Ashes of the soul askew,
crooning morbid fantasies of me and you.
Love is such a trite word,
liable to flee an Empath like a bird.
Sensitivity made humanity weak,
so quick to prostrate itself at cupid's feet.
I assure you Darling, I'm no man but God,
no woman but Celeste, not a prince but a Frog.
Not Shackled by humility,
nor prone to kind civility.
Who am I but you?
My cat, I only follow you.
A block of ice to which you stray,
the little Devil with which you play.
Never compare those foolish boys' love,
to the reverent fondness of a God.
My affection is a selfish thing,
it does not need reciprocation to unsheathe.
Boredom is what I greatly abhor,
you vanquish it, my foreign Whore.
My interest should be your greatest prize,
for love is fickle by and by.
But if lying is what you really want me to do,
of course my dear, I love you.
3 comments:
Querida,
I perfectly understand what you mean, and I really appreciate you for this wonderful piece of poem. Who the hell is the author???
Marvelous, and Amazing.
This is the greatest love poem ever...an undefiled confession and swear of AMOR.
ZKM Thank you for the posting.
You were able to get the last word to match pretty consistently, but the length for each corresponding line was usually different and made the matching awkward.
But the point was pretty straightforward. Kudos for that.
Haha, yes. A poet I am not. I will leave the beautiful, hyperbolic imagery to you. My head is often too centered in reality to create beautiful prose, my damn English teachers loved to tell me that.
Have you written any poetry? I'd love to read it.
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