I Write Poetry
~The Abyssness~
by: Rob Paquin
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In the lands of mists, he stole a kiss, that so quickly it did claim him.
Into hell's abyss, he descended with, a thought that it might save him.
And on he fought, all for naught, and soon he was quite stricken.
With knowledge brought, he soon forgot, under the spells of the Wiccan
His curses rang, throughout his pangs, and down and down he spun.
Then with a bang, and a soul crushing clang, he landed in the sun.
Now there he burns, and there he churns, struggling to be free.
Yet,to past return, to past he yearns, curse and spell is all he'll see.
With blinded vision, and heart's division, his curse became quite clear.
Judicious decision, without provision, truthful lies so domineered.
In hell he wanders, and love he squanders, just waiting for the end
the memory fonder, the realities ponder, the never's to transcend
the chain such a small one, that can't be undone, no key to fit the lock
himself he does shun, his dying begun, the life he leads to mock
and with his curse, and watched averse, he smiled just for show
the doggerel verse, so unrehearsed, the negative to bestow
And in the passes, as time amasses, his anger to be swallowed
no fear surpasses, nor shamed morasses, ever to be followed
the song of flowers, and all the powers, still hold him to the flame.
In vaunted towers, his soul devours, as he accepts all of the blame.
And in the knowing, his love still glowing, he travels to perdition
With cold winds blowing, happiness foregoing, too much of supposition.
And heart and soul, cannot atoll, an air of soft forgiveness.
Never to console, upon the whole, the plea a thing so useless
With mournful cry, and tear stained eye, his soul is filled with doom.
With hollow sigh, and veiled reply, he's cast into his tomb.
Yet death awaits, and seals his fates, his demeanor oh so wry,
and at the gates, his cage awaits, a place where he can die.
~The Snowdog~
© TheSnowdog - all rights reserved
by: Rob Paquin
In the lands of mists, he stole a kiss, that so quickly it did claim him.
Into hell's abyss, he descended with, a thought that it might save him.
And on he fought, all for naught, and soon he was quite stricken.
With knowledge brought, he soon forgot, under the spells of the Wiccan
His curses rang, throughout his pangs, and down and down he spun.
Then with a bang, and a soul crushing clang, he landed in the sun.
Now there he burns, and there he churns, struggling to be free.
Yet,to past return, to past he yearns, curse and spell is all he'll see.
With blinded vision, and heart's division, his curse became quite clear.
Judicious decision, without provision, truthful lies so domineered.
In hell he wanders, and love he squanders, just waiting for the end
the memory fonder, the realities ponder, the never's to transcend
the chain such a small one, that can't be undone, no key to fit the lock
himself he does shun, his dying begun, the life he leads to mock
and with his curse, and watched averse, he smiled just for show
the doggerel verse, so unrehearsed, the negative to bestow
And in the passes, as time amasses, his anger to be swallowed
no fear surpasses, nor shamed morasses, ever to be followed
the song of flowers, and all the powers, still hold him to the flame.
In vaunted towers, his soul devours, as he accepts all of the blame.
And in the knowing, his love still glowing, he travels to perdition
With cold winds blowing, happiness foregoing, too much of supposition.
And heart and soul, cannot atoll, an air of soft forgiveness.
Never to console, upon the whole, the plea a thing so useless
With mournful cry, and tear stained eye, his soul is filled with doom.
With hollow sigh, and veiled reply, he's cast into his tomb.
Yet death awaits, and seals his fates, his demeanor oh so wry,
and at the gates, his cage awaits, a place where he can die.
~The Snowdog~
© TheSnowdog - all rights reserved
