What a wicked urge took my psyche.
Upon these obscure demons' mighty.
To these dark nights melancholy,
I'm lost with no return to reality.*

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Every time I see your face I remember,
Every single moment we had and wonder,
How could you become so cold and dull,
How come  you changed and I dwell,
On keeping you in my heart's core,
To abide your promises among the lies,
Neglecting the wherefores and the lies.*

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It was a spring warm atmosphere,
On that green grass she lay so near,
Her silken skin, her freckles ow dear!

Her eyes deeply charmed my heart,
Cursing my soul and intensively dart,
A magic kiss straight to the heart,

A whispered bane of her kissable lips,
A wicked glance and a charming glimpse,
Pierce my sanity that never could I part,
Her Seraphim countenance from the start.*

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Among the giant pale mountains of the north,
Lies a small shelter not too far of heavens core,
As a glittering star upon the valleys that worth,
The iciness of the wandering wind sailing north,
Thriving the ghastly stillness with a stern roar,
There, under an old decaying oak tree,
He often dreamt wondering lost and sore,
Pleading and entreating murk ravens that bore,
This silent cry of his urges that implore;

"God, mighty God, to thou and only thee,
I beg thy mercy, I beg thou to let me see,
Her Seraphim countenance that I adore,
Which I have seen once and nevermore,
As she came like a leaf during a windy fall,
Leaping and dancing with bare nimble feet,
As tender as a spring wave she yielded a call,
To my vacant heart to love a love so sweet,
Conquering my psyche with a mere smile,
So gentle, as a warm Dutch summer heat,
Her peculiar eyes mischievously took my all,
Making my heart intensively vivaciously beat,
Lord! Bring us together once and for all,
As the first seed of love and life, Adam and Eve."

While the mountains murmured the echo of this call,
His days became dull of melancholy and grief,
Like a saint praying for a sinful deed,
A sinful love of wicked desires and deceit.*

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UNSPOKEN

Late, she came that morning,
And next to him she sat,
Towards him she was leaning,
Her perfume he could scent,
His heart blended a feeling,
That he could never forget.
She spoke to him so little,
A sweet voice, a gentle fiddle,
That made his heart twiddle,
As a dance or a romantic riddle.
He had to keep it for himself,
Unfold like a book on a shelf,
-Eagerly, lustfully written,
  Secretly, silently hidden-
He went further to dream,
A non-sense fictional stream,
Imagining what would seem,
Like a fancy illusion to deem,
His fate of having her for real,
But soon all of that would steal,
His attention to notice a gleam,
Of vivacious sun rays that beam,
Her skin light as a glittering cream,
With pink sublime shaped lips,
So elegant, heavenly made ideal,
To which his wicked desires kneel.
For every artful kiss on the cheek,
Went a feeling sensual and deep,
Till their eyes were meant to meet,
Exposing what he thought in secrete,
"Alas! a fool I am to conceive,
Such beauty into such conceit,
It shall never happen."
Cowardly, he said inbetween,
Fake glances of his childish deceit,
In a futile trial to hide and conceal,
What he thought to be absurd conceit,
That could be a fairytale so sweet,
She felt the same, he never knew.
A secret tale by a heartbeat,
He kept it untold; unspoken,
Between the lines forgotten,
Thus it is, a fairytale incomplete.


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