[POEM] Shape of Her Hands

[Careless Whisper]

Beauty rests in peace below the dirt

The final grounds where she'll exist

In a wooden case underneath

A grave in the shape of her hands

 

Dug deeper than the love she bore

For countless above her lusted corpse

Moments of pleasure transform her pain

As pain becomes her trust.

 

The wrong she's done has been forgiven

Though death has claimed her punishement

The blood still flows when her heart is finished

But the memory of her deed still shines.

 

Now she lay naked within the sand

A desolate place where she can never feel

Bound by the very chains she could never see

As plain as the shape of her hands.

[Καsτοr]

Interesting Poem there, CW. Hm. . . It sounds like a deep, deep poem. It has a dark feeling to it too. I like that about this poem.

[「tea.leaf」]

I like the imagery, but it's a bit too blunt for my tastes.

 

I'm a sucker for elaborate metaphors.

[iSTIX]

I kinda like it.