"prickley" poems
*The last firebird flied
over her as she stood
on the last crumbling
mountain.
Prickley pine trees
shivering above the dew,
the first breath of the
winter in her soul was
icing through the flowers.
She fleed the Golden-emerald
city, heart broken by the
gong of war.
Sinking her nails deep into
the ground.
Sheding tears of a dragon
from the crystal eyes
of the universe.
Falling down
her porcelain face.
A work of art.
Her lips red,to seem like
cherries in the spring.
Casting a glance at the pale moon
while the wild wind was
howling to the north.
Ruler of the skies
as the morning stars sang together,
looking different today.
In the shadows of her lace fan,
the silky blossom on the
kimono dress.
Embroided with the silver thread
of moonlight, encrusted with
the diamonds of night.
The great ocean waves can't destroy
her purple throne.
Although left all alone, she will
never surrendor.
The obediance will suffocate
from her light, rising like the sun
after the dusk once again.
Because she is... the Empress*
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
You go back because it's comfortable
But the bed is lined with thorns
The comforter a prickley mess against your skin
Love is thick here but the trust is thin
His arms are warm around you
But something stirs inside
It remembers more than you do
A scream that dulls with every rejection
Eventually being buried
By more pleasant things
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC