Cold Clockwork - The Only Halfway Decent Poem I've Ever Wrote

I wrote this poem as a piece of English homework and although I don't particularly like it, several people said it was good and I should show other people. So here I am. Below is my wonderful poem that actually goes on for quite a while. If you stick around for the whole thing, please tell me if it's good or not. Please?

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There sits a girl, as comely as a sculpted

Statue made by the hands of men. Though would she

Think as prettily as those modelled maidens,

None but her would cower from such a gaze

As hers. At present, man bows to the will of hers,

Manlier men fear the touch of pearlescent skin,

The kiss of blossomed lips, the pull of her force

Taking them against will. Her presence acknowledges

The inevitability of their end, of the ugliness or the

Pulchritude of the beyond that they must be affiliated.

Many a beast attempt to appeal to the good of her

Nature, as if she were filled with such a thing; pleasant

Thoughts and womanly needs. What heart

Beats in the chest of one such as hers, is not that of a

Kindly soul, nor of someone willing to

Disobey the hand of God. Whilst others under the rule of

He, have hearts as affable as a gentleman, jovial in face,

This girl we call Death, with organ seemingly of ice,

Lives – as much as Death can – as if sibling to a pocket

Watch; unending, never straying from its laid out path.

For as long as there is Life, Death exists to put it to an

End, for that is the way the All Mighty One describes.

The pretty of face, morose of soul are the ones to

Fear when plastered upon the Demon of man’s

Ephialtes, for not any would suspect the

Innocent child created by God's own palms to

Destroy all there is of a wight and his

Essence. The being – not human nor angel nor

Demon – that’s interior has forever been only

Cogs and gears like that of a timepiece,

Brings forth the cease of mortality and Immortality.

#poem #dark #mymaterial #coldclockwork #death #theafterlife #dying