6 May 2008

Wistfulness? No, it's Cold Greed

Sinful eyes lost in indecorous awe,
The sights inspiring both flame and fear.

The desires of a mindless million
Shaped in stone and scrapped with shame.

A reminder of undying lust
For objects of power far beyond our cusp.

Caught by the unblinking lure
Of light shut up in a crystal,
The eyes glint with ancient emotion;
Hard to hide this – an endless season.

None exceed the wanting wind,
In size of dreams and crazy speed.

The use of eyes, all in sockets,
Just as needles, threaded through.

Pain – the aftermath of awe,
As much as the tilt above the rest.

The hiss of quenched desire,
Still the splutter of unfelt loss.

The world of hidden emotions
Say nothing, but the eyes betray.

A life hath all that itself want,
That the things without, are shifting tricks.
For many may have done things,
Many more may have said things.

When it all comes to the basic meter,
We say a simple rhyme in tune:

"The meanings of a forgotten verse,
Scratched on steel and left to rust.
The needless need for a blackened curse,
Etched in stone and turned to dust."

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