Perched upon a rooftop shaking, sprang from darkness a moment waiting,
Opportunity hath me baiting, by the silence Death had procured.
Every moment a seeming linger, malleable less a single finger,
Grasp not would I be able to conceive events on this eve occurred.
When hath ye pleasure deep within you, take for granted not what seems to,
Be encroaching in your lean-to, effervescent spirits that abound.
Rest not thy fingers seem to quiver, with the hope of other givers,
‘Tis the price of sinning men, peace now forever lost upon this ground.
With woe it hath become me, yet another soul now freed and lonely,
Escaped from but a moment’s lusting, she cried for only moments more.
Her earth it seemed to be so fertile, mother’s gift not mere a mortal,
But when the sirens reel in song, she shall pass for nothing but a whore.
The truth it seems hath been revealed, two lovers who both were once concealed,
Taken forth and slowly peeled, of their waning moral constitutions.
Melody in tragedy would abound, for her heartbreak would compound,
In the harrowing plotting of the devil’s vile restitutions.
Email me when Chuck Floriday publishes or recommends stories