So, this poem is still deeply entrenched in the editing process (has been for a while, actually), but I felt like sharing, so here you go!
“Many dreams and tales have been woven
About Love’s power, its sweet seduction,
Of star-crossed romance and passion cloven
By jealous suitors lead by Fate’s corruption.
But still it seems pure, a flowered maiden
Amidst harlotry both sultry and obscene.
With lovely pearls and garments Love is laden,
Creating its splendor: that impenetrable sheen.
Aphrodite seated in her arabesque chair,
An angel immaculate, a sonorous chorus of bliss.
With crystal eyes, beauteous flaxen hair,
An enticing prospect which to none has gone amiss.
Elated days she promises those who follow piously,
To be lavished in her presence, graced in her perfection.
This songstress of the heavens, weaving her notoriety
Betwixt couples dancing graciously, engrossed in their affection.
A wondrous gift for those who find her,
Our elusive maiden, wife of sadistic War,
She who mystifies even the veteran connoisseur
Of her craft’s fickle ways, that state which Man abhors.
But with glistening eyes and pristine form
None may deny her appeal.
So, when one wishes to defy the social norm,
What hope do they have that it is real?
Numerous are sonnets concerning betrayal and desire,
Yet few which speak of innocent affection’s persistence.
For when Lust rears its head, robust in the entire,
There is a duality of sorts, impossible coexistence.
Lust and Love writhing ‘neath cerebral folds
In a sordid liaison, a carnal, slovenly, sensuous tryst
Creating chaos anew when passions fall to endless cold,
For in this struggle only the animal may persist.
Daemonic Lilith splayed on her throne of bones,
A rapturous succubus, erotic and debonair.
A transfixing gaze, beauty of agonizing hone,
She draws in those who yearn, who seem to care.
More beguiling than our Maiden, far more sultry and divine,
Yet prone to heartache is this bride of Death, most destined to fail.
But emotion drawn to glamour is too simple to entwine;
In truth the story has long been wrought, this swansong a depressing tale.
Abundant is this paradox, this parody of reason
Two lines the broken heart creates when fin’lly smote in twain:
A sanguine sky, harbinger of foul season,
And a frozen earth, where eulogies to night-forged passions are lain.
With tempest winds aplenty and reason a second’ry thought
Again we fall to flushed and parted lips, to silver-lighted thighs,
Lead on by infatuation, struck down by what union begot,
Succored passions brought us here, this creation of what logic defies.
Rather than a sanctuary we fall amongst the harem.
There Lust waits in ravishing, fetishized splendor
Amidst her garden of henbane, nightshade, and wicked arum.
She fulfills all wishes, surpassing Love and its defender.
We drift between these: the demoness and angel, both
Eternal in their charm, one with no reserves, the other cannot comply.
Lovely Aphrodite beckons, but lusty Lilith needs no oath.
The eleventh hour draws closer, and your temptress is nigh.”
As I said: still needs a lot of work, but I think it’s decently solid in its current state. It’s at least share-able, haha.