Born of water - blue-eyed, blonde and porcelain,
Venus makes fertile even disastrous destruction.
Forsaken for our sins, every day
we make mischief endlessly,
never to witness how brightly she shines
when the darkness she illumines.
Smiling at our deviant mischiefs,
she cures forever our earthly sickness.
She watches us from nigh,
though we live beneath a starless sky.
Her body hangs from that morbid ceiling,
illuminating a divinely revered being.
Sand dunes shift insinuating that love is insignificant,
when grains of sand drift towards the intoxicant.
She covers up deceits and disguises,
so spectacularly alone, when the evening star rises
in search of rivers and holy seas.
Draped in a veil of flowers from trees,
she laments the horrid fate for her daughters,
and seeks drowned Adonis in those waters,
so we may rest in peace in the arms of eternity
and remember that with her blood she gave Earth fertility.
She is the morning when dew drops on the flowers,
she is the love that a beast devours,
she is the colour that makes the garden vibrant,
and the tones of her voice soothe our soul out of its torment.
love is the light within you, and
it falls upon my face through stained glass.
An angry non-believer, I
begin to believe.
Your miseries and mysteries do put me in doubt,
till my faith in Venus reminds me, that
your eyes were not meant to see,
your fingers not meant for toil,
your feet not meant to tread,
nor your ears meant to hear.
Your body had birthed only to be admired and revered.
So severe the desperation,
for your love man imitates the Bard of Avon.
Lost love's lessons learnt, and
this blackbird on morrows fails to sing
for he has hidden Adonis with his cunning.
With sacred love, her hands mould the clay
which give your body matter and shape
upon the wheel of time.
The hourglass turns at the hands of Venus.
who made love the subject of their arts?
How sincere was their devotion and reverence?
Were they sentenced to craft the kingdom of God,
or were they angels, or demons were they?
Were they flawless, or damaged were they?
Look into the eye of the craftsman when he contemplates.
Tongue-tied with sealed lips, unable to say a single meaningful word,
but, the light in the windows of his soul will tell you
he is broken, and forever so condemned to be,
seeking what is lost, cursed to his damned blind faith for eternity.
Of the seven sins, even God will agree, that
lust is the most beautiful one,
where nature has procreated for ages.
May a mortal fantasise about the beauty of Venus?
Dirt beneath her feet, ugly smoke on her cool water,
tainted cloud shrouding her brilliance, near-nothing
dare stare into the face of the divine goddess of beauty and love?
A fool, to imagine that true love will last forever
when its true meaning surfaces only upon its death.
