The Writers Of The Great Uninevitable Part 1 - The Princess & The Frog
where are the dayswhen writers wrote with pens
of tall tales
where misery never ends,
while lightning sails
across the sky at night.
those were the hours
those writers had powers,
while gigantic Valkyries
rode in thundering showers;
a little Winter time then
where the hours when
those storms drove home
into the writer's pen.
Sitting aloft the page
the writer would cough
with age
but no sea of smoke
within his den
would let him drop his pen,
while the thunderlords
whispered
outside his window
-briskly-
in the sky.
"Do you wanna know why
the martyr
never finds his priest?
-For he's the frail one
who could rest the soul
at least:
'The prince was
swinging from the tree,
his neck broke
oh so
easily,
when the Vicar
vexed him in the road.
He loved the ponds
and decayed into a toad.
He forgot about
the stallion he once rode.
'He forgot about
the horse that he once rode.
'The princess drifted
with pale curls
and drapes that lifted
along the cursed lane,
darted smiles
in crimson styles
and expressions
quite un-plain.
She skipped across
and looked again-
She'd seen the animal
brought by the rain,
hopping around her
again and again.
Her mind it drifted,
while her glare remained.
'Her mind, it drifted,
while her stare remained.
'He, already dead
and she, already wed,
wound up
to the Royal snake be fed.
The darting smile
by the princess while
the pet devours
thr groping frog for hours,
in a torturing style.
The good can come
and the good can go
and nobody would ever know
that it ever existed,
the martyr never finds the priest
because his questions
are too resisted."
Poetry by Aven Black
Read 659 times
Written on 2009-12-20 at 11:35
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