deepundergroundpoetry.com
Fallen, In Love
I used to be the kind of devil
That sparked the Morning Star
We made love
And spawned the things
That terrorize men within their dreams,
But now my hands are soiled
And I know not where you lie,
My heartache has darkened
The vespertine sky,
How sorely I miss
My Lord of the Flies.
I write poems with no meaning
And stare at the moon
Wishing it all hadn't ended so soon,
I was spat out of a beautiful Hell
For breaking the Devil's heart
My poor Little Horn,
I'm afraid I've torn
Your sweet underworld apart
That sparked the Morning Star
We made love
And spawned the things
That terrorize men within their dreams,
But now my hands are soiled
And I know not where you lie,
My heartache has darkened
The vespertine sky,
How sorely I miss
My Lord of the Flies.
I write poems with no meaning
And stare at the moon
Wishing it all hadn't ended so soon,
I was spat out of a beautiful Hell
For breaking the Devil's heart
My poor Little Horn,
I'm afraid I've torn
Your sweet underworld apart
Published 3rd Sep 2014
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3rd Sep 2014 12:11pm
3rd Sep 2014 12:22pm
3rd Sep 2014 1:53pm
You write with such detail in your imagery that metaphors bleed through to the reader that may or may not even have occurred to you. But no matter, the stories are so visual that reading them draws colors in the mind that I only see in times of deep meditation. I just read Lilith's lover and had that same experience. Didn't quite know how to wordify it but I liked it anyway. JJ
