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Princess Diana came back last week
She wore all her pretty clothes
And looked stunning in her hats
She went about her ways as best she could
But there was no hiding all the sorrow in her eyes.

The luckiest girl in all the world
Chosen to one day be the Queen
And then demoted to a brood mare
By a Prince who was secretly a ****,

Her fairy tale had not even got it’s start
When she found out how it would end,
And she was trapped by tea towels
With her face imprinted on them.

She delivered all that was required of her
And even though the song was ended
Managed to write a second verse
Which the conductor wasn’t keen to play.

Yet the music gave her legs to stand on
And the tune grew to a symphony
As she performed it for the World
Who found the melody delicious
And her solos so profound.

Lady Di is back again,
That simple girl who saved herself
To become the lamb for royal slaughter
By a horde of calculating courtesans
Who knew she didn’t matter from the start.

Left to slumber peacefully,
On her private island
Lo these twenty years,
Safe from flashing cameras
And the machinations of the Crown
Diana may be dead but her legend is alive.
ljm
One last Diana poem and then I'll stop.
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Sandoval
Tell
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Sandoval
I woke up

in the middle of the night.
Drowning in your absence,
suffocating in your silence..

It was late out,
skies cried and stars fell.
The day the universe finally

understood, what
your lips could
never tell.

*Sandoval
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
Traveler
And when the sun
finally shined
All the creatures
Were doing fine
The dark had retreated
With moon on display
There, on the horizon
A brilliant maze
Of mirrors and colors
Reflections of life
There I left behind
The blindness of strife
There the thankfulness
Planted a seed
To be alive
I am
Happy indeed!
Traveler Tim
 Sep 2017 Poetry First
ryn
It's an ungodly hour.
And I've been kept awake.

The world beckons.
And it didn't call with melodious
chirps from the birds in the trees.
It wasn't the soft, calming pitter patter
of raindrops upon the window pane.


Thoughts...


Sneaky, almost sinister thoughts.

Like fine-grain sandpaper that gently rubs
against the quiet skin.
Like a fine-toothed comb that jabs
lightly and repeatedly into the scalp.
Like a tiny paper cut that is invisible
yet you know it's there.

Slowly abrading...
Poking...
Stinging...


Eating away at the thin veil
of silence and peace
that barely blankets my being.

•••

I am now awake.
And I have been awake...
Thinking, doubting and second guessing...
At this ungodly hour.
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