Writing A Rather long Poem about Passion. [m]

[Nothing]

Twins of lust. Your lover caresses your hair like the ocean?s current.
Her kisses fall like trickling summer rains. You and yours have fallen?
Beyond lust?
Beyond sex?
Beyond desire?
Beyond temptation?
Beyond limitation?
Into a lake of passion.
And you have drowned in sweet embrace.

She comes to you, bathing in a pool of moonlight,
And tells you her choice.
It could be harmful?
It could be lethal?
But it is her will?
And it is your love, that stays your hand.
Tainted passion, that restrains you from caring.
Time and lust makes eternity sweet.
But trees must fall?
And mountains must crumble?
And seasons must fade?
And flowers must die.

She is limp in your arms,
Sweet to the last savoring minute.
Apathy is her reaper, and you know that it was love,
That could have saved her,
But had finally killed her.

You set to make things right,
To be with her again,
To commit the fatal sin.
The devil whispers,
Is it not she you kill for?
Is it not she, that has wrought your downfall?
In this aspect, did she not betray you?
Did your Judas not die first?
Are you exacting her revenge upon you?
Stab deep, sweet lover, but you shall not die.
You will live, and by my hand,
Your death shall come from another.

They call you Misery.
Black cloaks and pale skin,
You are the broken shell
That the tide of passion lay to waste.
Immortal to one?s self,
And dead to all others,
How do you find your way to the gates of hell?

You bane the world,
And await retribution,
But as death is your want,
So you shall be denied.
Does god work in mysterious ways,
Or does he sit in idle stagnation,
and watch the days roll by like waves on a beach?

The word seeths at your reproach.
The masses chant in hateful harmony.
Misery. Misery. Misery. Misery.
They pray for your death.
And you join them.

You imagine the day of your death a happy one.
But you find it in bitter retreat.
An insult so vulgar upon the face of your lover,
You charge with wreckless ambition.
The knife slides in, and for the first time?
It hurts?
And all you can think of,
Is how you have once again?
Failed your lover.

God doth work in mysterious ways.
And his kingdom welcomes you with open arms.
But Venus denies you,
And in Mars you find yourself.
But yours is not the fate of a warrior,
And your lover you find,
Is nestled in hell.
How can they call this wasteland heaven,
When even here you are denied.

Yours was not a warrior?s life,
But in heaven, you find a warriors fall.
An Angel?s execution,
And the clouds open beneath your feet.
Down you plummet,
With sadistic grin.

God doth work in mysterious ways,
For in hell you find embrace.
And passion flows too freely,
For hell?s fire to penetrate.

[2010DigitalBoy]

Holy. Freaking. Crap. That was, EASILY, my favorite poem ever. EVER. My god, if that were a song I'd listen to it forever. Hold on, let me find some of those lines that were sickeningly vibrant...

"She comes to you, bathing in a pool of moonlight,
And tells you her choice.
It could be harmful?
It could be lethal?
But it is her will?
And it is your love, that stays your hand.
Tainted passion, that restrains you from caring.
Time and lust makes eternity sweet.
But trees must fall?
And mountains must crumble?
And seasons must fade?
And flowers must die.

She is limp in your arms,
Sweet to the last savoring minute.
Apathy is her reaper, and you know that it was love,
That could have saved her,
But had finally killed her."

These lines alone are better than most anything I've read before.

"The word seeths at your reproach.
The masses chant in hateful harmony.
Misery. Misery. Misery. Misery.
They pray for your death.
And you join them. "

I could HEAR the chanting. Wonderful, I love it

Please, tell me you have more!!!

[renayiiq]

Wow. I like it alot. It is extremely great. Way better than any poem that I've ever written, for sure. Like Tical said, I could hear the chanting in my head. You're wonderful with imagery. *applauds this spiffy poem*