A Poem by blossomwriter

Author: blossomwriter
Created: March 19, 2011 at 01:17 pm
Upload Type: Poem, G (All)  
Category: Love | General/Other | General/Other
Upload Stats: 4.83 Stars by 3 users with 3 comments and 262 views

Lust Is Not Love  

He sits and he sits,
crippled in his chair,
and he dreams of her

But he knows nothing of beauty,
and nothing of what beauty does.
But the palm of his accord is empty,
like his love.

He dreams of her, her beautiful face,
her smile, he throws her
like a curtain of frolic,
to be toiled in the wind.

He supposes he would
numb her with substain,
the unbridled thresh
of poignant pain.

It stings, it ales,
it's loathsome entales,
the black daggers of destruct,
the foliage of passion's corrupt.

For Love is a martyr
of her own affection,
looking for ties of
pertinent connection.

Knowing of no barriers
the escapism of desire
is gone.

Last Modified: March 28, 2011 at 08:37 pm
© blossomwriter - all rights reserved

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Comments & Reviews ( X 4)

March 19, 2011
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Another notch on the old belt. This is excellent writing,I kinda disagree on the decussion thought. I think that a form of lust is a big part of wanting of ONE person. Wanting,can lead to erotic thoughts which can be a good thing. Still a great piece of poetry,non the less. Thank you,Blossom. ~Andy

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March 19, 2011
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This is an eloquent and enthralling write on this whole amazing and mysterious subject. SL! BW44

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March 19, 2011
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I like it!
Even though I don't prefer ryhming poetry, this is very good. I can see that you've carefully chosen your words, it has impact, it flows well. My favorite lines are, "the escapism of desire/is gone." Desire is escapism, I never realized that before, thank you for pointing it out. You could break it down more, use less words. do away with but, the and he. Otherwise its great (and I mean that in every sence of the word).

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