Do Angels vaguely rival your beauty?
Nay, they will envy for eternity.
My soul, yet black and ever so gloomy,
For your tender love, I'll fight fiercely.
How must my being be layed on paper?
Love is not without many-a lives pain,
On your love, I become ever drunker,
This peculiar state i've seemed to attain.
Not Nirvana, something oh-so sacred,
Something forbidden, ive seemed to come across,
My very love, being expertly sculpted,
My heart no longer dwells in Hell's Chaos.
Further my heart yearns to seek and delve,
Our love comes from heavens themselves.
2008.
A contest entry
- Gravity: Love Poems Of The Saddest Kind by Fey Absinthe.
500 points, ended March 11, 2008, 15 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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