Never relate or compare
My one poem to another
To paint a picture of my soul.
You will be mistaken for I`m intact.
There`s greater fortuity with narrow minds
To perceive only my darkness, melancholy
And profanity. Far too profound verses
Are composed, for shallow hearts,
By the glory of my being. And I won`t deny
When they profess me as Lucifer
But only depose “I`m not only a demon.”
Ask my Yadira and sister Felicity
For they know the colour of my spirit;
Delight of my tenderness,
Burns of my bitterness,
Childhood in my madness,
Maladour of my hellbound fiend
And paramount, the deference
And solicitude of the love cradled
And carried by my mellow heart.

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