By J.L. Moore
Dastardly deeds this day were done,
at the closing of the barrowed sun.
A heart so mired in hatred's love,
has silenced its only passion's love.
Glory cries and conviction fades
as joy takes its final breath.
Sadness floods the empty soul
upon his beloved's death.
His rage has supped on a jealous feast,
spawning the birth of suspicion's beast.
Spite's keen whisper has won its prize,
for evil dawns a contemptuous guise.
It is said that envy and pride proceed,
an everlasting fall.
For love is quelled when the heart heeds,
sweet deception's call.
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The Life Is In The Blood
PoetryRanked #392 in Poetry 10/29/2016 Featured Story in @_Theveilednight_ Gripping Tales List Original poems, by (as my youngest son says) a 14 year old goth chick living in a 49 year old body. ATTENTION: If you are reading this story on any other platf...
