His Nocturnal Whore
Awakened, his senses numb
tosses and turns
to nightmares succumbed.
She calls out to him.
This mask of dusk,
luring him into the night, into lust..
They say she changes when the sun goes down
Your favourite worst nightmare.
And again, she returns
His aide
Granting what he wanted,
superficial happiness oft made.
Glorified noble, like love
shameful nonetheless.
She too fights a battle,
with herself.
She is what they made her,
His nocturnal whore
forever.
This is was written at the spur of the moment. It makes sense though, if you think about it. Most of us are marionettes in one form or another.
- Meher B.
6 comments:
"Love" is overrated .... and if u dont get it... "Lust" is the best subsitute..!!
;P
your thoughts are way above the "main stream" journals!
ur writing reflects ur deep and sensitive heart!
amazing,m "flabbergasted"
Ahm!
Wasnt this written for me?
right?
I love it anyway. ^_^
oh wao oh wao parul
thank you ever so much
^_^
and yes joe it was! :)
well...i must admit that it was only the third visit to ur profile that i made up my mind to read this poem...
feedback:was worth reading!
hw did u manage to choose such a topic?That did "flabbergast" me...he he
oh
thank you i think.
:)
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