Murder
-
Fill me with the energy,To attack a traitor.I saw her playing with power,Under the sun.Under her round moon,A face of many.Ovular as eggs,To plant creation into a nest,A bosom white,Dropping the hued-red apples. Though, she’s betrayed all of love,All of the safety from a ruler.She faces the wrath of God.The downpour from His hand;The Hand
-
Let fall what water will drop to taste,The shadow from a woman’s edgesTo blue eyes within a puddle of ivory.I feel from them, the ripples of despair,The love we behold, is a pain of memory,Love has been bridged,Over cherished hills of cherry tops.Above a breast and a nipple,And two lips that aim to kiss,The temple
-
You had taken the stage by heart,With only a portrait in arms.And a face full of gold,That you’d be admired for the priests.Though, their craving for silver,Is their serpentine fetish. A stage where there is rotten flesh.Music drenched in agony,And a memory washed in blood.You flashed a breast before the crowd,And made a wicked mark,With
Modern Romanticism 