A storm is brewing in my head—
my passion overflows—
the moment ceased and promptly fled
as fast as lightning glows.

The screaming thunder of my lust—
cries echo down the halls—
the resonance of dying trust
bids **** me with its calls.

My heart is not the blackest, nay!
Nor is it purest white—
nor does it shine the light of day,
nor spread the dark of night.

So why, then, should I pay the price?
I show no ill extreme—
my burning soul shan't tempt the ice
to trickle to the stream;

it shall not turn the tender heat
to cold and bitter rain;
it shall not cause the rye and wheat
to purge their precious grain;

it shall not cause intrepid tides
to cease their ebb and flow;
the forceful wind on which leaves ride
shall not desist its blow;

it shan't evoke the folk and lore
to terminate their rhyme;
but most of all, I do endure,
my sin shall not stop time.

Your lives will surely ramble on,
your tasks shall see their end;
your will for life shall not be gone
if Death, for you, shan't send;

you all will not hear angels' chants
nor hear the howl of ghouls;
nor will you watch the demons dance
'round hordes of fearless fools;

but I, my friends, if be my fate,
die at the hands of man—
yet no such angels, on this date,
had record of this plan.

I've not received a word from Death—
from God, heard no decree—
but on this day, I lose my breath;
my life be took from me.

Today, I find my body numb,
still fleeting from my soul—
my eyes are blind, my tongue is dumb
upon this gallows pole.

And if I rise to Heaven high
or find my course to Hell—
or do remain under this sky
locked in an earthly cell—

I surely shall not be perturbed;
my resolve will not disrate:
I will not waver to disturb
you who sent me to my fate.

Spinning, spinning, madness winning—
Psychopathic thought beginning—
Butterflies to catch for pinning—
Spinning thoughts inside my head.

To twirl the net and bring it down—
To trap the beast unto the ground—
Its screaming terror'd not speak a sound—
I stick the pin and pin it dead.

Its writhing, grabbing on the netting—
Sounds I wouldn't be forgetting—
Tapping, flapping, clapping, fretting—
Gradually slowing to a stead.

A cold and sweating, mad reaction—
I sense the tingling satisfaction—
And this is surely just a fraction—
A fraction of the blood she shed.

My carriage wheels had quickly turned—
The case at court was now adjourned,
So early home I had returned—
Returning to my home ahead.

It was a cold and somber morning
When I first received the warning—
A beauty carriage, now adorning—
Standing still at my homestead.

Curious, I stepped out and gazed—
Its presence there left me amazed—
Then I saw my dogs were caged—
Cold and outside, barely fed.

Gingerly I climbed the stairs
And pondered what'd await me there—
And then, this sight, this dark nightmare—
My wife and brother in my bed.

My curiousness then turned to strife—
My temper flared against my wife—
I silently retrieved a knife
To turn her lusting into dread.

I chose to **** Paolo first—
I stabbed his neck and watch it burst—
His silent death increased my thirst—
I watched the ******* as he bled.

Suddenly, my wife awoke—
The ****** mess caused her to choke—
Her agony, in me invoked
A sense of anger, sorely red.

She stumbled, falling on the floor
And tried to scramble to the door—
She looked so sad, so low, so poor,
So shameful as she crawled and fled.

I pinned her down, still writhing, grabbing—
My knife was quickly, sharply dabbing
As my hands were cutting, stabbing—
Stabbing her from overhead.

When she was still, I calmed at last—
Yet vengeance soon would have me cast
To Caina, treacherous and vast—
But it was done. Her blood was spread.

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

705

Suspense—is Hostiler than Death—
Death—tho’soever Broad,
Is Just Death, and cannot increase—
Suspense—does not conclude—

But perishes—to live anew—
But just anew to die—
Annihilation—plated fresh
With Immortality—

Today I
Have made an
Amazing discovery. I
Never thought so many people would find my work entertaining. I didn't
Know I was capable of writing anything good, but

You all have proven me wrong!
Only now can I have confidence in my writing and
U**nderstand that my words mean something.

I almost became
Someones sad poems
Then I met you

I have an artificial sun
No moon.
Bright days
Cancerous rays
And cold, dark nights.
Genuine light, a million memories away.
Time to let my sun set,
And let
The inconstant forces of nature change this burnt soul.

I watch the sun set.
It is as alone and secluded as I.
Think us the only two?
How many others watch from their own secret corners?
When it leaves,
I wish it would take me too.
Never would I feel cold again.