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HRTsOnFyR Jan 2018
Because...
I'm sitting somewhere by a fire
Listening to the Old Gods
Tell tales
about how the Earth,
She
devours men.
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2017
He laughs at my ignorance,
Me, at his arrogance...
If I'm really no match,
Why not grant me a fairer chance?
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2017
I solved the riddle, Alice dear,
This weren't your dream at all...
Your dreams are host to nobler men,
No princes here; Just frogs.
They flap their wet and gleaming lips,
Professing works of love...
Now dripping wet from all their spit,
And chapped from all their rubs,
You still don't feel a bit more safe,
And just a bit less loved.
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2017
The man on the corner stopped her short,
Signaling through the window at a pile of hats,
To a crisply woven straw fedora and satin bowtie,
He winked the remark, "I think that hat there, it was made for you, mam."
And then off he went  down the crowded walk.
Perplexed I was as I carried on for nearly three blocks
'Fore I got the nerve to turn on back,
The enthusiasm for what he said had quite convinced me,
Never mind the fact that I'd never been much into hats.
The sloping brim curved above my brow with true perfection
And the satin folds gave the bright black bow such a shiny light,
The maker's name was a Peter Grimm, near a small white rabbit,
And it brought to mind how the month before she had felt her clocks blow,
And her soul fell a-flying down that rabbit's hole,
When the baby left, and the world turned darkly unfamiliar,
And she had no pill that could turn her back to big again.
Just her tiny, tumbling figurine of selfhood,
Behind an ever shifting mirrored wall of dreaming
Lost among the lines of the angry mind of the old Red King,
But the hat felt safe, and perhaps she'd even felt a wee bit taller,
Inches feel like miles when dimensions move beyond the realms of normal time.
Plus the ornamental headwear offered comfort,
And put a snap back in her step for just a beat...
With a silent thanks for the unnamed haberdashery advisor,
She and her hat with the ******* sash,
And the rabbit stitched in,
Bobbed along the seams of Seattle streets
With a joyful heart and a big broad grin.
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2017
Please grant me freedom From their demented minds,
Their cruel words,
Their bitter, hateful hearts...
Or, simply, give me death.
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2017
Her soul bares the scars of the lightning bolt's burn,
Is it innocence lost,
or innocence returned?
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2017
His fingers play strings
On my body so tight
As he drew back and forth
On these chords of my light
Unspoken melodies and haunting compositions
A song rife with grief, every note well positioned
Peter Grimm writes a symphony of disembodied souls
Warms his bones by a fire that he's fanned from the coals
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