by Victor Creed, facilitated by Sandra D.
him nor do I anticipate monitory gains. This is just a poem and poems cannot
hurt you, but Victor can so don't sue.
Synopsis: A poem, by Victor Creed.
My body is a temple built with the bones of past loves
long dead, destroyed by my own hand.
I bathed in the blood, feasted on the flesh,
unable to bare the reality of natural death.
In that desperate situation, abandoned by the
knowledge that time passes for others
would I kill them in their prime to be mine forever.
Refined by the flames of life's furnace
layer by layer the human condition burned away.
Lifetime by lifetime of pain, joy, devotion and loss.
Remembering my reflection in the dew
collected in footprints left by camels in the sand
weighted heavy with opium and silk,
I watch the moon and count those ancient affections in the night.
Now reduced to primal instincts, distilled and guiltless
my heart a trough, formed when underground ice melted.
I am such the beast, clear and manifest, where exactly danger does lie.
You say I kill, ah yes to kill, for pleasure
or to hasten the inevitable.
