May 01, 2010

Foetal Sonnet

~ A sonnet, with a painfully forced rhyme scheme. I've also had to put in little asterisks inbetween stanzas on account of this formatting being evil.

As oppoed to e loving, gushing, or even vaguely sensitive ode, this is based on a work by one of my favourite nutters, The Marquis de Sade. So yes, here's my adaptation of 'Philosophy in the Bedroom', with pretty much all of the smut taken out. Sorry.


Saint Ange

As summer fades with its own inertia, deaf Gods breed and grow.

Dead husks of tracts scream into time the greatest folly of human reason.

When the fallen sing with hollow breaths, and we reap what they sow,

The first begotten of the dead sets our minds ablaze with talk of treason.


Tear down the seven stars and engage the prophets in libertine games,

As they deafen us with a seraphim dirge

That burns our ears and casts our virtue to the flames.

Dolmance prepared our burial chamber and all our souls did purge

As we blissfully scream Golgotha lullabies to blackened mud.


We drown the frail child in blasphemous rhymes

Until our saviour’s tears taste of wine and wormwood,

As we seek absolution, then repeat our crimes.


We waltz until Saint Peter’s gates do slam

And we meet once more as fragrant Krakow Lambs.


"In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice."

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