Cold he began shivering at the thought of beautiful Beatrice. How he hated that name, how he shuddered at the envisioning thought of that commanding wanton. His lips pressed up against the fogged glass that he gripped and was lost in transcendental euphoria. He saw her and felt gentle kisses from a closed mouth and, in his opinion, all deriving from a closed mind. Oh how she would taunt his nature, restraining all his humanity! To who’s offense is personal transgression? Love is as void as the future of every unfortunate being. No one can know it, feel it, learn it; all are deceived, we are cold and nothing lies ahead of the human condition but a shovel and the grave. Beatrice was only speaking of love because she was a masterful ruler. Odysseus the great tactician had looked above from Hades and spotted his own protégé. Love the brother of hope, are both best kept left behind in Pandora’s box and all the ills that befall mankind shall bend the knee of every man, no, not Beatrice...
Posted on: Fri, 25 Jul 2014 12:21:44 +0000
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