One Moment of Passion's Decision
Restless love in darkness deep
The sneakin', tippy-toe'd steps crawlin', bawling to beastly breaths.
Gloating the bloated-batch of heathens, jesters, and visible deaths.
Ragged coat to cover his unloved, nameless, lover from filth be born,
To live forlorn to seldom hear his crippled voice torn.
Others' eyes, her passionate sighs, a stolen silk this morning.
While he toils the cursed clouds they taunt, and deception leaps on spider feet.
She spins and grins a mighty love that gains the fiery eyes above.
But truth be vain, the killer's name, and she sleeps a steady sleep.
Unseen plans written fair.
A dagger, a noose, a high-minded harlot on the loose
Rumors his ears net like mindless fish.
Still he toils, his skin full of boils, as bluebirds sing o'er his grave.
She spies her prey, a workman by day, stranger fools are but miles away.
And yet, he works as beasts die slowly, the coin she gets in his doze.
A stronger wine may cut the throat, but no remorse as we dine.
She caresses her lover's tongue and lies to a longing heart.
Not knowing the price of living on ice--ignoring the teeth of patient mice.
It's her time.
Ground quakes, her dragon wakes, and Hell is set afire at night.
Owls answer his dreaded questions, serpents dance her shadow tuned.
And water slowly, slowly carves her crypt hating that lifeless myth.
Grains, grains of eternal sand cut deeply her heart in his hand.
Deep, slippery liquid sounds drape the waiting grave staircase
Giving in, giving up, walking to death, losing her chase.
A light hitting a scope of time while pipers are drunken on lyrical rhyme.
He crawls from "his" sod, o' wrinkled, wrecked skin once young.
Truthful eyes the visions see.
Holding fire in death's pure pyre and she sails a stagnating sea.
One equality a judge to shear her pride,
Stunned, she knows painfully, truthfully, where "he" died.
Bowing low to black image, both locked, laughed and cried.
Passions live. Moments die.
Romping wild like the blood that flows silently, silently, until her whispers gone,
Lacing the masks she wears in gentle light to bridge unseen lust in harsh of night.
As moths and butterflies live in simplicity's bed. He cringes at the sight of her bowing head.
She hides herself in sickness fire--he listens to a dusty Heaven's choir.
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