Poemetry: In the Land of Love

In the infernal land called Love,

where “friend” is the cruelest word,

and creates hell its own thereof,

sanity alone is absurd.

Here, diamonds dull within Love’s dirt,

rubies blue at each fleeting flirt,

and demons mock angelic ruse

with pointed tail and pyrite muse.

Every sight, a fictive fairy,

winged furies that seek to enslave,

at best, but propense to bury

truth in a frostbite-blistered grave.

But the sooted and smoky shades

that harrow each harried thought

are echoes harsh and hardy made

of blissful mist and baleful brume sought.

Sculpted reflections wrapped in sable,

knitted knots of forgotten fables,

mask the eyes in inked confusion

with white rapture and gold illusion.


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