Nostalgia crawls up my door,
So I hide behind the entrance and
Slit her throat with my dire retention.
O, Sweet Liberty,
Can I really be free?

Now a buzzing in my ear,
A perpetual ringing in my ear,
Is that smirking ridicule I hear?
I’m not permitted sovereignty ‘cause
Cruel slavery ceaselessly quiets me –

Always scoffing, forever mocking,
Autonomy swallows my fuming misery
And spikes it with bittersweet Reality.
O, Sweet Liberty,
I’ll never get to dance with thee!

In walks One,
So it begins with Primal desire!
On stumbles Two,
And Heaven and Hell brutally conspire!
Here comes Three,
Bow down to the Holy Man!
Standing in the corner is Four,
My Love constantly alters his contour!
Lying outstretched is Five,
All his senses irrevocably combined!
That precise symmetry is Six,
What Luck his Lady must bring!
The Sinister player is Seven,
Deviously uniting mortality and divinity!
Nose in the air is Eight,
His Perfection won’t dare be disregarded!
Out walks Nine,
His destination distinctly Eternity!

And here I stand, curiously observing the scene,
Figuring life is nothing but Numerical Folly!

She sleeps intimately with envy,
And while green haze fills the brim of her black lung,
Words of devotion do drip from her false tongue.
Feigning fallacious love for me,
She doth be the daughter of Apate!

Alas!  
They so bittersweetly croon in mine ear,
“Thou art as lovely as that morbid Queen Persephone!”
Have I been such a fool, cruel and extreme?
My hollow footsteps do fall here
Bringing forth wintry winds of death.

Alas!
They so eagerly whisper in thine ear,
“Thy lover art as lovely as that dreadful Queen Persephone!”
Hast thou been such a fool, sightless and mad?
Failed to listen for my light steps,
And forgot to feel winter’s dismal chill.  

Alas!
They so desperately murmur in our ear,
“Thy love affair is as fair as that of the wraithlike Hades and Persephone!”
Have we been such fools, violent and severe?
Our footsteps resonate here forevermore,
The Lilies from our garden washed pitifully upon the Plutonian shore.

With hands steady,
Sinister Syntax
Guided me
To haughty
Nonconformity.

My pen moves with prudent pride
For the anguished heart I cannot hide.
With strident strokes, he gambles to uncover
The choking sounds I dare to softly utter.
Offering no modest mitigation,
My heart still reeks of desolation.

And my words drunkenly drip
In a continually poisonous strip.
Stifling and suffocating my tale,
They are now entirely meek and frail.
The once crimson red ink
Turns ever dusty, ever pink!

So my diary endlessly bleeds
Of verses I long dared free,
Standing with bold bravery-
No longer bound to slavery -
Each stanza feverishly rhymes,
And relays all my cautious cries.

Greedy spectators in the town
Gathered ‘round and drank in
The beauty of her dove white feathers,
The gentle glow of her silken crown.

Watching her rise above the rest,
They thought her to be –
A creature clearly more divine
Than those treading lowly ground.

But all the while,
Most unhappy with her pallid down,
She hoped for feathers Raven black
And thought the town to be –

Fools for blindly worshipping
So dreadfully false a design.