The room stands still-
Narcissistic fumes on which we choke
Seeping through the cracks of his impenetrable hide.
Many a limb of women he broke
With a fiery gaze and hands of pride
With Cupid-grazed lips, each word he spoke
and poisoned by lust they slumped and died.
His face a merely deathly cloak
Demons that slay, to come out cried.
‘Pon the beast’s fur, I pray don’t poke
‘cept you crave to be his bride.
And suffer the consequence of an unending yoke.
Forever envious and happiness denied.
Eros has thus spent his life force
crafting his perfect image of clay
And upon women unleashed his curse
their hearts for him always to slay.
Por izquierda y derecha:
They fall as soldiers ambushed by gods
In halls their hearts as trophies he mounts;
Ladies of court and wives of Lords:
The tallies he smites, and everyday counts.
And on and on, as his craving burns
Frame sublime to all he flounts
His snare for prey to which he hunts
That damsels might be lured to the lair of hounds.
©2017 2edged Pen