Escaping the world's most unknownst caves,
Ambling to the shore,
Lying beneath the dismal waves,
I hear a lurid roar.
I rise above the hurling sea,
To only see regret,
Soon after sat, alongside me,
My first love's silhouette.
Through night and day, and spite allay,
'Tis plight from which I will decay.
Despite dismay, contrite delay,
Indite, will I, through words convey.
By joy of chance, and cloy of glance,
My choice had then deprived advance.
My voice would plead for one more dance,
Employed was my unjust romance.
The rules would bend, for you my friend,
A new companionship would mend.
Not long till hope it would suspend,
And from within, heartache distend.
Alas, my fate, was all but great,
As I'd await a date of late,
A day one less than day of eight,
Would lay upon me endless wait.
Foreboded ruse, my endless blues,
Confused, infused, my heart abused,
My soul suffused and yours refused
To see like mine, benign bemused.
Shall I comply that you defy,
And thus deny that you and I,
Had chance of hope, of hope to die,
Without adieu, without goodbye?
I pray, beseech, do nothing less,
I, night and day, beg you to bless.
Unworthy, I would ask for more,
Infer thee, all my life I swore.
My words and woes, hast thou yet heard?
Or have mine prayers been since interred?
Alas, for I have yet to learn,
The reason true behind concern,
For mindful treason I would yearn,
For all of which I least discern.
Hast thou the slightest time of day,
To hear my words and see me pray?
Since young would I, beside my bed,
My hands entwined, my wishes said,
My heart so empty, seek your wraith,
Have all but hope, have all but faith.
She loves me, not a sound did pound her chest,
Of course, her flesh of coarse, would stay afar.
Her youthful sheathe, her truth beneath abreast.
If not from heart, but art, love 'tis bizarre.
By flesh, I do disdain, to stain from blood,
As such, of which, of witch may I begot.
My lifeless ruse, refuse her charm by flood,
By harm, my love an endless pain, 'tis not.
I ask of stone in flesh, to render love,
Thy rubble falls, till love 'tis but debris.
I do beseech, that all of which above,
That love may breathe, alas, to which degree.
She loves me not, a maid astrayed from bloom,
A renegade, knows not but love from doom.
From her eyes,
a tactic of
a need for her to
her temple of
why would she
how could she
such is so
but such is a
for from again her
and as her smile
all is just disguise,
O' the day that she would long
to come and see me new,
For if that day would leave me strong...
.. the sky would see me blue.
As rivers watched my tears a-flow
the leaves would see me fall,
and like the eerie callous crow
the birds would hear me call.
And through the seasons I will wither
seeking hope wherein...
A single drip from dreams I had
of what it could have been.
A valiant, old and surely ingrained,
Creator of magic and more,
The bedside – by which I'd written – was chained...
A maiden of carnal impure.
My damsel had asked for tales of a man,
With plenty of riches and gold,
A man with more roses than those of Japan,
More magic that witches of old.
Midnight was nearing and so was my fall,
She lay there asleep, or as such,
Shunning the ticks of the clock on my wall,
My quill and my chronicle touch.
A speck of the ink had courtly revered,
The canvas on which that I wrote,
A tint of the scarlet fairly appeared...
... a narrative, cardinal moat.
Wandering, pondering, mysteries old,
I envy her eloquent mind,
With dreaming, as such, of stories untold,
Of creatures and riches to find.
I ogle the tint of burgundy flow,
And scorn at the canvas beneath,
My jealousy, guilt and infamy grow,
The jittering shatters my teeth.
A flicker of fear infringes my spine,
A trickle of sorrow arose,
A bristle of tears immerses the shrine...
... of slashes and gashes I chose.
Imagining tales, and stories therein...
My calamus thundered and thud,
I cut on the dusty flesh of her skin,
By wielding the flow of her blood.