Her uppish silence I cannot feel
This disregard, but tribal innocence
Of love, I see how forgery seels
And seals our reciprocal reticence.
She inculcates the taste of pure betrayals,
Though, she is nothing, but my mannequin
Will you dare to trace what beauty entails,
If you treat harlot like a queen?
How often do you turn into mere beast,
What is the price of twisted passion?
And in the crippled name of vestal feast,
Lilith disclaims your oath of confession.
Eileithyia inwraps into her womb,
Conniving coupling of saturnine love!
Idolatry of birth is our coming tomb,
Mary of Bethany keeps her scythe aloft.
She
© Copyright: Даниил Гергель, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117102212191
Свидетельство о публикации №117102212191
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