Silver hair snaked around the silky neck of the siren temptress
Whose sombre eyes, filled with blissful ignorance,
Tell that she fell unaware, victim to a soundless sleep
Like the skull in her hands whose slacked jaw and silent scream
Show surprise at the scourge of lifelessness that fills it.
And it surrendered itself entirely to be rid of this state.
Complacent was he, the rotten-faced artist,
Who stared upon the charmer before him and becomes the next faceless stooge
Of her song whilst stroking her over the sketches,
Immortalising the seductive shimmer of her eyes on his canvas.
Superiority flows in her vessels and the weathered mask,
Well used and worn, hides the stale, spoiled fruit
That was past their season to satiate pleasantly.
"Let not the Devil's snake snare you!"
Shouts of the priest echoes in the ceiling
Of the pristine chapel the hypocrites come to sing in.
"Memento mori!" Screams the priest above the hissing of the many
Who skip home to resume the sinning
And let the gossip spat out slide into their ears
Otherwise staying deaf during the sermons.
Forked tongues glide across the smirks of the trespassers
Whose slander and lies slip past the folds
And hold captive their minds. In a sickening twist,
The priest weakens the guard around his heart -
And he prays but to no avail,
Because the serpent has slithered into his soul
And the rotten thoughts makes him omit
Memento mori.
YOU ARE READING
Landscape
PoetryYou only hinder yourself by concealing those feelings under a concrete mask. But remember, concrete cracks and I see your unmarred skin that's not tasted the flavour of living. You hide like a guilty thief. You steal away the experience so open y...
