Blood Sheets

I imagine her blood on your sheets, for too often her sacrifice is unnoticed by your arrogance.  Daily she has made love's secret stand, but her endeavour doth fail.

You shall not renew your duty, for conscience shall not your slumber disturb. So then none we beg shall carry her ashes to the land of sleepers. Rather she mumbles and weeps along to the barren moors.

She has from you on bended knee requested a unique tender word, only to receive abrupt thunder and night - swollen humour. Her journey is but the keen and ill-judged actions of a whimsical virgin. Soon you will be but a memory the tally of jagged and girted bees.

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The Colors of Hades

     Thoughtlessly he plunges into the blood stained river of tears he cried over her, just to rescue her from a trap of her own fault. He like a child accepts all is well, but she will deny his ardent embrace the moment her tender toes touch the shoreline. At once she removes her rapturous disguise dressed only in her mystic wickedness.

      Haughty he carries her to the protection of his platonic shade and dons the fleece of the amorous hero. But he plays to empty chairs for her heart dwells with another. Gingerly he draws the feathered curtains tohold back the grey light of morn.

      Sne remains bathed in the muted lurid blue, settled in his nest she begins her downy-winged slumber. He takes the occupation of compassion beside her opulence as green pools shut out humanity. Again he is under her enchantment believing he will soon posses the riposte of true beauty, but only carries the blackened conclave of Hades.

Beauty's Quiet

From across the courtyard I spied her gentle object. Without a sound her eyes danced upon my soul, and I was forever her's to command. I approach her, my words like a fawn on fresh legs fall clumsy from my mouth. Her polite yet  hesitant smile charms the crowded room.

I await her reply, my heart pauses fearing rejection and even laughter. But her kindness is given without worry fully and unconditional. She speaks gently with the lips of beauty's quiet. I sense a doubt in her about my ability but she reveals it not.

Blind Ears

I did not request your passion while nailed to that dead tree, yet you demand of me a reply. You have given me drink from the milk of human kindness, but only long after it has outlived its utility. I am allowed to dine only where my shouldering ashes lie in wait. Bent so far past my throttle my bruised ego is forever shamed.

My retort falls upon blind ears, your back is turned to me for to hide your grin. I am not able to see your joy in the demise of your preferred creation. So on my knees I doth fall, as my tear dashed face begs to be freed from pain, and dragged to my final doom.

Plagued by scenes of my delightful youth I am made to fight against the unmolested dead. But even in victory their humor will not be wooed. My torment is a pleasure you must behold. Your laughter even in thy father’s judgment remains unshent. I am left to wallow in a nuisance so deep I cannot trust the hangman’s knot.

-Johnny V.

Apathy

Her glacial and blistered love is still his sole inclination, yet she has renounced his compassion a lifespan ago. He clings to her bosom despite her apathy, yearns to be in her favor though he must traverse the littered bones of her past lovers, once like hoofed satyrs now faulted by her cold rejection.

He is bound by her left-over passion locked in a dark and undergrown garden of his own creation and mistaking a stranger for a long awaited friend. Onward he stumbles, asking for forgiveness from those unaware of the path desperate for the mere suggestion of her dim love. Seeking guidance from counterfeit arbiters of decorum. Yet her harsh approval is arranged upon a level unreachable even by Hercules himself.

She evinced and proud of what is left to be, knowing that fate alone shall unroll the shades of the future. Tracking with bare feet through specious chaos, reaping tributes undeserving of her forgetful cause.

-Johnny V.

Tedious Wit

Falling upon her knees she prays that soon the tomb will finally hide her caustic tears, ending the afflict in her strength. But time is to be her unlikely Romeo but not her gentle lover. Trapped without a wisp of daylight, she grants dignity its last ignorant breath.

So she holds fast to his tedious wit, as his dastardly tongue utters indelicate tales of luckless fools. She breaths with all of Juliet’s passion and plays the function of the penanced lady. He still unperceptive to her careful and dewy placed wings.

His soft love hidden in her murky grey dreams searching for a place to reserve his poison. Tempted by his splendor she tastes not the bitter potable he leaves behind. She is mystified by the lambia he becomes. So her pale arms accept his statue like physique into her fold adding to the delights of his pride. Left is she holding tears yet unwept doomed soon to fall like wild torrents.

 -Johnny V.

Player

Player

I draw near to kiss your purple scented lips, you reject me. "No!" You demand, "It was only a small seed, but your delusions built a sturdy tree."

Your lips are layered with falsehoods! For it was you as well that watered and blessed the sapling’s insistence with your sweet words, and honey dipped lies."
Your need for a hero and not a lover was hidden from my knowledge and so I bore the weight of both. But you were a coward who could not correct me, and so the role was but a farce that kept my heart nigh.

I played the fool reciting your passion play in hopes that someday I would emerge victorious. But was never to be for when the lights did shine and the curtain fall the stage was filled with a different hero and the bill devoid of my voice.

The masses from their stations did cheer and delight in this handsome new imp. Never to know the true character of the night walks alone weeping copious tears false script in hand and weakened heart in tow.

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Decadence

Fraudulent gathered riches permits a man to take warmth in the winter, and peaceful sleep with a full belly as typical. But it can also cloud his belief in those left to freeze near the river bank, and bedevil his desire to commit to souls who languish for an adequate mouthful of bread.

Copiousness retained in a secure dwelling, makes knowledge of the plight given the man in a distributed shack less than water from stone. When hunger and cold haunt a man’s family finding relief in his heart is rare indeed.

When he whose needs are in abundance refuses to abandon the nectar of kindness all around him are brought to suffer. One must then be obligated to carry from that table of decadence enough to soothe another. For when wealth’s cup spills over his greed can oft surpass his kindness.

-Johnny V.

Savvy

As Icarus of old i reached for my secret too soon. It began as a meaningless spark but in my care burned with the evil passion of God's fallen angel. In her cruel spirit it would never move past a shadowy ember glowing cold in her skilled savvy.

Trapped in this conclusion I am weak and unable to understand any grief beyond my own anguish. My half-shut demons cry out to the very resplendency that rejected them when the rivers were young, untried, and corrupt with the touch of elf-like lovers.

So I, in wet and plendeous defeat willingly surrender to the convicted and disaproved waste once called my soul. Give in to the Orpheus-like power she weilds over me. I forced to lay in my tear soaked pain weeping from dawn's enterance till the lamplight has crept past my lonely threshold.