Another poem that I wrote alone,
Another one that blossomed from woe.
Will this be the last poem I'll writ?
The gift from the Goddess thrown in a pit?
Have I deicided the Moon's tallow dreams;
A divulged matricide to noose bind gleams.
Why is it suicide I clearly heed,
Carpe Diem, Alas I bleed.
Mother Moon have I annulled you,
or do You feel each mourning too?
One were You weren't pulled to plunder,
And vulgar glooms ain't our thunder...
Our flagrent gospel played on the violin,
Like my veins we cut the strings!
Maybe it was only more attention I required?
Ply it with the girl I vast desired...
Now frisson will our final chords,
Through the bleeding of silver swords.
The Moon hung severed and bloated high.
Hope outlast... By my inevitable nigh...
I wanted love, even if it would be paper thin,
So it wasn't only the blade to swim within!
there's no time to be afraid of fear;
'Cause I'll be hung like graveyard tears...
Death my Dark Messiah!
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Comments about this poem (Past Recollection by Jimmy Brouwers )
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