terça-feira, 27 de dezembro de 2011

Poem - Love's Essence

I'd rather talk about nothing;
Since love's none but sting;
That inflicts terrible damage;
And destroys image;
Therefore it is itself a key;
To lock mind in three;
Stabs with blood and more blood and gore;
Since love's none but whore;
That plays around unmerciful;
And in vertical;
With bloody fools of hopeless hope;
That hopes for a rope;
To hang themselves in dreadful pain;
Waiting to be slain;
By their own hands of anxious doom;
Counting for the gloom;
To come with scythe and goods of death;
Such as cursing breath;
Therefore it is itself a sea;
To drown you in me.

Erich William von Tellerstein.

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