Saturday, 8 June 2013

The Tryst

On gentle strains of moonlight
You are calling out her name.
She is running through the darkness
But you pursue her just the same.
And when you laid beside her,
Gentle was her touch.
You heard your own heart beating
But not beating loud enough

And you hear the calls of desire
Flooding through the gates
But it’s so hard to quench the fire
For there’s more than pride at stake.
So you shiver in the moorlands
To spite the bitter seas
Back turned against temptation
You are not ignorant of her pleas.

Your finger feels the light switch
Turning off the night
Her voice is in your ears now
Though love is not in sight.
And you know that you need her,
It’s written on your face.
A million souls are yearning
Wanting to take your place.

When you took her heart in your hand
And you blasphemed her name
And as you stole into the darkness
Not realising the danger of the game.
She had taken more than your soul
Of the curiosity that you sate
The springtime knoll left unacknowledged
It was the final mistake…

You find no solace in the memories, the candle merely smoulders
The crimson stains of morning dues you carry on your shoulders.
You tread the world so lightly, but everything you see is stark,
Because you’re waiting for another to take you in the dark.

And the open coffin beckons, the lid ajar, eternity lingers,
Death is coming moving swiftly wriggling his fingers.
You think the penance that you’ve paid has rectified your dues
But nobody told you that your bastard son would kill you.

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