Wed, 01/15/2014 - 11:14 -- clopp12


Oh, love, you cursed thing. 

He sways to you, unable to resist;

you intoxicate him 

and he succumbs to you with all of his being. 

He desires you, 

craves you like an addict, 

seeks the feeling of cosmic importance you provide. 

You preternatural thing, 

you coy, shameless, adulteress-

the best at the game,

the player that will never lose.

With one fell swoop you could cut him at the knees,

break him and shake his broken soul,

grind his heart into a million grains of sand. 

He is powerless in your wake

whether you decide to sweep him up in your arms

or whirl him away in an indifferent breeze. 

Some may call you a temptress

(you have left millions, broken,  

behind you without a second thought)

While others claim you sooth the soul

(for you have connected souls across continents,

bridged worlds, 

and hold the only cure to some wounds). 

The heart is a dangerous thing,

but such tricky things are your trade,

the goods with which you barter.

You pierce the soul with such unstoppable purpose

that no one, nothing, can ever cross such an endless expanse,

or reach to such depths of despair. 

You hold a secret that we will never comprehend,

a tale of legend and power,

the myriad of emotions that make us

so unbelievably susceptible to you. 

You are a fearsome thing to behold;

you pierce the soul. 

I wish you would leave him, though, 

for I wish him a smooth heart,

one untarnished from heartbreaks and cruelty, 

because I know him to be kind. 

I know him, I know his heart, and 

I assure you - 

he is kind. 

He is of such goodness, such greatness, which I will never attain.

Would you play with such a gentle soul? 

Let him be manipulated by your wayward ways? 

I beg you pardon him, 

grant him a reprieve. 

He doesn’t deserve your wickedness

which I know is there. 

You multifaceted thing:

so many sides, so many faces. 

One never knows which part of you they will meet

but all I beg of you is

please let him meet one of your kinder, more merciful, sides

For I truly mean him no harm.


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