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The maiden's nipples 
swollen, her bosom
flush with excitement,
hailing her goddess as 
she slighted very 
eloquently, puissant.
The goodness they
shared was of sinful
reproach, a somber
obedience of lovers'
admiration.  
The dusk laden sky 
flickered with prose, 
the sorrows of
Belial's romance of lost
mysteries and his 
vengeant domineer,
his bravado, his 
masculinity, cascading
like spirals  of chaos
and the chimes of 
instilled darkness
climaxing to the 
sojourn of forbidden 
pleasures.  
Gently now, 
Belial eased this 
fair lady to her lover's
demand, her patience
swelling between her
thighs, burning. . . 
eternally.
- - - - 
I.
Awoken from a dream,
a fair common was she,
her beauty unsurpassed
only by her soulful 
demeanor and natural
prelude.  Her femininity
and subtle prowess
always the victor,
her passion a hearkening
rose upon a lonely
desolate scorn.  Her 
feelings a bit feverish,
there now, nothingness
and the harlots of 
misery and the massacre
of saintliness.   The venom
there pulsing now,
was evermore raspy,
and only to the 
delight of our royal
antiquities, vespers 
of envy, of anger's delight,
of beckoning glee, a 
madman's exuberation to
the deafening hysterias
of mischief's vertigo.  

A marriage. . .
arranged, a stiffening
King to his Prince's 
triumph over darkness.
Yes, this common peasant
and her divine bounty
was as a peril of Eve 
searching for her lost 
Eden.
There being no more 
reprise, bitter, for her
burden, she was to share.
Somber eyes and 
a broom for everyone
to take hold.  Yes, the 
beauty of a fair maiden
this, so vast and of
such masterful drab, 
splendor to all of 
the shared treasures
in spirits.  

Rage!
A taunting basilisk,
enslaying our vat of 
christendom and devotion.
To this day, of prayerful
morn, maiden Geinere, 
awoke, scarlet fever.
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