Aches and passions

[Robert M]

My aches and passions,
are my prison and my freedom same.

I have the key in my pocket,
to be free of loves potential bane.

I feel the aches of passion,
the aches of so intoxicating of a want.

Passions turn to poison, dear,
but only when passion subsumes to mere earthly desire.

Passion is passion,
should be kept fiery in our stove,
should be stoked with coals of desire,
not cooled to sickly cool of mere want,
like a forgotten iron range.

Stoke my passions,
till they ache my prison free,

Freedom is sanity of compassion,
the prison of your intoxicating frame.

[J. R. LaGreca]

Beautiful poem, with an old-fashioned flair ... very enticing.

[Robert M]

It seems like my poetry is commonly regarded that way. Many have commented that it sounds like its from another era, like the bardic era.