07-18-2012, 08:59 PM
I keep messing around with the form of this... I have V.1 and V.2 here, can I have an opinion on which is better? & obviously any other feedback!
Thank-you!
v.2
Deep within the darkness of a twisted, lonely mind,
began the end of meaning of a life she left behind,
now scattered in the moonlight, and cast into the past,
where lurks a beast of morose, stalking patient to her last.
A violated garden lies in cooling ashes of her smile,
each flower stripped of colour by his filthy lusts defile,
thus rain must fall forever, leaving marks upon her face,
or as glitter on the cobwebs like the liquid on the lace.
Her wings are made of dust, her eyes are made of glass,
nameless lying bleeding, weaving words of golden grass,
while white lilies will grow eagerly in old remains of sanity,
and pale reflections of her loss lie cold in groves of vanity.
v.1
Down inside the darkness of a twisted lonely mind,
began the end of meaning with the life she left behind,
now scattered in the moonlight, which is cast into the past,
where lurks a beast of morose stalking patient to her last.
Violated garden lies in cooling ashes of her smile,
each flower stripped of colour with his filthy lusts defile,
and thus rain must fall forever, leaving marks upon her face,
or as glitter on the cobwebs like the liquid on the lace.
So her wings are made of dust, and her eyes are made of glass,
nameless lying bleeding, weaving words of golden grass,
while white lilies will grow eagerly amongst remains of sanity,
and pale reflections of her loss await in groves of vanity.
Thank-you!
v.2
Deep within the darkness of a twisted, lonely mind,
began the end of meaning of a life she left behind,
now scattered in the moonlight, and cast into the past,
where lurks a beast of morose, stalking patient to her last.
A violated garden lies in cooling ashes of her smile,
each flower stripped of colour by his filthy lusts defile,
thus rain must fall forever, leaving marks upon her face,
or as glitter on the cobwebs like the liquid on the lace.
Her wings are made of dust, her eyes are made of glass,
nameless lying bleeding, weaving words of golden grass,
while white lilies will grow eagerly in old remains of sanity,
and pale reflections of her loss lie cold in groves of vanity.
v.1
Down inside the darkness of a twisted lonely mind,
began the end of meaning with the life she left behind,
now scattered in the moonlight, which is cast into the past,
where lurks a beast of morose stalking patient to her last.
Violated garden lies in cooling ashes of her smile,
each flower stripped of colour with his filthy lusts defile,
and thus rain must fall forever, leaving marks upon her face,
or as glitter on the cobwebs like the liquid on the lace.
So her wings are made of dust, and her eyes are made of glass,
nameless lying bleeding, weaving words of golden grass,
while white lilies will grow eagerly amongst remains of sanity,
and pale reflections of her loss await in groves of vanity.