Consume

Consume
by Jonas Hyde

I bestir to her essence,
burned within my psyche,
whilst longing for her touch.

Darkened princess,
she who consumes my thoughts,
nay my soul.

I strain for her,
for hair of chocolate rivers,
for the scent that entrances me,
for the eyes that pierce my depths.

Her voice gives me meaning,
as I yearn,
as I long for more of her victuals.

To exist within her heart,
to perish within her arms,
such are my sacred appeals.

Yet my entreaty is the Tempter’s gift,
a tainted endowment,
for I consume the wine of our passion alone.

I curse the solitude of this love.

To subsist in ignorance may not be as sweet,
tho’ surely,
would not be as bitter,
just with verity I can be sure,
such a life,
would be a sin of breath.

Thusly I step,
my umbrageous path illuminated by my Evening Star,
my intimate suffering mended by the salve of my muse.

I implore you,
consume my love,
for you consume me my love.

Evening Star

Evening Star
by Jonas Hyde

By quill and ink I pen these words,
understanding not what forged such fires.

I gaze upon the darkened sky,
and regard a Star in shadowed veil.

Her sparkle and verve enrapture my breath,
pulling my nous from the gravity of mire.

Her light glistens strong,
closing the distance betwixt ours souls without fail.

Star in my sky,
You give me pause.

I speak to your beauty,
your passion and your radiant charm.

Please hear my words whispered ‘pon this silent night,
whence thy effect ‘pon me is born with cause.

‘For on this eve I am not alone,
and my Evening Star holds my eye within her arms.’

Solace’s Song

Solace’s Song
by Jonas Hyde

Eve’s satellite winks her eye,
through and through,
the pinhole of her child’s darkness,
in point,
the veil,
that cloaks the nightmare woven of fear,
of sorrow.

The girl stands clouded,
bosom pounding at the edge of the storm,
the fine line where the rain falls just ‘fore her feet.

Draped in the nurture of her lover’s strength,
she steps.

Saline pelts from the sky,
droplets of worry,
regret,
hurt,
anguish.

With each stride,
the storm’s edge recedes further.

The calamities,
and tragedies,
of life,
and love,
hold nary a grip,
held at bay,
by her lover’s rapport.

Shortly she stands,
‘pon the cliff’s line,
at the precipice of choice.

“Weep no longer,
my dearest,
my love,”
he sings gently to her.

“Let the fears of yore,
remain merely memory,
whilst the spark of our souls guide you forth,”

Cursing caution,
she withdraws the trammels of incertitude,
and leaps.

The vehemence,
the madness,
the fury true,
of life’s tempest,
rages against her,
tho’ scathes no more.

The burthens that held her back,
plunges to the void,
whilst her soul surges,
soaring on the whispered wind,
of Solace’s Song.