"alure" poems
bodies waiting for my whips
the taste of leather on your lips
so secure in the ties that bind
darkness enters you from behind
you struggle but it's all an act
part of the alure the primal pact
heart races with anticipation
blindfold helps with concentration
body glistening with sweat
less a slave and more a pet
repeated thrusts about to explode
euphoria, sensory overlaod
all engry left is spent
left in a puddle twisted and bent
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 1:22 AM UTC
of good and evil
once there grew a garden
of great and mighty trees
flowers of great beauty
but also ugly weeds
their petals never wilted
the green leaves never turned
winter never came there
fire never burned
children came to play
to climb the highest boughs
to pluck as many flowers
as their small hands would allow
some trees had lovely fruits
figs to please the eye
ornamental oranges
the apples of a lie
though they held great beauty
had colors to alure
they held worms and maggots
and tasted of manure
innocent of this
the children picked this fruit
and were poisoned by their evil
for evil was their root
in lands of yellow wheat
those young folk became tares
but they didn't know it
and so did not despair
and so they played and frolicked
so this story goes
and good appeared as ragweed
*and evil as a
ROSE*
soulsurvivor
(C) 5/12/2015
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Train horns pierce the muggy night.
Persistent in their cacophony.
They shake the walls and sound the time.
Like midnight roosters.
I shift beneath my stuffy sheets.
Roused from fitful sleep.
My eyes move to the bedroom window.
Drawn to the alure of night.
The moonlight has me in a trance.
Stray beams beckon me.
Dancing light to call me closer.
Through intermittent haze.
Now I feel the fog behind my eyes.
The night's hold has loosened.
I drift away until I'm awoken by birds,
Or the siren songs of boxcars.
Sep 13, 2020
Sep 13, 2020 at 12:35 AM UTC
if love were fish and the bones of them
love's memory would swim through multi-colored cascading
cathedral fountains
floating by
suspended
with lighted bell shaped alure
and small lips good for kissing
love's memory would swim through
tiny myopic refractions
of shattered life
broken by shafts of
twinkling light that has
no set source
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 10:32 AM UTC