The Lady

  • She a deed the blighted breathe,
    Spawn of love and tar.
    Blackened by me, to twist and sheathe
    My blade within her sickly sore

    Pleased by pain, she stayed my love
    For its base relief bade her come.
    A plight to rival sight of our bloody dove,
    Hope enough to fly her home.

    Her flight afire with nightly desire
    Amidst skies painted with pain.
    Seeking succubi to aid her mire
    Where life and will wane.

    A place to deface the might of god
    Wherein promiscuity dwells in droves,
    And young girls play amidst the sod,
    To steal my five unbroken loaves.

    Without a doubt to mount my horse,
    I stayed to slay the lady Magdalene.
    She, my lover and plotted course,
    Lives only to commit succulent sin.

    Trouncing upon sadist courts'
    Ambitions of mastering flesh,
    Without the use of footloose retorts;
    We laid their thoughts to rest

    A slumber sealed in midnights veil
    By promiscuity's perpetual loss
    From which she spawned the driven nail
    I buried within an empty cross.

    To burden the tides of time
    With overgrown thoughts of bliss,
    And wash my mind of the parisitic sign
    Feeding off my love's last genuine kiss.

    - Blake Crowe

    © Copyright by Blake Crowe 2013








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