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 May 2017 Marcia Kaoru
Ezra Pound
En robe de parade.
                                        Samain

Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
        of a sort of emotional anaemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
        will commit that indiscretion.
Once upon a time,
Not so long ago...

There anxiously lived
A lovely lady,
Who was now in the know!

You see..., her inspiration
Was taken away from her,
Forcing her lively spirit
To slowly die.

Her heart had broke,
Beyond repair,
When she finally uncovered
That love
Was nothing but a cruel lie.

Her kind, gentle soul
Was tortured,
And forced into virtual recluse,

For it had withstood
Unbearable amounts
Of mentally painful,
Emotional abuse.

She learnt
That the more one loves,
The more one feels the pain,

A very sad ending to her fairytale;
One that happens to many
Innocent, loving souls,
Leaving them all,
Never to be the same!

By Lady R.F. (C)2017
The more one loves,
The more one feels the pain.
A sad ending,
Happens to many loving souls,
Leaving them never to be the same!

— The End —