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 Mar 2016 Jesica
Shyloh Hatfield
Her hands, warm
Touched the chill of my neck
I fell into her storm, as my bodies shivers wept.

Persistence in her visions
No contingency plan
Realism is a prison
Used to deafen our clan

Deserved to be queen
Yet she settled as a servent
Serpents obey, her every word
Her every movement
He wouldn't sit still
Couldn't watch her life dwindle
The image in his mind, was of her,
in his temple

Prince of destiny, next to the
King of irony
Fighting freely, in the depths,
of distant harmony
Harmingly charming three, snakes emerged from ripples
That spread throughout the water pond
The spirits of the ritual

She raised a blade so elequently said, "show me your heart."
As I did, undisturbingly, she drove it through that body part
I bled out, as her voice started,
Whispering in my ear
Fading into darkness, as if it were a dream
I heard
"I will never be your queen.."

Now like a ghost, at most, no alibi
My feelings shine though, always without a try
I was the Prince, I was the King of miss distress
Until the end,
Now I am
Translucent.
I'll never understand the effect upon peoples lives attributed to that contraption by the living room window .. I would sooner bring a lonesome 'Billy Goat' indoors than punch any button or bell on that god-forsaken piece of useless , talking furniture ...
Copyright March 19 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

Give me a book-a guitar or a laptop for Hello Poetry only !
 Mar 2016 Jesica
Gidgette
What if you're the villian,
Instead of the good guy?
Perhaps your pleasure,
Is watching hope die

I'm the villain,
No good,
I wouldn't change it
Even if I could

I'm not really sure,
Why others "go bad"
But it was a broken heart,
That drove me mad

Killing hope,
Is my new obsession
Because I could not make love,
My posession

Misery loves company,
That's what they say
Well, it's true,
What more can I say?
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