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A seraphic grand piano, besmirched with blood and fervent,
Scattered across old alabaster keys, Ichor stains scores of parchment.

Stewed passion runs wildly across the docile tempo,
Mellifluous effervescence lingers in the gored vestiges of a crescendo.

Memories of artistic vigour shrivel and regress,
Our blissful felicity of mellifluence, slaughtered by organic evanesce.
The poem I have written is a metaphor for art (of any kind), and specifically about how much effort and passion goes into curating pieces of music, literature etc. and how easily/quickly we as people discard and forget the works of others or our own once we find something we deem better. (P.S The blood on the piano is meant to show the sheer effort put into the previously performed song, due to the very fervent and fast motions of the composer it caused their fingers to bleed and leave stains the piano. Also I've tried to use structure in my poem in order to make the piece mildly resemble the keys of a piano so I'm sorry if its hard to pick up on)
Brejesh Shan Jan 2023
In a carnal fervour, my desire doth swell,
An inferno of passion, a tempestuous hell.
My heart a cauldron, ablaze with yearning,
My mind a labyrinth, ever churning.

A symphony of sensation, a crescendo of lust,
My senses awhirl, my body ******.
In a rapturous fervour, my senses alight,
With a longing unquenched, a hunger for delight.

My ***** ache with a pulsing need,
A carnal craving, my body doth plead.
A profligate yearning, an insatiable hunger,
A fervent desire, an insistent urging.

A tumult of emotion, a deluge of ecstasy,
A tempest of sensation, a maelstrom of bliss.
A whirlwind of passion, a conflagration of lust,
My heart aflame, forever to combust.

So let us succumb, to this frenzied desire,
And bask in the warmth of this passionate fire.
For in the realm of love, there is no higher law,
Than to yield to the tempest, and let passion be the awe.
K Balachandran Jul 2018
Fervorous rain did
Clothe land with thick water sheets;
Clinging and stifling.

— The End —