The Temptation of Lord Feiton

Hark, gentle Muse, and lend thine ear to me,
A tale I weave of shadows, deep and free.
In violet hues where secrets gently lie,
A vision dawns before mine eager eye.


Young Phaeton, a lord, so grand and bold,
Receives a gift more precious far than gold.
A portrait sent, a message whispered low,
"Doth this delight thee, noble lord, or no?"


Her hair, a cascade of silver shimmering bright,
Frames eyes of amethyst, ablaze with light.
A corset dark doth clasp her form so fair,
And silken hose, with intricate design and care.


Her fingers dance, a teasing, playful art,
Revealing glimpses that inflame the heart.
A jewel gleams, a promise yet untold,
In realms of pleasure, stories to unfold.


Below, two souls observe with passions keen,
One bleeds enthralled, the other, pale between.
The power of this vision, bold and stark,
Has left its mark upon their hearts so dark.


Oh, Phaeton, what thoughts within thee swirl?
Doth passion claim thee, or doth reason hurl
Itself against this tide of sheer delight,
This siren's call that echoes through the night?


For in this art, a truth is gently shown,
That beauty's power can topple any throne.
And she, the vixen in this shadowed scene,
Doth reign supreme, a captivating queen.


So let us ponder, in this verse so long,
The fragile dance of right and grievous wrong.
For in the heart, where passions fiercely bloom,
Lies love, and lust, and all the seeds of doom.