Dante Rizal
Hellish roses bathed in blood
Float across the crimson flood
Falling into dreams of rouge
Born from sins of sons of June
Lambs of white are painted red
As the Lover holds his head
And says, “My heart for a book!
Drain my blood to bare my soul,
bathe me in the blackest brook,
let me lead your flock of goats –
service for these crimes of mine,
sins and guilt of Valentine!”
Squeezing down his pen of thorns
Records of his loves are born
Sanguine tears drip thick as ink
Pages white now blushing pink
“Stanzas stained in penitence
sentence me my punishment!”
Words too heavy for the wind
Words that wear two broken wings
Writ by fingers white as snow
Drained of ink, no drink for crows
No more can the Lover weep
No confessions left to keep
Naught to feel but winter’s sigh
Blood enough for another . . .
The Lover writes, “My book, my
book, my book for a lover . . .”
Author: “My words shall be as spotless as my youth, Full of simplicity and naked truth.” Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander
Artist: SaBelle Pobjoy-Sherriff is a third year visual arts student minoring in film. Her art practice has an in depth focus on ideas of narrative and mythology, and tends to border on the obscure. She utilises illustration and sculpture to create vibrant worlds and creatures. You can find more on her Instagram @SaBelleeee.