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MaryJane Doe Apr 2014
Early was the mourning
Of the glory that would pass
Cold was the night
As I dreampt of the past

In the days of old
The knights were still bold
Now its foretold
The nights will be cold

This cold night of mine
rode in on winter wind
freezing the vine
And my heart in the end

I woke to the mourning
Finding glory had passed
The knights became cold
And frozen hearts don't last
ms reluctance Apr 2014
My story is a mess, it’s going nowhere;
Continuous, never-ending like Penrose stairs.

So let me be the hero of your story —
I’d like to save you, taste some of that hero’s glory.

I will fight off your demons; for you I’ll bleed.
I will listen to you talk if that’s what you need.

I will hold you to me and never let go.
Breathe life into your stone heart, I will kiss you so.

I will help you break the chains and set yourself free
And maybe, someday, you can do the same for me.
NaPoWriMo Day #15
Poetry form: Couplet
Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I want to run.
Be free.
Be the little girl they see in me,
but plot-twist happen frequently,
opening your eyes to things you didn't see.
Burning the cheerful into your mind.
If only I didn't once leave that behind.
If I could return to those naive, fun days.
But fun was out and sad was in,
so I figured "well okay."
I dived right in,
singeing my skin,
turning me to the pit.
I was told,
"don't follow your instincts",
so I guess this is what I get.
Now I sit alone,
a pitiful lump of coal,
as a dog without bone,
or soccer ball with no goal.
I'm heading to "God knows where"
on a train called "Oopsy Days,"
and when I arrive,
they will all be amazed.
For I am the writer
who will give them a story,
for I am a lighter,
and my flame gives me glory.
Kasey Apr 2014
You, with your bed of thorns,
Broke the fall from my throne
And tangled me in your chaotic glory.

— The End —