Love is such a cruel and lovely plaything!
her prompt,
to entice,
lure the lonely of desolate hearts,
into dark unforseen ally ways.
Hidden from the day light,
into some underground tavern,
where men delight in Frenzy spirits.
Fallen Souls,
the cry of Nephilim,
untimely suffers for the Daughters of Lilith.
Bitten by the Black Snake they eternally live the Blues.

All responders have already stated that they doesn’t care and in doing to have unconsciously admitted that they do really care about the statement. So why must we all continue to exercise our opinions when there is no heart in the matter. Or are we just exercising our ego’s right?

The Famine Soul in Apprehension of Beauty,
from the realm of no being, the observer,
the forethought of all fragrance to be.

We Humans are never satisfied with pleasure,
its presence.
Something to snap shot,
for the sake of the mind which is overrun by the intellect.
The desire to seek,
within the oceanic confines,
governed by popular Aesthetics.

There is not enough to be said about the Soul,
who bask in the golden crimson sunlight and showers in the moonlight of his purple rain.

The Clock of the Artist,
ticks all year around.
He is bound to the timeless Karmic dance of the Cosmic Gypsies,
homeless is the world he wanders,
aimless without any universal Goal.