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Glowy cotton of the sky
marking the starry night,
She was a fallen angel
Made my forlorn core ignite.
Dress so beguiling white,
hair utterly brazen
her dreamy orbs brimming with
mischief,
I was bewitched with this maiden.
She curtsied facing the elders,
With a soft smile I beheld her,
My heart beat throbbing with her every
breath,
Even in my death, I'd ask to hold her
hand.
Her gentle chortle enlivened the room,
this enchantress would surely be my
doom.
Gazing at her, I realised, no odds to
console,
her mirth spiffing up someone bereft of
soul.
I'm very fond of knives and pistols,
The bit of shadow, still so cynical.
Even the dead shiver at my name,
They have my evil to blame.
Shrivelling even the unattainable of
essence,
I've never cared for anyone but myself.
But now it seems like Christmas came
early,
An angel that soothed even the ever
gnarly.
I sip from the wine in my hand,
YOU ARE READING
rhymes of the wicked
Poetry· this terrene, so aphotic. my voice unduly too thin. will it even reach the perpetrators or will it be buried within? i, revel in my convoluted, never particularly welcomed but occasional darkness here, as i take path d...
