The dawn of day is drawing near—
Would that explain
Why I should wake and find you here,
My lost Allayne?
I see you wear the look of saints,
The face you feign,
To hide the hungry beast that waits
To strike, Allayne.
But parted lips betray the thirst
You can't restrain,
And kissing them would make them burst
And bleed, Allayne.
So relish now the single kiss
Real love has lain,
And when you die, remember this
In hell, Allayne:
To love you was my single sin—
Could I abstain?
Fair flesh has felled far better men
Than I, Allayne.
Your perfect mouth was made to please
And bring me pain
With brazen teeth that taunt and tease
My soul, Allayne.
That I should chasten you by the rod
The gods ordain.
What breed of fierce infernal god
Forged you, Allayne?
What sort of strange sadistic spawn,
What brand of bane,
Made you a dark delicious pawn
Of death, Allayne?
When you were born, the devil swore
He would obtain
Your body and the soul it bore
With shame, Allayne.
Your Lord's perversely pulsing heart
Was torn in twain
That he might place the blackest part
In you, Allayne.
But when he tore you from the womb
Did you complain,
Or did you like his torrid tomb
Much more, Allayne?
He filled you with each kind of curse
You could contain,
And left you with a lust far worse
Than his, Allayne.
Henceforth you were his cherished prize
You rule the world of grim demise
With glee, Allayne.
You hold his horde of fiends in thrall,
A queen you reign,
And walk in shadows where they fall,
By night, Allayne.
And though you hate me for it, yet
I still maintain,
I love you, though you would forget
I lived, Allayne.
A sweet and subtly scented sea,
Your splendid mane
Excites my soul, enticing me
To drown, Allayne.
Your shameless cryptic shoulder's curve
Is half profane;
It shifts with fire in every nerve
That burns, Allayne.
But of your charms that mesmerise
And seek to chain,
Your brilliant black voracious eyes
Are best, Allayne.
They seethe with all the eager slaves
Your love has slain;
You sent them gladly to their graves
The pressure of your piercing teeth
Would prick the vein
And draw the flood that flows beneath
The flesh, Allayne.
The fragments of their fleeting lives
Would rush and rain
To feed the fiendish life that thrives
In you, Allayne.
You flourish by the fevered lips
And life you drain;
With lusty sighs and hungry sips
You drink, Allayne.
You seem a vile, envenomed thing
And less than sane;
Your kiss so like a serpent's sting
Can kill, Allayne.
The poison in that brutal kiss
Now wracks my brain
And sends my blood to mortal bliss
In you, Allayne.
Against your scarlet silken dress
The nipples strain
And raise to meet the hard caress
You crave, Allayne.
But you could never stoop to love,
Nor would you deign
To hold a mortal man above
Your only longing is for death
And things arcane;
Your breathing is the tainted breath
Of tombs, Allayne.
Destroying me will be the cost,
And what you gain
Is freedom from the soul you lost
Long since, Allayne.
But when I'm gone will you forget,
The passions you could not permit
To grow, Allayne?
I've one last wish, but would my wishing
Be in vain?
Just once, I'd hear the hateful thing
You hide, Allayne.
So now I ask you to confess,
By love of Cain,
The joy it gives you to possess
My gift, Allayne.
I leave you something that will stay,
A fatal stain,
That you could never wash away
With blood, Allayne.
The touch of my deferring hand
You will retain,
A touch you may well understand
In time, Allayne.
Until the end of all your days
It will remain,
And then the fiend you dared to praise
Will fall, Allayne.
Angelic armies will descend
And him arraign;
They'll bring about his brutal end
On earth, Allayne.
The remnant of his writhing form
Will wax and wane
And perish in a reeking storm
Of dust, Allayne.
You'll stand alone to face the fall
Of his domain
And watch the ruin of every wall
He built, Allayne.
And then, my love, we both will see
If you disdain
The only soul that would not flee
Your touch, Allayne.
I sink into the strangest sleep,
Whilst you sustain;
As dark as death and twice as deep
I doze, Allayne.
With death die all my mortal fears
I shan't regain,
And I can wait a swarm of years
For you, Allayne.
You think you've seen the last of me,
You slavish swain,
But mine will be the face you see
In dreams, Allayne.
I swear it now, my wicked thing,
We'll meet again.
Then will you wear the devil's ring...
Or mine, Allayne?
Featured in Issue One of New Lyre Magazine.
For recitations and discussion of Kevin Roberts' poetry, click here.
Kevin Nicholas Roberts (1969-2008) was a poet, college English Professor, author, husband to Jan and father to his angel dog Buddy. Kevin had two books published in the United Kingdom: Fatal Women, a collection of poetry and Quest for the Beloved: Awaking Truth & Beauty through Mystical Poetry, a book of literary criticism and philosophical discussion. Kevin was the founder and first editor of the poetry journal, Romantics Quarterly.