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Fallen Angel
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Fallen Angel |
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sullivanthepoet.com Member
since 2007-06-28
Posts 154Devon, England |
What hand might mould such paradox; this vision held to torture man, form silken tress and azure gaze to shame ripe wheat and summer skies, what deity to clothe that form, would scorn the very softest peach? or lips so soft, so warm, so red, the rose its petals might despise… Yet secret ‘neath that genteel guise, what wicked spirits stir within, what demons lurk behind those eyes, or ‘neath that pale and velvet skin? What god from living marble carved; each fulsome breast, each limb, each cheek, what astral sculptor turned his tools, what mystic hammer, chisel, hone, to form a girlish belly thus, to gently shadow Eden’s gate, or perfect alabaster hands whose touch lays cool as polished stone… Yet who the hand or what their craft, can no angelic face disguise, nor artist’s guile begin conceal, the jewel hard light within those eyes. Sweet elegance, aloof, disdained; each measured step in fluid prose, each dainty pace that strokes the ground, that joyous to its pressure sings, the very air steps swift apart, lest with its touch it fault her path, or turn a hair, a brow, a lash; ‘cept lift her on its perfect wings… Yet drawn whence angels dare not tread, to press that heav’nly body’s grace, knows not the mind of mortal man he dares his soul in her embrace. For in that perfect breast there beats, an ice cold heart of hardest stone, its lonely pulse a siren call to any man that dares its suit. Oh folly! He who he who fool believes, his ardour may that stone to melt, when legion those who came before have lost their hearts in that pursuit… Yet still that vision draws us in; that bids us, man, our fears dismiss, to sell our hearts, our minds, our souls, to raise the price of her sweet kiss. But truest love, so freely give, is naught but meat and drink to her, Her hunger burns, until the next, so willing soul invites her dine, and once consumed, the platter bare, she swiftly from he table casts, his mind and soul the late repast, his bleeding heart the sweetest wine… Yet still she from that bargain takes, the poorest half, the sharpest bone, for after every meal she sups… This fallen angel sleeps alone! www.sullivanthepoet.com |
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r v wooo Senior Member
since 2007-08-07
Posts 656 |
your seductive poem is the most beautiful one i have read in quit some time... if i were revengeful in thought, i would hope she would awake one morning to find dr. lecter by her side!...it has been said, and i believe it, "physical beauty is only skin deep"...the true beauty of a person is discovered in their interaction with others...is this "fallen angle" a giver or a taker...by sleeping alone, is she saving herself as opposed to becoming a sacrificial lamb to the goddess of beauty...i'm not sure...therefore, i withhold my judgment of her!...but then again, who am i to judge! beauty is in the eye of the beholder...maybe she is only a piece of stone... [This message has been edited by r v wooo (09-22-2007 12:20 PM).] |
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Joyce Johnson
since 2001-03-10
Posts 9912Washington State |
Intriguing and I think perhaps there is more to this story. Joyce |
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