Penance

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 . . .”

“My words shall be as spotless as my youth,                   
Full of simplicity and naked truth.”

Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander

 

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.