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January 18, 2005
Shylock's satisfaction
Seclusion in winter
Dusted white, cold to touch,
The ground in slumber, forgiving not
The sun's shering rays, that eludes it
Ice Jagged deeper, pressing as it extends
The reign of Polar ghosts, adrift the season
Oh Shylock, cherish the hate, as it's
Crimson head mates your bed, your pound
Of flesh, to sink your teeth, and may
Your thirst besiege you as you claim your
Light for mere more steps, upon this stage
Oh Shylock, wash your face, and let the
Severity of your pain, and illusions of
This grandeur shines clear on your skin
As you caress your face, pulling your beard
For you know the jest of this game, as
You rang the bell, waiting for the echoes
Of discontent, passing your way, to afront
Their mockings and smirks, of a velvet hat
You were purchased, worn by days of trade,
The merchants, the dieties, the profits
Of the golden rule, spread in divinity
Of your sin, your promise
So allow the dagger
As you kiss her sweet face,
Break the skin, and the flesh,
With your eyes in candor, searching,
You will be delivered your winter,
Like the jagged frozen mist, that hurls
Within the earth, forever is at hand, and
The satisfaction gained
Posted by Idinraha at January 18, 2005 10:08 AM