Font Color='#880000'Vice's Deposition/Font
If not for sense, then what does silence me?
by David Zvekic
To bite my tongue and writhe in passion's scorn,
where hopes that vice depose fidelity
should bide as careful negligence is worn.
That interloper grasps a foul intention,
so tasting it makes all dreams manifest;
To burn for matters not by love's convention-
Her lips upon my lips bleed happiness.
This drink I can not drink so wonted hide
as dull; an addict spurned and pining more;
Her waters wet my mouth, but leave me dried:
A sweet abyss to sink forevermore.
What bliss should deem to do as seem to spite,
That bursts from shuttered love with stronger right?