Living Life on the Edge of a Knife

Yours is a history of mystery,
Living life on the edge of a knife;
Your strength like the mountain,
Your love is a flowing fountain,
And you stand above the rest
At your best but you are a beast
And the least tame in this game,
And you shame your courtiers
Like a queen only to be seen
And admired by hired lovers,
Who hover round all day long
As if you are where they belong,
And they sing you songs of joy
While you toy with their feelings,
Peeling off every layer of worth
With which they came at birth
Upon this earth at home ‘n hearth;
You leave them starving in dearth!
Ah! But who can possibly resist
When you persist to insist to come,
And to enter into your chamber
As an insignificant playmaker?
Your allurance defies endurance
So there’s but deference to be paid,
Reverence to be laid at your feet
By bleating sheep as you sleep . . .
Ah! But are you satisfied, gratified?
Inside you’re like the rage of ocean,
Churning at the turning of each page,
And no sage can begin to save you
From the cave of your own soul . . .
Yours is a history of mystery,
And no one will ever understand
The demand of your tumultuous life
That you live on the edge of a knife!

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