tagNon-Erotic PoetryYour test, Dear Loki

Your test, Dear Loki

byMedieval-Man©

(To know the poem, you should know the background, I was aout to ask out a girl named Trish who I liked a bit (yeah, clever Meddy, date a Psychopath) And so, yeah I met a girl, flirted, kissed her tons through the night, and then realized I was nearly 2 timing,so I did what was best to solve the issue, be a poet and simply let it out, here it goes)

Loki, why do you give me such gifts?
A rose, thorns unscathed, and poisoned,
A box of glass not whole but broken, unopened,
A face, so beautiful as to tempt the heart,
but mine heart is taken, bound.
Why such a gift as to allure my being,
but to hurt and curse me so.
I gained a feeling of freedom,
love, happiness, joy, eternal,
but also a sence of guilt,
I was chained and you let me free.
Not free! But with slack enough to reach anew,
a new person, a new face, a new chance...
Shame to me for I took it,
I took the chance of pleasures instantanious, but ending,
for regret that came swift with wings of steel,
ripping what sense of self pride and joy I once held so dear,
a self love I once held with ironfist, broken by a golden needle.

Loki you gave me a gift,
not gift, but test, a test which I have, and once did, fail again.
How may I learn if I only fail?
Loki, why is it that I do not learn?
Why can I not be the one who beseeches the gift?
The test, the face, who takes it, but as a friend,
and refuses temptation? Desire? Lust?
Were I to do that though...
then I would be free, passed, unchained, unscathed,
I would be as a learned, perfection, a sucess.
I did not pass your test Loki...
but not again shall I fail,
I know your mask and I know the gift of your two faces,
the rose not pretty but sharp,
the box, not glorious, but broken,
the face, lovely, but... the face would hurt,
would make me cry, weep, struggle against two demons,
two loves, in a land where one is the limit...
where a heart cannot divide,
where to take such love, would to take a dagger into myself,
a dagger that makes a wound,
a wound that never heals,
a wound which never dies,
a wound which never loves.

Your test though brilliant, will fail, not I, not again.

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