Baptism of Fire
I should compare you,
to Heaven’s doorway.
But my tender words,
leave that astray.
Here starts life’s morbid game,
Seducing me with your beauty;
White timber legs,
Soft sickle breasts,
Arms as smooth as silk,
This body of an hourglass,
Makes heartstings nascent anew,
Prurient in prolific brew…
Dense hair like a foggy forest,
Where our labial yields to mist,
With nude skin cutaneous like snow,
You have the name chateau.
The scars disappear in eerie light
My mind aroused by thee eyes of night.
Here where we danced, our words wrung,
Sung this gospel by the pounding of lungs.
My sweet Nadine…
Masturbate the verge until He came,
My final words to Death will be your name.
The abacus counts my Life’s undone,
But my Dear; I am pretty much gone.
Nostalgia grows like your tender age,
Zenith of orgasm a dream to be,
My phallus won’t ever swim your reddened sea.
A voyeur mask to your bleeding start,
I hid your nude with my King of Hearts.
In the end
All you need are friends,
You followed them like a dirty God,
They let you prey, repugnant to rot!
That lichen pain; a misanthropist nightmare,
Liberate my life with the lowest of care…
Vermillion tapestries arise!
My red body on ice…
Tug me inside the coffin,
A mentrap through design.
Avalanche me with dirt refined,
Who better to separate us three?
Sorry that I love you.
Now baptize me in fire,
My legacy aborted in the pyre…
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Comments about this poem (Baptism of Fire by Jimmy Brouwers )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Vikram G. Aarella
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
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