Each transportation into consciousness,
an addition to all of my conquests,
as when awakened, so perturbed I am by that desolate flap,
the startle yanking me into the mourning of the morning's trap.
Boisterous and bitter as bold winter, my dejection,
binded as a bruise to of the world my reflection.
The torch of love was once so gloriously glowing,
its flames, exquisitely vivid, only growing.
Marionette I was to love yet now to my tribulations,
I stow within my core all my dreary degradations.
Dug into myself are my terrible talons so abhorrent,
plagues with fringes visible slightly in my distortment.
Rotted love like spoiled fruit has made limp my condition,
but within me for my vengeance, anger lies no rendition.
A jam is clasped unto my forgotten delight ,
The lever I must jerk to defeat my somber fright.
The melody of ecstasy I will again possess,
though for the time being it sadly lies in rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment