The One-Hundred, Ninety-Ninth Revelation
Time has long since passed,
Since sins of old; reminded -
A weary mind at last
A devil in disguise.
While searching through my stars,
Found remnants long discarded
Brought to it's surface; scars.
This soul was bound in lies.
When will the wicked learn,
The patient were the victor?
Through smoke of chapels burned,
Revelation takes her form.
Persistent, she; the thorn,
That pierced my side so swiftly,
Sewed strings of bitter scorn,
This heart so newly torn.
Upon my eyes, it fell -
The demon 99
No story left to tell,
This thorn no longer ails.
The only pain I felt,
While examining the joke
Was the pain the laughter dealt,
Knowing it would fail.
More of my work at www.myspace.com/solacefadesnj.
In less poetic but more passionate form.
Shadow, I'm not sure I follow your logic here, but I'm glad to see you posting some of your work with us again.
Les
The story reads:
As a love turned sour, I left her. Prematurely as it turned out. Along the way, a so called friend assumed the role of the temptress. Blindly, I obliged.
I spent most of my time intoxicated. Numb to everything around me. While sleeping in my car one night, to avoid spending the night with temptation, I awoke to realized that this was no life at all.
My wife, patient as she was, agreed that we should start over. During which time, the harlot did everything in her power to tear apart our home once more. From time to time I'm reminded of what happened and how love could overcome such treachery and looking back it is nothing more than a sour memory.
As a love turned sour, I left her. Prematurely as it turned out. Along the way, a so called friend assumed the role of the temptress. Blindly, I obliged.
I spent most of my time intoxicated. Numb to everything around me. While sleeping in my car one night, to avoid spending the night with temptation, I awoke to realized that this was no life at all.
Is all that in the poem?
Les
Not all of what I described is written there, no. That's just a summary of the story itself.
The poem is technically well written and makes one dig to grasp it's meaning.
Just my personal taste for writing styles, but I find the story you told to Les more poetic and powerful than the poem itself.
Steve