Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.3
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Canto I: The Wicked
______

Wither and tremble awash at sea oh woe
Woe is he, terror from sights even blessed would flee
Serenades of night washed over him into the wrong
Dark tides so high and undertow pulls so strong
Wither

Wicked winds have sailed across miles of endless plains
Plain to see, evil sinews and dew drops of pain
Inward he looks as the tattered sails curtain calls
The life of a tired man, broken as he flails
Wicked

Cursed as sapphire seraphs twinkle above his eyes, singing the praise
Of others lies and curse the moon to spite the days
The sun won't rise over the horizon in this void place
His soul set a son loose to save his faltered grace
Cursed

My heart bleeds for this celestial stranger, so damned
He is, he roams to hell for heaven's sake'n lamb
The fades of glory shot to hell long before he sailed
His ship over capricious waters... Folly.. he wailed
Bleeds

Dark and daggers in his back, the volley of attack so
Righteously planned, furious anger rage in pit of soul
Row your damned boat man, get out and push
Spit down from a friend so high who has a flush
Dark

Canto II: The Game
_______________

Life has its ways, terra-firma holds its gaze 
Keeping us down in earthly ways
Hold us soft in tender melancholy
Cut us deep in winter day follies

His ship hit land and he fell in
Sand dragged him down again
Bags tied to his corporeal feet
To ensure his heavenly defeat

He played their game and he lost
The sand smothers lung and frosts
Over and over a withering soul
Sold it again for hope to climb pole

This was it, this was the last denial
As the gasp was let out to defile
His enemies and poisonous snakes
Hold still, the bite is at stake

The venom entered his veins and he writhed...

Canto III: Retribution
_________________

Withered soul sing loud
Retribution is coming
Rebirth is freedom

Afterlife glows bright
Coming out of dried sands
Water and soul then

He burst free singing
Tread softly over deserts grain
Knife at the ready

Canto IV: The Kill
_____________

Free
To stab
Their open backs
Desire to twist
The blade cuts deep and blood runs out quickly
Sap of the God's he breathes deeply sickly
Desired more cuts 
Wounds in them
Bleeding 
Out
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required