left pond
Lust of creation, desire of destruction.
Tempered by death, lifeless instruction.
Hearts unbroken, spirits laid to rest.
Pain turned to poetry, upon lover's death.
Carnal importance self-shadowed by mind.
A vessel shaped perfect, would yet not be mine.
A raven, a writer, a pen I shall find.
Then write on the line, that I decide fine.
Abusing abolished, a trolley unguided.
A moral repolished, reasons provided.
Angels of anarchy, demons rebuild.
A system of culture dependent on filth.
Eyes drawn below, locked not to a shine.
The darker the room, fades well with design.
I wish for an embrace, filled not with hate.
If death does not crave, I will leave to my grave.
junior cloud