They say it’s a curse, disguised as a gift.

An agreement She made with the Devil.
She danced with His darkness, and prayed for departure.
So feet, He had brought,
A treat, so She thought,
She was ready,
no surrender.

A gift’s what He gave Her,
A gift, not an offer.
For this gift bore
“conditions”.

She must suffer all thoughts,
His prisoner of dark,
Given words She must remember!
So He gave Her his pen.
Darkness, returned Her.
With a gift She could bleed,
no surrender.

Yet as He returned Her,
His ‘Secrets’, He gave Her.
The warmth of His breath
still lingers...

She summons His Darkness,
She plays with The Highest.
When Dark is too Dark
She surrenders.

For that’s how She became,
such beauty, yet ugly,
That’s how He bestowed Her-
“Royal Poetess”