Beneath the quiet earth rest her cold bones and over the ground a tomb of snow white; no tawdry embellishments carve the stones the pale marble glistens in the moonlight. The nightingale pines for its long lost mate, does its heaving heart burst forth with pain? Is it singing sweet notes of love and death… Continue reading Her Grave | Poetry
When you kill the very thing you love, Often, there is a price to pay - Endless heartaches, sleepless nights, No words to utter when you pray
Before you remove my long flowing veil, And uncover the secrets that lie beneath, Be wary of the peril that lies ahead, As you face the demons under the sheath.
You spot the twinkle in my longing eyes, You feel the butterflies flutter their wings, We dance away throughout the night - To the sound of lutes and soothing strings.
Sweet is your poison, deadly are your gifts - Killing me slowly and prolonging my throes.
Swirling mists, misshapen forms - Phantasms of a lifetime by your side - In your loving arms, I embrace my role - As your truest friend, lover and bride.
Hand in hand, we sail to the edge of the wide world; And into the deepest of still waters all worries toss.
I turned heads wherever I walked; I strutted about in sparkling shoes; Those awed gazes meant nothing - For they did not come from you.
You fill the void in every paragraph - In my world's stage, you play all lives - A thousand deaths cannot strike you Like an ancient phoenix, you survive.
But this was no embrace like the romance of old days; Knowing there will be no happily ever afters to come, I succumbed to my fate and wait for judgement day; There is no salvation from what I have truly become.
theecstaticstoryteller.com 