My heart, still haunted by you, star-crossed dear
Forever poisoned by enchanted song
The anger, heartbreak, melancholic fear
usurped sweet shards of time when you were gone.

Choked chasm of a soul, yet I cannot cry,
Sanctity of my sanity laid bare,
My shattered mind continuing the lie
That the person who loved me is still there.

And my eternal torture shall not fade,
In my chest there lies a broken viola,
You would think me mad that I have not strayed,
But my soul, it denies me a Volta.

Madly I loved her, and madly I kept,
Sadly the madness is all that is left.

Was it not yesterday when we fell in love?
Was it not that night in summer just me and you?
Oh dear, have I reclaim'd my lost lover-bug?
Another poem for my dear sweet you:
Miss Lover Lady, where travels you now?
And what woman or man have you embold'?
And brown hair, so beautifully brown,
A brown that seeps into parts of my soul:
Ah, everything! Everything that is there
In the world will match not up with your eyes:
And Lady, when great universes stare
They too would get lost where the green flares lie.
But gone Lady is, by morrows of time;
And falls lover's truth withal lover's rhyme.

Should i compare me to another’s form
Use their appearance as mine own blueprint
Mold my body into one else’s norm.
Could i oust myself to fit their imprint
And force myself to become but a hint
Of the man I once thought myself to be.
If i were to lose my personal tint
Would my life then lose authenticity?

Instead I compare my body to me.
Forget old models, I am the new first.
Born not of man but mine audacity,
Forged in mine own mind I arose headfirst.
The brightest rebirth to date I became
Someone wholly new and not just in name.

I await him, naked, head bowed, kneeling
With leather and rope he binds me tightly
Deft hands’ feather touches send me reeling
Melting candles ready, burning brightly  
He blindfolds me then gags me with a bit
And through the darkness, slowly I am led
To a place where in pleasure I shall sit
‘til ecstasy claims me upon the bed
He’s summoned the small death from me thrice now
Three rounds; it does not end with my pleasure
“You’ll take and like what I give you,” he growls
We’re done when he pleases —at his leisure
After all the teasing, pleasing, and pain
We collapse together —one, once again

The confines of fourteen lines hold me down
The sovereign of the sonnet has trapped me
Now, what is there left to do but steal his evil crown?
Had I not convinced myself that this task would be
So simple, I might be wearing it by
Now. However, that is not the case at all.
Brutish thoughts assail as I contemplate on why
Shakespeare had the audacity to enthrall
The whole of England with his cruel, cruel mind.
I mean to say, his poetry is
Rather soft, and his words are rather kind
But the source of my frustration is all his
Doing. I’ve done it now though, haven’t I?
A sonnet completed in the span of one night.

When stuck in storms of hail and snow, insist.
If stuck in fights of sticks and stones, forget.
If stuck in dull debate unknown, desist.
When stuck in rain of life and beau, reflect.

But thou cannot be stuck by hail and snow.
Neither involved in fights of sticks and stones.
But thou is not amid rain of life and beau.
Nor thou partakes in dull debate unknown.

Do not give up between the storm of hail.
Do not accept defeat betwixt the rain.
Thou art more strong and does prevail.
Thou can withstand debate and will remain.

Defeat has never ever befallen you.
Dear thou, only victory is true for you.

There fared a time ‘we’ were the vital thing,
yet now the case is fair it’s ye and her.
My role perhaps was harrower of Winter
while she’s the water, seed and sun of Spring.
God forms right plans and sorts His unique tools
as junctures of our lives wed intertwined,
but when they’re o’er we are not undermined
nor forced to feel we’re slyly played as fools.
For Providence has granted precious gifts
which by His grace we learn and grow and flow’r,
and these need ne’er be lost in parting hour                                              
nor poisoned by the bitterness of rifts.
So rise our wings with richer, brighter hue
to soar upon Christ’s love which tarries true.

Are you being prepared for bed, when kist
will you resist an insistence of he
to quicken his lust, will he grip a wrist
and the daddy be to undress his she?

He strips of your clothing, in ownership,
and in doing so is he owning you
perhaps in this ownership clothes are ripped
but, of course, this is love, and his love is true.

After these few, preliminary, acts
a bruise or two, well' 'tis foreplay
and a loving man will bestow love's smacks
to keep his interest for one more day.

And later, if both be satiated,
if love be love, can there be some, hatred?

I still recall the minutes spent;
Every kiss and moment — hands intwin’d,
Days with thee, thy interest fully lent.
Sitteth I and ponder sober mind’;
Of thy gaze and grace and lovely face,
Of thy voice tuned sweetly like the lark.
Tho’ time apart hath drawn a pace,
Riseth I, with heavens eye to hunt the snark.
Seeketh I in places dark and sullen grim
With naught but hope and love equip’d,
Plungeth I to caverns gull and dim
Void of joy and weary grip’d.
    I trace the beast and find it’s lair,
    To my surprise: a maiden fair!

~ Inori