The Libertine

There is a line that is drawn, but not by hand

It’s a line we should not cross

 

Yet many is the time I have strayed

To my shame and demise I fell

 

The fight within I would seldom win

Would that my heart were stone

 

For the heart is a conniving selfish organ wanting all it’s own

It turns that is bad into good, to trap a man so bold

 

If only I was blind

And never fallen so foul, of a maidens dark hair, lips so full and that cursed twinkled eye.

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Reviews

[Circe]

hmmm.. this makes me guilty for liking it... that conniving selfish organ is too tempting.

[Brittany]

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nice job.

[Eve]

Simply, I love this write.