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Beatrice Prior Feb 2018
Her hair was drawn from a raven's feathers,
And her skin was painted with caramel.

The honey in her voice, I shall never forget,
Nor that echoing sound of laughter.

Her eyes,
Though the colour of dust,
Held a galaxy within them.

Her hair is a raven's new egg,
And her skin is worn paint.

The pure air in her voice, I shall always remember,
And her quiet sounding smile.

Her eyes,
Though the colour of cracked earth,
Still hold a galaxy within them.
Stay Fighting.
Beatrice Prior Jun 2017
The gunshot lighted the air to create a blazing yellow sun,
The light of which shimmered and cast a care eye to the sins done,
The earth trembled and shouted with rage,
The last arrow was shot and She fell with a smile,
The fluid of her blood washed away His sins.
Beatrice Prior May 2017
I was so happy.
My face was crinkled with wrinkles,
Not from age, but from laughter.

When his hands were in mine and our foreheads were touching,
I could see nothing else,
But rainbows, butterflies and pretty colours,
All reflected in the shine of his kind, brown eyes.

But then he crashed,
And his body burned in the fuming petrol of his car,
And he was stolen from me.

When I heard the news, I told them they were lying.
I could still see him and smell him,
And hear the soft hum of his baritone voice,
And feel the tenderness of his skin.

My mind knew that he was dead,
But my heart refused.

I completely lost myself,
I was fighting a losing battle.
But somehow, somewhere, a door unhinged,
And the tears broke free.

And so,
I am happy.
Yet my face is crinkled with wrinkles,
Of age.

But I am not sad,
For my love lives on,
As he dances away in my heart,
And stays forever in my fading memories.
Beatrice Prior Apr 2017
I wanted to save everyone,
but I couldn't.

I walked into that room,
Knowing that I was going to die,
And still I walked on,
I thought I could fly,

The serum seeped into my veins,
But I still remained strong,
I lived for my people,
And so I'll live long,

My loved ones are fighting,
That battle that never ends,
The one with all the tyrannts,
But with goodness in the end,

I wanted to bring lightness closer,
And I stepped closer to the switch,
Until the bell started ringing,
Was it in my head?

I still walked on,
Bleeding from my shoulder,
That man who shot me,
He was not a boulder,

I walked forward,
Tall and strong,
Until another shot rang out,
But I had reached the wall,

I saw my mother now,
I could see the dead,
I had done well,
That was all she said,

And so I lifted myself,
And I was fully whole,
The man who shot me,
He was as dead as a bone,

And so I floated on,
Into a realm of fresh grass and butterflies,
I was in a happy place now,
Goodness had arrived.
Beatrice's final moments of death. She was a true soldier. Live on.
Beatrice Prior Nov 2015

No water,
No life,
No rain,

A cracked ground,
A dry river,
An old borehole,

Is this my life?
What's wrong with me?
This drought by itself,
Shall **** us all.
Beatrice Prior Apr 2015
I live in a box,
In a street I don't know,
I've never seen the sun,
Nor the rain,
And I've certainly never played in snow,

I was told by mother,
That I should never touch,
For I will break everyone,
With hands like mine so rough,

So I was always gloved and jacketed,
With socks until my knees,
But little did I know,
That my cause was not an ease,

Two men came at gunpoint,
And took my mother away,
I stayed alone in that box,
For weeks, not days,

Then sped far off from there,
Without my gloved and jacket and socks,
And touched someone I didn't know,
And killed them with my touch,

My heart raced as I realized,
What was the truth that I didn't know,
The fact that I was a succubus.

I didn't live with anyone,
For if I touched for more than 5 seconds,
He was dead,
So I left from there as well,
Until I met him at the end,

"My touch will ****" I said,
And yet he held my hand,
For more than 5 seconds I let it there,
And the man was still standing,

I looked up in surprise,
And said "Incubus",
Then he looked at me and said,
"We were meant for each other",

I had finally found another,
One male just like me,
We couldn't hurt each other,
So lived well,
Well and finally free.
Beatrice Prior Apr 2015
I'm that skinny girl at the front,
The one with the glasses and braces,
I'm the one with the pimpled skin,
The one who's colour is like a wooden chair,

I live in the shadows,
I get lost in the stories,
I'm never noticed,
Till my calling comes...

The one who has never seen,
The one who sits beside,
The one with the perfect body,
And the perfect skin,
The one who has no flaw,

Well I may be dark and weird,
I may have some flaws,
But see the other in battle,
She'll fall down like a paw,

For I shall stay and win,
The one who was never noticed,
One day will come where everyone shall know my name,
Not by fear, but on purpose,

I shall live like a lotus on water,
Floating gently along the waves,
But when my calling comes,
I shall be the bravest of the brave.
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