Robes torn, her side was shown,
glowing red, nearing dusk,
primal intentions were aloof,
her minds eye was on the creature that we derive,
from, always reaching for the sun;
never finding just what she wants,
her hand reaches out in lust.

The robe slides down,
frangible, tangible,
her hair covers just the tips now,
silhouetting and mystifying,
men fray from even trying,
but the luscious fruit is worth the stretch,
not that of hers but the ones they lacked,
so Adam and Eve succumbed and never looked back,
the sun of the primitive one would crash,
a title wave hit all consciousness,
they lay in knowledge, the fruit had been snatched.

She sits naked, a lioness,
golden hair streaming in the wind,
lips plump, made of crimson,
wanting to trust,
but now she had her pride to defend;
knowedlge also brought shame,
good and evil begin:
in a bag of conceptions,
tied to a rock, thrown in humankind,
insofar as to drown them,
as it does feeble minds.
I rhyme, knowledge is power—
a word to the wise,
that and be humble,
and then man may survive.

“I’ve become lost in the cross hairs of love and lust.”
His line of thought became stagnant with no one to watch,
spellbound by her snare looking for someone to care,
her words would trimmer proving to much to bare—
“it’s just not the same, in the way that i love you,
something doesn’t remain.”
A sword breeched his heart that day,
vessel went off course filling with black waters of spite,
lines became blurred, compass askew,
naive conceptions of a roadmap wouldn’t do.
“Rain washed away our chalk, it’s not all lost”
this thought’s become seared,
simmering in his mind until the time would come.
I can’t talk of the grilling in our prince’s kingdom,
except that the tyrannical king, made hell his home.
Acidity was palpable, yet still he continued,
never ceasing words kept him through—
“but I do love you” until the fat lady’s tune,
sulking in the nostalgia of her swoons.
He continued to praise her more than the moon
thanks the sun, for illuminating it’s room,
in the sky, and the stars scream out cries,
for the mangled prince lays waiting only for her shine;
however the lyrics must stop, at some point,
the fat ladies pitch will drop,
until the nightingales love song stops.
Scared to be hurt once again,
a vow has been made that no more friends will be lost,
or bring pain, but this came at a cost.
Drowned by sorrow he knew only one way to manage,
cut everyone out because they can do damage.
Reclusive, seclusive, he shut out all,
friends’ unaware, the ball couldn’t have dropped further;
ashamed, self-disdained the thought feels like ******.
What of the piper that doesn’t pipe?—As grim as tales come,
stuck between a gloc and a hard bane.
“Baring may be impossible” he said to cold steel,
heavier than expected, ice-like to his lips,
sitting against the wall, with a cumbersome grip.
Last text sent “Take care of everyone for me, you’re now the guardian.”
Panic set in friends, but it was all to late to heed.
Until the end comes, he looks into the cosmos of his mind,
and lastly to her shrine; final thoughts unknown,
except to the wall and rug bellow
but here I’ve presumed— “I will love you forever”
trigger pulled, death concludes.
RIP- Clay