He demurred and in wild impulse tried to pull himself all together,
but being shattered; and left in fragments solely to grieve upon thoughts of her.
A swarthy complexion aroused on his face; an incisive direction he starts wading,
seeking for the edge where the path led; why angels became so deceiving?
Daylight began to cursing him and he ran into a darkened den,
and moon light turned into a cold, shining knife slicing his very skin.
O her face, her murmuring voice, her songs poisoning the eyes and the ear,
all her touches crawling beneath the skin, through blood into his heart further.
The very thoughts of her lured him to his certain demise . . .
© copyright protected 2013