Lady Ruin


Ian Stewart Black




In echoes through the caverns of my mind

Resounds the triumph of a sainted choir:

Angelic entities my heart designed

To sing the virtues of true love’s desire;

They sing in service to no fabled god

And nor embellish that which nature made:

But stand before my lover’s beauty awed

In cloths of heaven of their whitest shade;

Sweet music does her elegance proclaim,

Though seraphs’ choir won’t see her justice done:

There’s sacrilege within her very name,

An utterance which renders god undone;

In reverence beheld a sainted choir

The idol whom the very stars admire.




The very stars who yield salvation’s light

To wayward souls allowed their light to me:

For I was wand’ring through the blackest night,

Beset by callous winds and crashing sea;

Forsaken by the waters that upheld

My vessel to the malice of the gale,

I turned my gaze toward the sky, beheld

The star whose distant hope endowed my sail;

The days were desolation on the waves,

My heart was blind without salvation’s light:

The sea who summoned many to their graves

Would call to me, “surrender to the night”;

The fury of a thousand waves would prove

Inept upon a heart to valour moved.




We moved as one, and mortal thirst conspired

Amid our flesh, our bones, our very breath:

Two sep’rate souls engaged, their all afire,

And one emerged from in that little death;

Entire humanity by lust absolved,

My dreams embodied in her velvet skin:

Our passion saw all sense of self dissolved,

I found the font of love and delved within;

Her body writhed in rapturous excess,

Anointed by a flick’ring candle’s light:

We sought a realm of pleasure to possess,

And in that mortal thirst, we took delight;

My heart relinquished and my love astride,

We moved until our wants were satisfied.




Our satisfaction all too swiftly fell

As feeble prey to some ungodly blight:

Angelic choirs dispersed, their song dispelled,

Miasma veiled the guiding stars from sight;

The soul of twain entwined to twain returned,

Its lesser part was mine to carry on:

Infection tore into my heart and burned

My fetid blood, all strength within me gone;

The poison of despair would work its ill

Amid my flesh, my bones, my very breath:

A fallen man without so much as will

To carry what is left of me to death;

Is this the sum of one true love’s remains:

The blackness sweeping through a vessel‘s veins?




A vessel to the deepest woes am I,

And favoured plaything of the fallen gods:

The devil’s minions’ cackling laughter cries

From every mirror that my face defrauds;

The gates of hell have opened in my heart

And every virtue has been cast within:

Her loss has worked on me a wicked art,

To make of me a sorrow bound in skin.

Satanic shadows come to taste my grief,

But even as they revel in my strife,

Amid the endless night, there’s one relief:

In time, decay will come to claim my life;

Despair is all that love has left to find

In echoes through the caverns of my mind.

7 thoughts on “JANUARY POETRY

  1. thank you for the exciting opportunity featuring two of my poems in your distinguished magazine.
    I was so happy to see my name and poems!

    Many of the poems I have read on your site are just fabulous.
    What a bunch of talented poets!!!!

    Best Regards,
    Laura LaVeglia

  2. Dear Simon, thank you for sharing this perspective that has long awaited its say, especially in poetic format as you have done so beautifully.
    – Shari

Leave a Reply