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An old poem of mine from 2001. Not intended as a morality tale but simply based on my own experiences. Enjoy and please leave a comment.
Behold, all around you;
Eyes eloquent but mute,
Searching, staring, longing,
Unable to refute
Their consuming hunger,
The undying fire
That burns and keeps on burning
In the prison called Desire!

Each night somewhere they gather,
The so-called unattached
And there rehearse in silence
The lies that they have hatched.
With restful ease abandoned
And cool disinterest feigned,
With laughter simulated
And courage unattained.
Victims of doubt and anguish,
They choke upon the rope
Bound tight to them by fear,
The enemy of hope.
Yet still each night they gather
For while the fires burn
They reach the river thirsty;
Drink not and must return.

Then, one night, he sees her
And soon she meets his eye,
Instantly deciding,
“Yeah, I could fuck this guy.”
His mates all laugh and stir him
But they couldn’t with for more.
When he leaves with her they yell,
“Oi, the bastard’s gonna score!”
A short walk from the dance floor
To where a shadow’s cast,
Against a dusty brick wall-
A relic of the past.
Hands swiftly find employment,
She ventures down below
And gasps with expectation
For he has begun to grow.
He holds her head and marvels
At the softness of her hair
Then finds her lips and savours
The tightness he finds there.
Full and red they glisten
Like a forest flower;
Lips that say, “I want you,
I’m ready to devour.”
His muscles strain, her teeth clench
With each thrusting stroke;
Roll your eyes back baby
And the deity invoke!
She breathes the cold air deeply
And feels her body surge,
Tingle, heave and rattle
As he brings her to the verge.

“Come!” The serpent beckons,
“I swear to set you free
From that irksome shackle –
Far from fear and burden,
Out on my astral plane,
Lost in the firmament,
Safe from the demon pain!”

At last a word is spoken,
A sacred, solemn word,
Distinct and oft repeated
But little more than heard.
They sigh but not in sorrow
Though loss shall be their lot
And by this time tomorrow
Tonight shall be forgot.
Their eyes shall join those others
That stare out of the gloom;
The famished and the weary
That haunt each smoky room,
Longing for but a moment
To quell the raging fire
That burns the heart to ashes
In the furnace of desire!

anonymous readerReport

2013-02-27 13:50:24
Shakespeare's poetry whevoer wrote it was written at the end of the Late medieval period, when Renaissance ideas of worldly life, individual liberty and a marketplace of responsibilities and choices were not wholly accepted. bright as the Poet who wrote the Shakespearean portions of the work had to be, he wa more Late medieval than renaissance in his thinking.His favorite themes are the injustice that people get for loyal service, the pain of unhappy love, the disappointment of not getting what one has deserved, the brevity of time, the beauty that cannot last long, the importance of god friends, honesty and caution, and he danger of an imbalance or one-sidedness to character and purposes.He is a closet Medieval protestant religionist who talks about luck, divine justice and missed opportunities in the same breath. His favorite poetic device is the pathetic fallacy ; here he personifies as living actors inanimate things and emotions revenge, stones, storms, the sun, drugs, etc.nd he

anonymous readerReport

2012-02-20 10:40:28
Gut gut Sex mit mir

Anonymous readerReport

2009-11-19 06:44:09
Piquet! You are a Poet yet, I seem to be in Longing, for a better Man not met..

Anonymous readerReport

2009-11-19 06:43:16
Piquet! You are a Poet yet, I seem to be in Longing, for a better Man not met..


2009-10-26 20:05:13
wow! I really like it. Too bad there isn't always that kinda a passion from other guys...

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