An awful bride

Your pride made me your brightest awful bride
And the creamy pie of silver designed
The fact of joy, dispite odd frame or cry
And we became related through God's eye
What bride!, what bride!, awful sin of night
Sweet sorrow broke my heart as arrow bright
My bleed of sin did dry, sad mark of death
And I thought, party holy, satisfied faith
But, burn of soul and bone of cruel did boil
Loss of path, but thorn of red and dreadful
I met there my bride of happiest youth day
In hell we dance and drink wine of deny
Then a bride cake of blood and horn appear
As if by a blacksmith made, we but tear.

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This Poems Story

The poem is an experienced fact of spiritual suffer, life is my awful bride and the cake is its consiquence.