Seraphim

Whispers of eternal damnation

Sweetly singing my salvation

Aiding in this burning need

A weeping mortals lustful greed

A gluttony of the living kind

To lull the paltry persons blind

A holy obligation, tainted, bane

The darkness howls, passions reign

I am not supposed to feel this way

What am I supposed to say?

You laugh and mock my aching eyes

And fail to listen to my cries

Like a babe mewling fair

I need your embrace like I need air

Full of base and earthly frustration

I feel for Donatello’s station

I weep for Don Juan,

I cry for Ovid,

For Byron

for The amourous pharohs

And curse cupid’s poisoned arrows

Full of pain, disguised as pleasure.

An addicting, heady measure.

Of yearning, wanting, and of rt shame,

If only he would feel the flame.