Infinate scarlet of wreckful hate sparks from his eyes,
His ruinate flame in cans is burnt,
And a galaxy of lies,
Twire from his frank black heart,
Thorns to roses my love prefer,
Chasing the enlarged death than pain,
My face unfaired by his spike-like fingers a far,
My mind thralled that he is sane,
Thy fragrance is ill derosed,
Foison dumpsite his kisses are like,
Almost like Goliath the war he's lost,
Insulting ravens their appetite about to leak.
But my Lord's strength shield the people,
His gigantic stature maketh stable.
2 comments:
Excellent piece of literature... and welcome to this World where we pluck dreams in the Garden of our nights and carry them to the village on the other side of the sunshine.
Thanks Stan miss your poems them days back in campus.you still do poetry?
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