by Natasha Anne Rose Bowman
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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His titillating fire burns
A hole within their souls,
It scorches paths of loverís ash
That parents Satanís ghouls.
They crawl about with dewy eyes
Air kissing both his feet,
Lethargic smiles grace the lips
That cry for mercyís sleep.
He flicks his wrist, their pageboys dance,
His biddingís always won,
For with one jerk of evilís lance
Necks snap, heads come undone.
Monotonously swinging hips
Call out in sears of pain,
His fire burns their innocence
And yet, it never rains.
A sick manís platter of delights
Laid out for all to see,
Instead of washing off his plate
You pass the spice to me.
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|Reviewed by Michelle Mead
|Horror poems are really difficult to write without sounding cheesy, you did it well :)|
|Reviewed by Rose Rideout
|Another excellent write you share with us honey as I almost forget your age, because you write in a different age. Great and thank you for sharing.
Newfie Hugs, Rose
|Reviewed by Felix Perry
|Excellant dance of the demons, you captured the fires of hell and the delight of the devil in this write that could be about satan himself or metaphorically speaking about your last boyfriend. Either way the vivid descriptions are perfect.
|Reviewed by Karen Palumbo
|Interesting, creative and very imaginative....
Be always safe,