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emlyn lua Sep 25
Denmark’s a prison
Where all are guards and all are inmates -
I must be the Queen
For I am held in chains,
Caught by the currents of my own thoughts;
Alas – I never learned to swim.
I am an echo chamber,
A thought is a ball kicked over and over and over and
Can I not pass law to cease this bruisement?
Goal! I speak,
And my thought is no longer contained within me
But in the world, circling the pates of the court.

Sweet, your lover calls you,
Even now;
As the battle with corruption corrupted you.
Justice, you promised me;
I no longer believe in justice.
I loved him, though his love was a leash;
You took from me my cage and now I cage myself.
Scheming and plotting against schemers and plotters –
No longer knowing ourselves as once we did,
No longer viewing the world as what it is –
If only I had seen!
You would not have abandoned me now.

You will not come again?
You will not come again.
The King is fallible,
The usurper of God is not omnipotent;
I see the traces of that which he strives to hide.
His mask is good, true, but –
A mask cannot hide all:
England is the trickster’s smiling blade,
I know so.
I mourn you, as I mourn all that I know:
This ends with the destruction of a nation.

I miss your presence beside me.
Your soft eyes, looking only at my face,
At my face only.
I was safe with you.
Hearts mirrored in forbidden affections;
Switch places with me,
Let us not be ****** for desire.
Marriage is man and wife, man and wife,
You saw the lies.

Kick, quick, pick the flowers,
One for each noble skeleton.
I show their secrets in petals and songs:
The language of the mad, the insane, the crazed fools –
Fool I am, I see all, hear all, know all.
Hang their weeds in the weep of the willow,
Cursed crowns of concealed corruption.

I reach –

A tear breaks –

And I am overwhelmed by swirling thoughts,
Sinking deeper into the abyss of my mind.
Smiling trickster, smiling blade – Pretty Ophelia!
A will not come again.
I will not come again.
No one will mourn me,
There will be no one to remember:
This ends with the destruction of a nation.
Sparkyxox Sep 16
If Romeo waited, he will see
that his true love Juliet was not dead but asleep.
If Cinderella waited at the bottom of the stairs,
her prince charming would never have left her foot bare.
If the young mermaid waited patiently,
perhaps the man will visit and avoid this tragedy.
If Snow White waited till the animals say
the apple was poisoned and turning gray.
If I keep on waiting for you,
will you, one day, love me too?
gracie Sep 7
if all i did wrong in this lifetime
was trust you,
you will send me to my grave happily.
i.b.
Frederick Aug 15
Only when she blushes as a wood burled
She betrays her inner feelings to the world
Now her true soul much different appears to be
And this shines brighter than the Baltic Sea

Dark lady may pretend to be the only one
But we both know how it was done
Her intentions were to hide the truth
While yours, indeed, to save the youth

My words made her fly into a rage
As if I added something to her age
She leaves the room as after trial
But I promise, I will catch your smile
My first poem, reference to Shakespeare sonnets
Ye all rose-colored and plum lipped beauties, (a)
Your skins, pale like snow, soft and roughened worn, (b)
In contrast betwixt the ancient deities, (a)
Thy eyes a golden daffodil on the morn. (b)
Yet ye beauties, thus hiding in facades, (c)
Thy hearts brimming with artless emotions, (d)
Hands pulling out hair on sensitive heads, (c)
As tears filled your eyes with somber notions. (d)
You are all full of fiery passion: yet (e)
What sacrifices must be taken still? (f)
To what length do this foreboding skies meet? (e)
Fair youth, you see, life offers us a thrill. (f)
Youth is when dreams breathe life’s hue golden (g)
Wasted, won and lost, again and again. (g)
“All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts.”
- William Shakespeare -
lenore Jul 10
as her ladies paint
her blue blood on her lips
Cleopatra speaks:
“queens die like this:
with the theatrics
of the crowning ceremony
and the proud negligence
of the morning toilette:
the gods-awful magnificence
of a wrist-flick:
draw me my milk bath,
bring me my venom pills.”
Romeo threw stones at your window
Tomorrow he will throw bombs and ****** you beautifully
The bombs explode with a fragrant odour so you fade gracefully in the smoke
He knows you’re alone in that home that once safe haven he alights in beams
You are trapped as the smoke crawls through the gaps as he once did under the sheets
The fire burns quietly at first as if it was simply his cigarette that he was lighting
Alas then it screeches and it reflects his screams he attacked you with once his bottle was empty and you said the wrong thing
Everything about this fire resembles him within the flames
Everything within this death resurrects his presence

Everything you doubted he was he is and he shows
Behold and brace the pain , this anonymous pain.
And it hits you at once, the flame licks your nightgown
coinciding with the first wake of dawn, the sun dwells behind the curtains and lets itself through the inch you left to separate the light from the blinds.
Flights home , 03:30am
Shakespeare's ghost!
Writing from the grave!
Trading the host!
Useful zombie slave!

Channel his ghost through a record player.
The sound of his song gets stuck in my head.
I hum the melody and it catches ear,
The sickness spreads like a trend.

Stupid people copy smart people
To make themselves feel smarter.
Smart people use stupid people,
To make themselves seem smarter.

Minds like channels on the television,
Eyes like ceiling fans collison.
A house with no walls!
A burgler can just walk right in!
they say with lovers time stands still,
i didn't fully understand until one rainy morning in paris. you'd let me wander aimlessly around my favourite bookstore for hours, smiling sweetly at my excitement even though you hadn't read the prose. you escaped into the morning air, i walked out of the doorway to find you and the hands of time silenced. there you were, tucked underneath the dew; the crimson morning sun lighting you up. you were deep in conversation with a lone artist, mesmerized by her work. the watercolours dancing in your eyes. i thought you looked so beautiful, that the notre dame behind you dwarfed in comparison. in that second i knew i would spend forever trying to keep that look in your eyes.
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