BlackDragonSoul
02-23-2002, 03:18 AM
A lonely spider hangs from its webbing,
Such a task to spin in the wind,
Unlike that of a pretty white wedding,
But a black one, filled with sin.
A tainted man lingers in desire,
Of that which obliges beseech,
A touch of life, to bring him to par,
He can sense it, just out of his reach.
Yet the mind can be so frail,
Mild trauma will cause great regress,
Reaching far back into existence,
Primal instinct is all that is left.
The world continues to spin its web,
Life goes on, time goes by,
An endless path of transgression,
Compiled with an aspect of “Why?”
More and even more riddles,
Keep the curious soul at bay,
Intellect becomes less than priority,
The mind then begins to sway.
A realm, buried so deep,
Far beyond what is real,
Unbeknownst to the “Light,”
Or what it really means to feel.
Yet, we as humans are defiant,
We push, instead of bend,
Unlike that of a weeping willow,
Or a small fern in the gusty wind.:devil:
Such a task to spin in the wind,
Unlike that of a pretty white wedding,
But a black one, filled with sin.
A tainted man lingers in desire,
Of that which obliges beseech,
A touch of life, to bring him to par,
He can sense it, just out of his reach.
Yet the mind can be so frail,
Mild trauma will cause great regress,
Reaching far back into existence,
Primal instinct is all that is left.
The world continues to spin its web,
Life goes on, time goes by,
An endless path of transgression,
Compiled with an aspect of “Why?”
More and even more riddles,
Keep the curious soul at bay,
Intellect becomes less than priority,
The mind then begins to sway.
A realm, buried so deep,
Far beyond what is real,
Unbeknownst to the “Light,”
Or what it really means to feel.
Yet, we as humans are defiant,
We push, instead of bend,
Unlike that of a weeping willow,
Or a small fern in the gusty wind.:devil: