Sea green
foaming eyes
glinting with joy
hard as the cliffs
that break the waves.
The duality of humans
balance undone
insecure,
yet strong.
Soft lips
strong voice
trembling,
unto myself.
This sea,
like the fire in me
uncontrollable,
but all conquering.
Elements opposite,
enslaved attraction.
Eyes like the sky
never still yet always endless.
Crooked smile on
your smooth lips.
Everything crowned,
by a hood of gold.
Wild like the forrest,
cold yet inviting.
Like the coast of the north,
from which you hail.
As the Visigoths sacked Rome
so too did you invade my heart.
Setting the churches of my soul afire,
you kidnapped the inhabitants of my
emotions, making them slaves to your every whim.
But how are you supposed to defend your kingdom,
when you love the army marching on its borders?
I am as playful as the wind of November
And as hard and cold as the ice of December
Where ever I go and cast my eyes
Women shriek and men doth cry
To face me, is to face obliteration,
To anger me, is to know the true face of damnation.
Heart of a lion
Body like Venus
Golden flying hair
Shining in the air
Mind of a muse
Soul like a Siren
Skin as smooth as marble
A smile that clouds the sun
I will give you my tired, my poor, my huddled mass yearning to breathe free.
The light of my evening star has faded, forever into darkness.
I fear that I might never see its light again, and as such,
I most console myself with other suns.
But I shall never forget its light upon my heart,
Nor its touch upon my soul.
I shall weep like gentle gardner, and mage of many years,
When that star shines for other men, my cheeks will wet with tears.
Tears of joy and tears of sorrow, for loss this way I feel,
Is both that of simple greifing, and of hope for loving years.
There is the wilds of the nords in you
The blood of the dark pine forests flow in your veins
as the waves of ice break on your hidden beauties.
You are the valkyrie of my past, the dark recollection of a pagan dream.
Call to me, my berserker of contemplation and doubt.
The fire that raged inside me,
have been dazzled with succulent rain.
Leaving nothing but small camp fires,
compared to the wildfire,
that blazed through my mind,
as late as last summer.
I don’t know if I’m a beast,
tamed by the beauty,
of the tranquil maiden.
Or a broken dog,
a hound with no fight left in it.
And I’m not sure,
that I would like to know,
because if this is just me,
being spellbound,
then I fear what would happen,
should the magic run out.