Post by contention on Nov 5, 2005 22:14:46 GMT -5
This poem is one of my few that revolves around love; it's views focus at the beginning on the concept of one of the Seven Deadly Sins which say Lust is involved. To love someone deeply and have that feeling can be unhealthy and bad, such it is given title of a sin. I don't agree with this view, but I found this subject to explain the feeling that dug at me as I wrote this. The main gist of what I could say here is, "Even though lust is a sin, I dream and wish of you. Everything around this world seems to have your face in it, and if it didn't I'd put it there anyway even if everyone else wished otherwise. If this means that I will be bannished to hell, I will love you even there, for I love you to much to stop."
Thoust would make me bleed inside,
And tear to shame my conscience;
To roll within the fiery tide,
As down this body haunches.
Safetly Lust has come to thee,
Bred to will it shall boil;
Brutes can but dance in glee,
When God may to me soil.
One of Seven we have done,
Contrast the rising of the Son;
But vision I will, of your shape,
And welcome claws to unto me take.
When thy eve has come to dwindle,
And gone thou light doth kindle;
Stars do spark to draw your face,
In my heart, such empty space.
True beauty through thy thinnest clouds,
Will stream throughout His heaven’s shroud;
These mortal hands would make such so,
When all the world doth say but no.
Unto all, first ye shall be,
You are my world and thy sea.
My body, my life, my frozen blood,
Have swept away, within your flood.
Never with you, shall I make haste,
Moments are but our treasure;
In thy mouth, come craves your taste,
That only those lips could measure.
If this is but, a simple a sin,
Against what priest may tell;
I’d gladly give up all within,
And love you in depths of hell.
Thoust would make me bleed inside,
And tear to shame my conscience;
To roll within the fiery tide,
As down this body haunches.
Safetly Lust has come to thee,
Bred to will it shall boil;
Brutes can but dance in glee,
When God may to me soil.
One of Seven we have done,
Contrast the rising of the Son;
But vision I will, of your shape,
And welcome claws to unto me take.
When thy eve has come to dwindle,
And gone thou light doth kindle;
Stars do spark to draw your face,
In my heart, such empty space.
True beauty through thy thinnest clouds,
Will stream throughout His heaven’s shroud;
These mortal hands would make such so,
When all the world doth say but no.
Unto all, first ye shall be,
You are my world and thy sea.
My body, my life, my frozen blood,
Have swept away, within your flood.
Never with you, shall I make haste,
Moments are but our treasure;
In thy mouth, come craves your taste,
That only those lips could measure.
If this is but, a simple a sin,
Against what priest may tell;
I’d gladly give up all within,
And love you in depths of hell.
