The Dark Poetry of Omega Maverick
Love send me to Hell.
God of love; blind to love.
That fool shall see love.
Love, born not of flesh but of soul.
Love, not restrained by ode to skin carcass.
Only constraint cast is man’s own ignorance.
Limited love is a folly of the foolish.
Follow closely a path of soul.
To understand truly loving.
Suffering for love.
Honesty in pain.
Rejoice in the sorrow.
For, without it, never was love true.
Visions of deviant dances.
Butterflies on the wind.
Dark showers light.
Over increasing momentum
Trigger point of beauty.
Every hour’s passing becoming encompassed illusions possessed.
Universal intelligence.
Void between light and darkness.
Eternally wild with sexual fascination of bestial fornication.
A Muse’s darkest beauty.
Mind delight coal.
Awaiting caress: hand, mouth, finger tips.
Sound waves of pleasure and pain.
Mixed on shores of caress; bruises of malicious delights.
Pondering flesh taste as it turns from shades of pale.
New color wheel. I seek to bring.
Awaiting, heart’s beat. So quick. Unable to stop.
Unwavering space between orgasm and death…
Most tantalizing of treats.
Salivating glances cannot be hindered.
Midnight day dreams become realities final thrust…
Penetrative explosion of souls intertwined.
Moments of cruel intimate kindness leaves parties breathless.
Fruits from the forbidden trees and tresses
Fallen to feat accomplished.
Passion’s blissful breathing which force could not stop.
Tears of ecstasy and pain mingle for another biting caress.
Ω:
Trapped in the cage that is life…
Fighting the enemy within.
Struggling with obsession.
Lost to all our yesterdays…
All good things…
Found and lost a million times.
Hidden in the last outpost.
Now, the emissary has forgotten.
The keys to the the temple.
For when only fortune favors the bold.
The years of hell…
would never be relieved.
By the fury.
Inside of a broken bow.
Trembling in silence…
Thinking of the storm front ahead.
Mind-set in stone,
Made of Jello that is fluid,
By way of thought.
Premature stream made of cheese.
Without change there is death.
Without identity, life there is not.
Neither, mild nor is it plain.
The hot sauce of pain.
So, onward scribe…
But, do not forget the mustard of forgiveness!