Voyage of the Stain - 2

A past is full of shifted eyes
that speak to tunes of all is well.
Removing reminiscers from the hallowed
halls of apparent hell, these trembling memories,
coerced by prouder wills, compound
the substance of life's vessel's inner mast.

When I was captured, made a slave to this,
this honeysuckle jewel of ecstasy,
in proof, a bliss, once proved, untitled pain,
and proven once more over, once again, and once again,
a flame of heat and light and comfort,
but a flame of immolation, searing burns
plague skins of passion, for they know they must return.