shall i compare you to a budding rose?
the vanity of distressed cries sound love and lust:
which is chased by evil and hatred,
but only baffled from brother moon,
who hath not been forgotten,
yet had been hiding beneath the stars
for he is envious of your regal beauty
remembrance the death of a pure serpent-
thy blood compares itself to your wine stained lips
one that is sweet to the taste,
despite thine impenetrable addictiveness
causes sister sun to be rendered useless;
what good of use is sunshine,
when i can’t see your innocent face?
lured into revelry of a midsummer drink,
lo! thy thorns beneath your blooming brain;
a cannon’s blasts and gathering tears
pricked by thy god’s marriage
with my dear divine adonis:
take this lying, wasted body,
and curl your mouth in a shuddering smirk.
a rainbow after this thunderous eternity,
sayeth the lord, “forevermore serenity!”
Poetry