Between the Lost Gate

We want to visit heaven’s gate, Men exclaimed in joy for their fate. A 5 minutes tour made men fell, Begging for more, heaven for hell. And Oh! Her beauty stole her brain, Grace to grass, she took stain for gain. “My past will not matter” she says, As men call in lust while she pays. She sat there nude, the path runs wide, A frame of lies she could not hide. She’ve known the touch of countless hands, Like shifting seas on sinking sands. Men came and went, she spread with ease, No prayers, no shame, just sweet disease. Each moan she gave was rent, not gift, A hollow ache in every shift. The frame she clutch, it hides no sin, We see the ghosts she keeps within. The field may bloom, the sky may blue, But dirt remains in morning dew. She speak of choice, of wild delight, Yet beg for more each empty night. A woman lost, not born to stray, She sold her soul along the way. A thousand names her lips have known, Yet not a one to call her own. She seek respect through open doors, But doors swing wide for every whore. She framed herself in lustful grace, But no mirror hides a used-up face.