
for her prince falsely in prison.
Her womb, her castle;
her vessel for seas
all barren wantonly.
Her ire turn rage.
Her wisdom lost sage.
For her prince caught trickily,
placed falsely in prison.
She thrusts her fists at the gyre.
She spins insults into coarse wire.
She wears poultices upon her attire.
Her paces a failed amble.
Her songs bell book and candle.
All to respite and retire,
her work to free entire,
her prince falsely in prison.
But times sands grow heavy on her face,
that turned to fright.
Her garden grows weeds then blight.
Her beauty fades from tensions tight.
Her loneliness becomes vulgar each night.
Her stolen union vanquished by mages.
Her desires robbed in vista mazes.
She stumbles through tomes and pages.
Lost now she babbles to rhythmic chorus.
Casts her blood and bruises;
casts her spirit into blazes.
Casts her lot where her grave's cleaves raises.
Now no longer can she impart creation,
for her prince falsely in prison.
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4/19/2024 6:33:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
