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Jan 2018
The chaste heart bleeds
The blood of the hunt,
For a band of doe-eyed girls,

String our bows,
Allay our woes,
We follow you like spirits.

Who guides the tides?
Who saved our lives?
Who lights the feral forest?

Our moon goddess,
Diaphanous dress,
Howls sorrow for the stars.

A golden baby,
Sunshine spun,
Two archers intertwined,

“Your artful sister is heaven on earth.”
His arrow punctures breath,
She strikes the hart,
Pulls love apart
And mauls them all to death.
Iris Proctor
Written by
Iris Proctor  19/F/UK
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