The relationship
Between the moth and the flame
May be apt, but trite
The relationship
Between the moth and the flame
May be apt, but trite
The king weakly grasped his glass
As he took another sip
And smiled through the speech
Coldly
Leading a room of his people
Generals and advisors
Through stilted secret plans
Devised in a war room
Coldly
Depicting the fall of the enemy
Of his people
His generals and advisors
But with an expected smile
Despite the poison
He had been sipping
Coldly
Because he would be gone
Long before the
Repercussions.
Vines crawl up the wall
Built by masons and regents
As if out of spite
The clock ticks for me
Speeding ahead without pause
Except when you’re here
Grand is the tower
That stands above all mankind
Entwined by nature
Grandiose gestures
Made whimsically for love
But is it too much
Dancing summer breeze
Hurricane for bees
A spitting rain
Brings the pain
No risky flood
But sticky blood
A queenless hive
Trying to survive
Hurricane for bees
Dancing summer breeze
A ripened blood moon
Tasty after a story
Of ghosts, ghouls, and death
Eyes freshly open
To a world of restrictions
Only imagined
Swim along the dew
Ride atop the gentle breeze
Or sit and witness