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Brynn S Jan 9
Tall and dark
A handsome face
She walks amoungst the thorns
Pricking them first
Laughter in angst
Remorse in the joyous

Eyebrows flare, eyes rolled to white
She dulled the jewels on the beetles back
She convinced the bird to veer from flight
She crushed the soul of the earth’s core
Crunched it like a pit
And let bloom decay.
n Jan 8
Lavished lady how brilliantly obnoxious you are. I admire how you tower over even the most merciless of men. Look how she floats, you’d mistake her for a benevolent. She can and does do everything. I can only stand here and hope you suffocate on your own ego.
Seeing green - my reflections of jelousy and female competition.
Sunshine Dec 2018
Just because she roars
Doesn't mean she doesn't feel
You don't know her ordeal
Stop and think before you squeall
You don't know what she has to conceal
You couldn't possibly know how she feels

She hasn't made any deals
She tries to be real
And Before you appeal
You should love her enough to let her heal
Johnny walker Dec 2018
There's nothing compares In life to a pretty lady could be while passing you by In the
street
just brightens one's life In so many ways  to kick-start your day a pretty
lady
can change one's outlook on life because there's nothing In a life that compares to a pretty
lady
Nothing compares to a preteye ty lady nothing In life even comes close than cast your
eyes on a pretty lady whilst passing you In the street
Vladimir Dec 2018
She’s bitter-sweet, or maybe sour or sugary;
She’s like a pickle, dipped in chocolate seas;
She’s like an ocean of calm, but often seething,
Like ice cream, mixed with mustard – tasty, surely.

She’s cute as panthers, tame as lions, kind as rhinos;
But whether savage, ornery or sweet –
Of all my lands and kingdoms she’s a Queen;
She is a girl – for “loud out crying…”

The humor is, perhaps, a bit abstract,
But simply put – she’s her, a Queen, a Lady;
And simply perfect – any era, any language,
And lovable, though luckily – not tractable…

To find another – quite impossible, to wit:
She’s more than all the verses on my palette.
For an adventurer’s insatiable palate,
She is a Goddess. We’re Gods – and meant to win!
Celeste Briefs Dec 2018
What is your name, sweet lady?
drips of river rain from your fingertips
fall upon my warm face
fragrance of potent blossoms sorrow
follow when you leave this place

Here to watch over me in sleep,
protectress of young girls' dreams
I felt you in the stories I tell my daughters
unborn and ever ascending
from some dark place of deep despair

Illusion proclaims your presence
night and day hold you in their hands
songs of warmth and water cold
alight upon your tongue like snow
from the stone faces of drowned angels

What is your name, sweet lady?
I burned to know since I saw your face

She speaks,
I am Ophelia,
the dream that you cannot escape
Johnny walker Dec 2018
Today I received a message to say I'd be missed I wrote a poem to that effect of not knowing If I'd wake In the
morning
Written on a bit of a down day, but the message this kind lady sent who only knows me only through the poems I write
To say I'd be missed goes show how much love there Is In this world to where we live
Sometimes you have reached out but It's there for who in need of
comfort In their times of
trouble
This written as a thank you to a lady who sent me a message saying  I'd be missed If I didn't wake to the morning been a bit of down day when I wrote  a poem of that affect but those kind words the lady sent me gave me new hope bless her
Tiana Marie Nov 2018
Justice is a Lady
standing confident and tall.
Justice is a Lady
breaking down all the walls.

Justice is a friend
staying honest and true.
Justice is a friend
showing you just what to do.

Justice is an enemy
catching you in all your lies.
Justice is an enemy
loosening up your closed ties.

Justice is a rebel
being nice to very few.
Justice is a rebel
and she don't like me and you.
Brynn S Nov 2018
A small note attached to the small toe of the not yet dead woman
It read of sorrow and peace as she lay there still breathing
To why was she spread upon the iron table with eyes the color of coins
Displayed, surrounded by mirrors and windows ***** and unbreakable
Not a whimper slipped from her mouth as the small knife slit into her
Tearing the silk gown with precision of an artist,
the butcher masqueraded itself as husband
Emerald eyes shed no tears, reflexes halt to an end, an acceptance was reached
In her hands held a relic, one of the past and future. The piece was a watch
Ticking, counting down each second of breath. Belief in release the ******* death
Feeling of pleasure with each cut, the teasing texture of blood cascading downwards
How tantalizingly horrific the scene of sacrifice; a modern day alter
Rested upon rusted roses and sweet thorns the alive child laid
Silence for she has given voice to the goddess and the body to the God
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