MY POEMS #12 'Prisoner of Pleasure'

MY POEMS #12 'Prisoner of Pleasure'
By Jesse Young (2012)

The pallid prince entombed far-deep,
A pleasure prison his soul to keep.
Boring lustful through wanton tomes,
In rude recline he made soft moans.
Sensuous vapours ignite the air,
As naked flesh is brought to bare.
Oiled skin arches in mad cavort,
As lewd acts yet unknown are sought.
Poised supine for endless ravish,
But never do these urges vanish.
Sublime though once it was to him,
Life so debauched was wearing thin.
His face contorts at pleasure's peak,
Shows agonies he dare not speak.
For though meaning has departed,
Some realms still remain uncharted.

MY POEMS #11 'Poor Self-Image'

'Poor Self-Image' By Jesse Young (2012)

T'was in the wee hours one chill December morn,
Whereof old moorland; miasma did take its form.
While odious rites invoked long-forgotten things,
Did barely realised nightmares earn for them black wings.
Something ageless, something old, stirs beneath the icy cold.
So dread a thing; fear'd flee, rather than beside 'it' be.
Malice and nothing but, claims this blight for it's rut.
Its raison d'etre: seek, torments countless to wreak.
Surely 'tis you shall pique, to know of whom I speak.
Draw near the edge; stare down, at a visage so clear,
Watch closely now; your watery image appear.