He prays this love for Vesper not to fold,
that she and he will stay until the morn,
while echoes crack, and years grow wicked old,
and they two weave a century unborn.
...
There's nothing here that fortune cannot tell;
Channels running red with blood of gold,
pleasure mounting high, the ringing smell.
...
The bogs of Hell are harshly flowing by;
Small silver spoons are forceful, burned by men,
so fight on through. Your passion's come to die
...
I have been writing since the age of 16. I made what name I have in the writing circles on Facebook. I have written: Sonnet, (Shakespearian, Italian, Petrarchan) Villanelle, Haiku, Renga, Senryu, Dhizain, Ottava Rima, Free, Blank, Ghazal, and I have even created my own form, which is known as the 'Spilvenr Reformata'.)
Sonnet For Eve (Unwed Reflections)
He prays this love for Vesper not to fold,
that she and he will stay until the morn,
while echoes crack, and years grow wicked old,
and they two weave a century unborn.
Continue silhouette instructions curse,
for who are they to borrow unlearned time,
when love between two stones remains adverse,
and passionless twin lovers are a crime.
So separate these feelings known to man,
and follow suit with loving cause it's good.
Just take her in your arms, because you can,
and make of your two heartbeats a great flood.
and then they two will long traverse the stars,
while music plays, rings out in soft guitars.