The Altar
The lousy devil, how cleverly
he etched his thoughts onto
my helpless and placid mind.
I was reluctant, at least at first, but
they eventually metamorphosed
into my rhymes.
Those slippery layers of graphite,
blotted with vermilion hues, be the
carvings on his altar, so fine.
I slowly prepared my own poison,
for he made me believe that I was
the chosen one, for sacrifice.
YOU ARE READING
THE PREMISE OF LOVE
PoetryMy Poetry, the art form of the soul, is an exquisite tapestry of language that weaves together emotions, thoughts, and experiences with skillful craftsmanship. It is a captivating expression of the human spirit, transcending time and culture, to tou...
