02-26-2011, 06:51 PM
Haughty eyes
I turn on your nodding, Darling,
my plans for the evening
not yet becoming;
not till you're sleeping.
My splintered conscience is only kindling
for the blazing inferno
beginning below.
Senses, intelligence
tingling with promise
of lust -
promises, trust broken, but
nothing of ours, Darling,
was ever enough.
...............................
My sentence might have been laid
to the Second* -
seduced
too smooth and quick,
the devil's fingers
lips, tongue, dick drew juices:
sweet respite
from angels' tunes
sung constant in my mind.
But my soul was signed away to the Eighth**
by baiting all 'round,
by viciously
taking them down
one at a time
designing, combining
newer ways
of spinning lies
to wrap them to lips
of spinning ties
to wrap them to tips
my puppets, hopping
to staggered metronomes'
ticking and tocking
in a brilliant scherzando.
I'll tell them all, you know,
that they've been played;
blame the other
for corrupting my nature
as they fight for ego,
their own interests
slightly strained
by disarray created
in their friendly midst.
And one long day
while steeping in shit,
I may wish
I'd listened to the angels.
*'Second' and 'Eighth' referring to the circles of Hell in "Dante's Inferno".
Scherzando - a musical term meaning "playfully"...it's a mood of music.
I'm not sure I'm perfectly happy with this. Though I believe in its content, I'm not sure if I properly conveyed a feeling or connected with the reader (among other things). Rip 'er up, Ladies and Gents. [:
I turn on your nodding, Darling,
my plans for the evening
not yet becoming;
not till you're sleeping.
My splintered conscience is only kindling
for the blazing inferno
beginning below.
Senses, intelligence
tingling with promise
of lust -
promises, trust broken, but
nothing of ours, Darling,
was ever enough.
...............................
My sentence might have been laid
to the Second* -
seduced
too smooth and quick,
the devil's fingers
lips, tongue, dick drew juices:
sweet respite
from angels' tunes
sung constant in my mind.
But my soul was signed away to the Eighth**
by baiting all 'round,
by viciously
taking them down
one at a time
designing, combining
newer ways
of spinning lies
to wrap them to lips
of spinning ties
to wrap them to tips
my puppets, hopping
to staggered metronomes'
ticking and tocking
in a brilliant scherzando.
I'll tell them all, you know,
that they've been played;
blame the other
for corrupting my nature
as they fight for ego,
their own interests
slightly strained
by disarray created
in their friendly midst.
And one long day
while steeping in shit,
I may wish
I'd listened to the angels.
*'Second' and 'Eighth' referring to the circles of Hell in "Dante's Inferno".
Scherzando - a musical term meaning "playfully"...it's a mood of music.
I'm not sure I'm perfectly happy with this. Though I believe in its content, I'm not sure if I properly conveyed a feeling or connected with the reader (among other things). Rip 'er up, Ladies and Gents. [: