If rosemary and sage are forbidden,

then a fortiori, must roses be.

If wine makes nonsense of our words,

then love sets the chaotic free.

Why are the lashes of self-loathing

mistreating a tenderest heart?

Yet most pompously stands an intellect,

posing as a heartless ark.

Opposing the engulfing ebb of fervour,

with the life of a decaying crate.

Why is a soul most chaste tormented?

How could a serenade intoxicate?

Remember the Parisian letters of Chopin.

The Scream cannot from your ascend part.

A sleepless spirit drowns in angst,

Perhaps, existing for a castle of art.

Published in: on 18/03/2016 at 8:37 AM  Leave a Comment  

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