![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/d_642250b563292b35f27461a7.png,f_jpg,fl_progressive,q_auto,w_1024/6514aa57f1affa001d926de4.jpg)
Her moonlit and foreign eyes
hold such a fluency.
He thrives and he contests
bright, pure, and firm,
as if his crown exposes the
seduction, his frenzy
is showing the devotion of the
moonlight in her breath, he’s blessed;
Apollo’s eyes so warm, as he’s shown
her appearance bends
and searches his grave of thorns,
proving best to mend
with her frenzied creed,
and as she blends within
above a bluebird sings,
and as his iris’s breed the seas
just one fish lies in sight,
so his iris’s seem torn,
and eternally battle born.
The silver from her
midnight moon
as her lip lock preys on his.
In her beauty, so compelling,
he removes his mask of doom.
Apollo decides to write:
‘For the rest of my life
I shall seek for my wife
Within her faint
moonlight.’
delivered us from evil as she remains
within his prayer for
the wicked and the scorned, hers lies within
the ink of his thorn. ‘Her fluent niche’
he writes, ‘And I adorn her so,
For which I yearn in
The light of her soul,
She lends control,
And blends my cold and fiery warmth.’
The parchment, burning from
the prayer for the scorned.
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Comments (1)
The imagery of your poetry is very powerful.