A fractious heart,
A rebellious soul.
Dauntless eyes,
And tales untold.
Of love, of war,
Of feelings so cold.
Of serpentine dreams,
And reality sold.
Yes, she's made of gold.
With lightening thoughts,
And marvelous sleights,
She tries to get up,
Surprisingly to fall back again.
Is it the magic of the dark,
To juice it away always?
Whatever... it is her hues,
Which remain at last.
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2 comments:
hues that linger long,
long along through til the dawn,
when magic breaks ,
it cuts apart,
like crumbling rocks,
and leaves behind,
a vision unthought,
a view still blur,
priceless in this age all sold,
worthless like a golden wreath,
on a princess dead.
i can see her through the dark
her tales,her love
her dreams ,her wars
come meet her mettle
it not dark, gone is the night
welcome the bright sunrise.
Don't know who you are ...but looks like you really can see me !!!!
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