Virtue of mine to dwell are none unmade,
Virtue that I shall grasp and soon keep
For mine disdain and crushes downward,
Whose greater soar did cry and weep the ways,
Gestures unknowingly to the dark but lingers,
Soon bites into the soggy sponge that I soak
Into the blood of my flesh: that flesh unwound
Beckons not for receipt in Venus my duty made,
Her temperament, her ways that unwind my heart,
To step forward into the dream of once it was
To have thought of mine and never alone despair,
What vice I thought had been for utter pleasure alone,
Grieves a thousand for none the vice I can never attain,
But virtue if not for mine but hers gives reprieve;
Shuns the light and into the fray lest beseiged,
In their dark corners as buried in the flesh she crease,
Greets a Universe whereupon my sights dare not venture
Forgotten their perfidious notions for trinkets theirs,
To have sought their virtue for mine, and soon resolved,
Looks to that man or woman in their covers they clad,
Realises their known ways behind their doors once thought
That little be known but mere poking here and there,
Delves into the depths of their ways once it stirs,
To inform my Conscience what virtue lay in the said ways,
No matter what ways, solemnly knows and realises the world,
Drafts that plan anew with virtue and vice abandon,
Thus breathes an air of Conscience and stirs away himself.

Category:
Erotic, Mysterious, Nature, Poetry, Works
Tags:
, , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: