Poetry, my cruel mistress, She weaves words Into a tapestry that can bear the soul of man to the highest peaks of the heavens or dash it on the jagged teeth of hell
Her garment, The essence of man’s soul Strung together by a string that is The very being of sorrow’s spirit Dyed with blood, From a piece of her lover’s heart My heart Given to her In my words.
The sorrow of joy The relief of pain The defeat that victory brings The happiness that is sorrow The paradox of love The juxtaposition of life and death She knows them all For they sustain her They are her life
Her garment, ****** yet while Blows in the gentle breeze of dusk Sending her scent To men Chasing after her Lusting, wanting, longing Insane, dying For just one kiss From her lips One caress from her gentle hands To lie in her ***** To forever sleep, to fade away There, in the arms of my love, The love of my life Love of my soul Love of my heart So Requiescat in pace Let us, let them, let him, let me Rest there in eternal peace May God have mercy on our souls.