Was she but the fallen
Come down to raise an Arcadian hell,
Avoiding peace in graceful slalom,
Encased in her callous breathing shell,

Most would describe her as the Cacodemon,
With the eyes of baleful sin,
Defined by her nefarious inner demon,
That had beguiled her sanity to its whim,

She breathed of ethereal indignation,
Sought upon her by trenchant thoughts,
Damning her for indulging in feelings as dissipation,
By those who seek defamatory purity as frauds,

She was the unwanted succubus,
Whose earnest beauty cost too high a price,
Her darkly alluring convictions were a neuritis,
Brought too bare all adamant admirers vice,

She was thought to be the rakshasa,
Condemned for safeholding her own heart,
Not wanting persue any psychodrama,
Not wishing for a reckless counterpart,

So she clinged to her hellhounds,
To hold at bay any contemptuous intruder’s,
And so they dub her hell bound,
Ignorant of her past patronizing prosecutors.

She is the Cacodemon,
As she shuts her gates from all,
Trusting none acclaimed shaman,
As she has already been judged to fall

She had many faces,
but she was not two-faced,
but rather described as a storm,
With opulent intensities,
Transfigured by the elements of life’s
Quiet mellifluous lilt by
Which it languidly swayed all souls,
She did not sway though,
Rather she was uncompromising in
Her emotional wave length,
She could drizzle gently,
Or cascade exuberantly with her susceptibility,
She had no riveted temperament,
She was a storm in all rhapsodic unpredictability
And inexorable power of the ineffable unknown,
She was the incorporeal roar of thunder and
The incandescent luminescence of lightning,
She had embodied the storm she had
Fought desultory for a decade,
They were coalesce until it had formed
A chrysalis amorphous of raw beauty,
She had many faces,
But no she was not two-faced,
She was the storm that had shaped her.

Her veins have deteriorated

Narrowed and not ameliorated

With every pungent pulsating pump

Her quality of life she does expunge

To a beating that is crepuscular

And will gain no life from any stabilizer

It is bleeding desultory diaphanous crimson

Demoted by her own visceral volition

Until one day it ceases

As the walls to her capillaries deceases

Until a cardiologist by a different name

Imposes on her grotesque game

To replace these decrepit pathways

That does mellifluous passion decay

Until these capillaries are replaced

Through the bypass of an ethereal nature embraced

To heal such a slaughtered souls defeats

Until a her hearts ephemeral beats

Coalesce with the tranquil thundering

Of her shamans pulse

that dominates over her demons plundering.

She was accused of
Many unstable unsatisfactory emotions
All of which amalgamated her hurricane soul
That so breathlessly changed pace
With every maleficent or peaceful encounter
That fed the storm of her pith
A hollow quintessential girl
Hidden beneath eyes of tragic twinkle and
An amorphous disposition
That so whispered her visceral uncertainty
With which
She placed her demons in plethora
Upon all who obstreperously disturbed
The susurration of her own self-cataclysm
This decrepit distorted typhoon
Of the thundering lullaby she once embraced
Dissatisfied with the resonant rhapsodic scintilla
She so carelessly went from sonorous to somnolent
Once her nature echoed a sanguineous symphony
Of intimate honesty’s to now
Only as discreetly murmur callous contempt
Until this once magnificent hurricane soul
Did crumble like the walls her efficacy once
Tore down to whimper into the dust that is
Now her soul’s riven zephyr.