I ride a ghastly, palish horse,
his hair is ghoulish, sharp and coarse;

We ride upon the night: a rave -
no sound about us beyond the brave,
and the sighing dying no god could save,
but reaped and stolen by the glaive.

And fear in hearts of men we stir,
when I give my palish horse the spur,
and soundless shrieks of still and void
greet the darkness, overjoyed.

Sadly the Kingdom has awoken
to a doomed dark Sunday-
Like the spirit in the wind,
the king arose with wings of
a majestic dove. Prayers
are endless, dark clouds
casting a sea of nothing.
But by the sheer luck the doomed
kingdom will not despair,
with demise, shall be named,
unmarking deter flowing
deep in the depth of the
sea, muddle by betrayal-
the people, the kingdom,
the palish face of his queen.
Dumbfounded by sheer shock.
To remember he, not to
quick and settle on
appearance, not pleasingly
to the queen's eye, granting
respect for respect
shall be received. Wisely
they have kindly, with
the queens gestures, it was
array that he who follows
in the kings footsteps,
shall wear the crown of glory.
From its people. Mystified,
in the silent house, gazing
at the reflection of a
mirror, at a palish face.
Alone by the sudden overtake,
panic dwells within, the
people shall receive their
new King. The desert shall
rain in the spirit of his
presence. Now he's all but
a legend.

it's the clavicles her
the
inching of

the
(her)the

vulnerable teasing the

at the edges pink the

trimmed in neatness the

amble of girlness palish

(******* just and
softer coiling
hushed by
an inch
of boyness)

she(the)her(the)

by the way sir(the)

i 'er the
gonna perce ya

a radiant by the folding o' yer faultless gleaming
(spear to plunge)
your heart and *****

a rill to let
of crimson mangé

a winter moon shines palish white
above her sleeping head a night
and there she dreams of sweet delight
of better days to come

Am I the right piece that fits your life
or was I merely misplaced in the wrong box?
The shapes are starting to spread thin
and the puzzle is nearing completion.

There once stood a beautiful meadow where the tulips grew,
but the vibrant colors have wilted to a palish gray.
The appreciation for this natural serenity still exists,
but the love...the love is questionable.

Have you outgrown the nutrients that I provided
or is it simply the necessity to spread your seeds elsewhere?
I cannot and will not know the truth
for all I am left with is memorial remnants.