Rediscovered some unrhyming iambic pentameter I wrote 2 years back.
Enjoy!
Ill-worn soul, more worthless than specks of dirt
I purposed not to be so low a fool!
Black, serpentine lusts ensnare thy poor heart
Mine heart spattered so too, could not away
O damn spot! Charge not my heart as vixen!
O mar of my soul! Why mark you me cur?
Why make you me ready with loves heartstrings pluck'd?
"Despair and hope make thee ridiculous"!
How you spurn me! My wrath doth boil in me
Give thy venom! Thou'st already poison'd my heart,
With malice, burden'd it. Anger burns my cheeks!
Thy angry charge, not desert of my crime!
Exasperated youth has broken my flesh
And oh! yours, the self-same burden has brought.
There is but fire in thy heart! Of lovers valor!
Brimstone in thy liver, as betroth'ed guard!
Excellence, dear heart, why thou bids't me silent?
Well wounded, love doth beg me mute and blind
Nay! my soul acheth not for banishment!
O, tell me not to hence from thy sweet sight
© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2008, renewed copyright 2010
3 comments:
You are one of the best poets I've met (well, encountered). *smiles*
vary vary nice, meesha :)
Stephen: thank you so much! You flatter me :) Haha, I was honestly surprised at your comment. I appreciate you taking the time to read my work :)
Dan: thanks! :)
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