Poetry, my cruel mistress,
She weaves words
Into a tapestry that can
bear the soul of man
to the highest peaks of
the heavens
or dash it on the
jagged teeth of hell

Her garment,
The essence of man’s soul
Strung together by a string that is
The very being of sorrow’s spirit
Dyed with blood,
From a piece of her lover’s heart
My heart
Given to her
In my words.

The sorrow of joy
The relief of pain
The defeat that victory brings
The happiness that is sorrow
The paradox of love
The juxtaposition of life and death
She knows them all
For they sustain her
They are her life

Her garment, ****** yet while
Blows in the gentle breeze of dusk
Sending her scent
To men
Chasing after her
Lusting, wanting, longing
Insane, dying
For just one kiss
From her lips
One caress from her gentle hands
To lie in her *****
To forever sleep, to fade away
There, in the arms of my love,
The love of my life
Love of my soul
Love of my heart
So
Requiescat in pace
Let us, let them, let him, let me
Rest there in eternal peace
May God have mercy on our souls.