Two. Old. Poems.

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May 7, 2013 by imustseeaman

 

Figurine

Feet as small as dainty hands

On lovely branches never withered.

Up among the roots in which

Secrets hide in wait for more.

Along the disproportioned pieces

Proves a road most perilous.

Jarring stones and curvy pathways

Challenge us to take a tour.

Climbing up the collar bone

To reach the final destination.

Kiss a mouth that never closes.

Move up to a higher floor.

Eyes and nose and ears are fine

And don’t forget that pretty freckle.

Foreign beauty shuns perfection.

Overall, it’s something new.

Horus, Selhmet, and Ra

To bend the crowd into a tether

Tighter than the tightest tie;

To feel the rubble ripple under

Feet of those who never die;

To monger mayhem ‘mongst the masses

Making haste to start a war;

To gather gunpowder and gadgets

Gore them through the stormy shore

Of people pleading to have more

Than Evil Mighty King who swore

For 30 years to pave the floor

A smoothly textured even score

All the while pleading for

The crowd to cease its plucky roar:

“Be Silent, Be Still!”

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