Thea Pound Poems

Nothing but a cold darkness here,
Since the sun died out;
Just ruthless dreams of a hopeless hope,
A cruel fate, framed by doubt.
...

Let us wear a mask of calm,
Below the surface seething,
No flicker can show, no eyes may glow,
Steady my rhythm of breathing.
...

Is it not so, That we have fallen,
Almost deafened to The Calling,
Our cenotaph, such great glass columns,
In the urban jungle Sprawling.
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I wear a face, when I step outside.
A mask. Persona. I am not myself.
I seem calm; nothing touches me.
The barrier waivers. The mask smiles on.
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Devour me, my love;
I desire to never part from you,
I desire to be a part of you,
And only you. Always.
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In this world, bathed in shadow,
Even if storms envelop the sky,
Your stars shall guide me;
It is you who lights my way.
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There's just something about him,
Turns heads wherever he goes;
Well, can't you tell the difference,
Between the Raven and the Crows?
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Entice me. Draw me into umbral spaces,
Dark and decadent; From the
Righteous path. Tempt me to sin.
Lead me into vice, corrupt my virtue,
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Like a Monochrome Kaleidoscope,
It may take many forms;
Simple. Complex. Beautiful. Mundane.
Innumerable configurations,
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I am torn. Between two sides
Of a bitter paradox;
A contradiction of righteous injustice,
Twisted morality. Where no
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