Your love is of a sacred kind, that leaves me basking in the afterglow of your longing embrace.
There I find myself alight with emotions so radiant that their golden rays burst forth from my ribcage as if holy arrows have pierced my very soul.
And it is in your divine light that I wish to remain ever more.
Hell is not fire, nor brimstone,
It is not of devils and sin.
Hell is far more personal,
Too raw and real within.
Hell is a prison for tortured souls,
Constructed of flesh and of bone.
Hell is dark and deep,
The only place you're ever truly alone.
Hell is where your demons dance,
Along a wicked line.
Hell is where your agony,
Hides behind the words "I'm fine."
The weight on my chest
A distinctive sign
From the other men in the room
In your eyes, I see a contrast of hues that paint the windows of your soul like stained glass paints the inner walls of a church in the early rays of morning - a kaleidoscope of heavenly light.
A poem for my love. Your eyes captivate my heart in ways I can only hope this poem conveys.
— The End —