The Moor - Canto III
I. With promises in ashes, I pledged myself to none apart seethed and spiteful with no forgiveness in my heart, void of God's mercy and hand, I was decrepit and thin with nightly persists to foreign faces who would not take me in; V. tripping from I stepped as if laced with opiate themes, slipping into the bizarre and tasting copious dreams - - "withdrawal of what was once my opulent splendour when the midnights chimed, to God I shalt never surrender;" IX. engraved was the blood of my fate on God's yellow scroll when all in the dam of excrement that glittered was not gold. I was fading from mankind, marked with the scent of decay, in deep hunger from despair, surviving my darkest days, XIII. beholding depravity to the core, hand-carving death's greed like a skewer in my mind as I hold my dear love as she bleeds - - "somewhere the sun has wept upon the waveless lake from where I run with covened wolves' dissonant napes. XVII. I ceased to play the sirens that were always played from the stern for knowing the distortion of my face, I could never return; a bitter end and an exit in blood left a curse upon my soul, digging deep to the puberty of nerves on a spasming roll; XXI. counting the days in my mind with a mental abacus strung, my spirit bickered with the whisper of faith in God undone, tainted by the hands of a dirty God, I was an outcast of others alike, tied with a coiling miasma, I was a Moor, taken from heaven's sight. XXV. I was left with little strength for a deep stabbing pain never dreamed flaunting my demise through a cobwebbed drapery that life seemed, in winter's eve when the cold sharpened and the snow glistened deep the starless nights embroidered my preternatural sleep, XXIX. from chaos born out of love, I was the corn cut by the scythe beckoning to the bindings of a down-trodden life - - "in the black age of brief vicious eloquence in removing the dross for shall then my love rise from the ashes of my loss? XXXIII. Then, and only then will the pleasures of eden be mine and the sinews of my life shall be tied with my bloodline." An incessant curse, even the moon would not lend me her light, snuffing darkness in serves, though, I may claim vengeance as my right; XXXVII. I crawled a nomad in a languid state, flushed in blasphemous sin as I gave with fecundity my soul's sabled poison from within - - "oh, the fevered need for her is my greed and lust in one desire; my soul and heart are plundered, bridling me to the all-consuming fire.
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JDell
I am a neurological psychiatrist by career and a hedonist by nature: I enjoy collecting art as well as old and new literature; eating/cooking fine food; writing/reading poetry; drug experimentation; musical vehemence and avant-garde cinema.
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