Post by contention on Nov 3, 2005 16:52:27 GMT -5
This poem is delievered from the thoughts of a recent fight and split between me and one of my recent friends. While it was necessarily a fight and I felt its presence, I never really wished to leave and still don't want to. We made an oath to always be friends, but it seems oaths are broken. Some say that when you make a promise, breaking it is horrible. I do not believe so strongly in all the theories, but the lines, "Scripted Oath, as if to god/ Sinned together and made such fraud." Make a point by saying that the break of our oath was like a sin, a horrible one at that. Described in Dantes Inferno it says, "Fraud is the worst sin against god". "To the double circle" is also a refrence to the Inferno, the second circle is where the "Lustful" are punished. "Malebolge's Bowl" would be the level of hell called Malebolge where the worst sins of Fraud are punished. As I said before, while I do not believe in all of these things, I use these views to express the fragile behaviour of this message.
(Blood letting has also been known as a way for punishment, and such for one friends obsession with love he is punished by the other for acting out of character. "lakes and the drying of eyes" refer to the old saying that love was a lake like place of blood in the heart that was pumped throughout the body. Our eyes were washed out with waves to dry the lakes, somewhat saying that we cried to a heavy extent and because of this, lost all love. .Papal Bull is a document written by the Pope that must be followed, His Son is Christ. These views reflect that the relationship here was destroyed by change in both characters. One resorted more to lively hood and human nature, my belief on now things should be. The other resorted to heavenly books and refrences, these two could no longer live together nor be friends. There graves, were destined to be apart)
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Dear we were but two friends,
Separate by the womb;
Born in but our different skins,
To be the same amongst ones tomb.
You to me, was I to you,
Yet now we separately unite;
Hands crossed, would mock so few,
When fist weren’t notched to fight.
Verbal squander count for throws,
But words were sweet, that I know.
Now our lakes have far run dry;
When lazy waves washed my eye.
Scripted oath, as if to god;
Sinned together and made such fraud.
Letters ran each weeping night,
The carpet for the coming plight.
Papal Bull, such written ink,
T’would be the blade to knife the link.
His Son had come, to rise within
And break the folly of your skin.
Cursed and blamed, branded by trust;
Blood was let, for they lust.
“To the double circle,” thou doth imply;
Left to walk, where I must die.
Not the same, not a bit;
This had bit upon thoust lip.
Foaming desire was my trade,
And you were in religion’s haze.
Cast me within Malebolge’s bowl,
So melancholy I would retrieve;
Teachings from a Christian toll,
To leave your side for grief.
Sincerely, with my goodbye;
My thoughts can no longer save,
That majesty within thine eye,
As I walk alone to the grave.
(Blood letting has also been known as a way for punishment, and such for one friends obsession with love he is punished by the other for acting out of character. "lakes and the drying of eyes" refer to the old saying that love was a lake like place of blood in the heart that was pumped throughout the body. Our eyes were washed out with waves to dry the lakes, somewhat saying that we cried to a heavy extent and because of this, lost all love. .Papal Bull is a document written by the Pope that must be followed, His Son is Christ. These views reflect that the relationship here was destroyed by change in both characters. One resorted more to lively hood and human nature, my belief on now things should be. The other resorted to heavenly books and refrences, these two could no longer live together nor be friends. There graves, were destined to be apart)
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Dear we were but two friends,
Separate by the womb;
Born in but our different skins,
To be the same amongst ones tomb.
You to me, was I to you,
Yet now we separately unite;
Hands crossed, would mock so few,
When fist weren’t notched to fight.
Verbal squander count for throws,
But words were sweet, that I know.
Now our lakes have far run dry;
When lazy waves washed my eye.
Scripted oath, as if to god;
Sinned together and made such fraud.
Letters ran each weeping night,
The carpet for the coming plight.
Papal Bull, such written ink,
T’would be the blade to knife the link.
His Son had come, to rise within
And break the folly of your skin.
Cursed and blamed, branded by trust;
Blood was let, for they lust.
“To the double circle,” thou doth imply;
Left to walk, where I must die.
Not the same, not a bit;
This had bit upon thoust lip.
Foaming desire was my trade,
And you were in religion’s haze.
Cast me within Malebolge’s bowl,
So melancholy I would retrieve;
Teachings from a Christian toll,
To leave your side for grief.
Sincerely, with my goodbye;
My thoughts can no longer save,
That majesty within thine eye,
As I walk alone to the grave.