James McLain Poems

Sarah Teasdale, a poet of grace,
Her words like whispers filled the space.
Born in the year of eighteen eighty-four,
Her life's tale, forever to explore.
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Fading dreams once bright,
Hope's ember lost to shadows,
Disappointment sighs.
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Innocence's bloom,
Pure hearts dance, untouched by time,
Wisdom yet to come.
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In the dark holds of ships cast by shackles' cruel embrace,
Lies the tale of inhumanity's grim trace.
From yonder shores, stolen lives in chains,
Where anguish reigns, a heart's bitter pains.
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Her lips, a canvas of beauty, divine,
A tantalizing allure, a delicate line.
A crimson curve that steals every glance,
With each subtle smile, they mesmerize, entrance.
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In a world where norms reside,
Where rules and patterns coincide,
What is normal, pray, define,
For this tangled web, this grand design?
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In whispers of silk, your body unfurls,
A canvas of grace, where desire swirls.
Amongst her treasures, a sight to behold,
Your beautiful stomach, a tale untold.
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In graceful stride, her lovely legs appear,
A mesmerizing sight, both strong and sheer.
Elegantly poised, like slender pillars of grace,
They dance with life, each step a gentle embrace.
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In your beautiful eyes, stars gently reside,
Sparkling embers of dreams, undenied.
Deep as oceans, with a celestial hue,
They hold mysteries, captivating and true.
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In shadows deep where darkness dwells,
A chilling tale of evil swells,
Psychopaths roam, devoid of grace,
Their twisted hearts, a haunting space.
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