Her smile as delicate as a widow's stich.
Her heart dark and cold as pitch.
Her feet soft as a silk - maiden tone.
Her eyes hard as aging stone.
My desire for her a shameless lust.
My soul touched by her now in rust.
I sing to her of lasses fair.
She holds me in her frozen stare.
I reach for her a tender maid.
She holds my life it's bitter trade.
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Her devotees, once great and fine men now kept in a charnel house, struggle as angels caught in her silver web. She as lovely and graceful, like a dancer upon a cloud of gold, her soft feet floating above its sheen, making it softer with each step.
They like panicked, bleating sheep unaware that she, their malefic Sheppardess has in store only a fatal fall. None shall elude her grasp nor bunk her manipulative trait. For she is wise and accomplished with her forked tongue. Many have loved her but each in turn has ended scar ridden, and joyless.
-Johnny V.
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Look ye upon my maiden fair, as she dances across the morning dew. The gilded God of Passion smiles for she alone is beauty's delight. The pattern on her silk skirt glistens about as she moves with a goddess like grace.
Bleak shall not hold her, nor sadness enter her spirit.joy and live are her prosperity and happiness follows her whispered promises. Her soul, brightly clothed with gladness doth spawn a melodious hue of beauty.
I try to plant my humour in the soil of heaven, but I am befooled. The false dawn creeps and forces it upon the wet rocks, doomed to wither in the shadows of doubt. Angels doth pull a face as I toil fruitless knowing it will yield not a stem of value.
My joy is bereft of account and cold as ash upon the clay. My cries will only mock my lips and charge only silence to the savior's ears. His prideful sheep delight in their glib wonder. So I remain a tale of jealous woe told to idiots.
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Burn ye the flame of joy from all sides and hold fast to those so dear, for soon they will drift from your strength. Rage against the rejection of the betrayer resist the damage she does, let not the scarlet orb beat with wrath, stay true and pride shall not abate.
Hold not any reverence towards Satan's anger though he may set your tinderbox spirit aflame, for Allah will hold you in his sight. Keep no fear then when conferred to the holy gate but look your savior in the eye and justify your worldly exploits to finish your journey.
Do no become ensnared in your father's cold dreamless sleep, stand alone carry not his worry to your doom. For we all one day will find ourselves in the bosom of Morpheus. Our teeth broken upon the thirty pieces of wretched siliver bought to sav our soul, finding our demise as we backstep to our grave.
Ah what a muddy and clumsy mess is man, yet once freed from our poverty we doth shine with his enduring grace. Those who belight in their lower stations shall not his savior's gladness, see. One must put the bastions of disease and squalor to the sword, even when rusty tearstained angels deliver grim salutations.
- Johnny V.
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In the want of sunlight the galvanic streetlamp shines its false securtiy. Rejected by those he loves, his courage belittled he is the once pious bird beating imoulded wngs in regret. The day ends and he sleeps on the shadowy cot of sour lies.
With a shepard's manner, and timid cry he awaits God's notice. But God defers his glory for those he alone deems worthy. Standing under the wood structure in Satan's yard he shields his face fromthe cold December snow falling in May, and hiding his newborm path in its white softness. His mind swans to a more joyous time, before he lived on borrowed sorrow.
The silky seductive goddess doth tempt our valliant paladin, like a siren in Poseidon's employ she calls him to the rocks. Her dancing shape is held forever in his serene eyes. He like a deffeated warrior with a gladsome spirit will her bidding perform, his soul lrft scattered axross the property of some unknown foe.
-Johnny V
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She exhibits to the world silk and pius robes, but they only hide her goddless heart. Her unfermented smile is but a curtain for an uncivil tongue. Many dance to her birdsong, yet she takes private delight as they tumble cold and tangled in betrayal. As one defeated soul walks away familiar of her true nature, she welcomes two delightful spirits strange and awkward to her vile whims.
She projects the splendor of Heaven's guilded ceiling, instead delivers the foul stench of Hell's lonely ghetto. Her words, warm and dipped with honey are merely a false voice masking her verbal defecation. She gauges her victories not for how many pass through her bed chamber, but by how often they crawl away from her lair hopeless and shattered.
Her honey tainted promises sour with the stench of decite. I clean my lips, and lick my fingers in defeat.
Midnight knocks and shuts out the light. While I lose the scent of summer from my sight.
She holds out the joy of heaven to my eyes. But I soon learn it is but unreachable lies.
For a moment of her concern I would but murder the world. Her fangs glisten with the moon, their cold venom unfurled.
Upon my soul I carry her purpose alone. Longing ever to touch the seared flesh from the dragon's bone.
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