It was this place
That made me its wife
To convey,
To guide,
For life.
This place has given me strength,
While you have abused me,
Wanted more,
Hated metaphor,
And tried to smash the truth.
You just don’t agree
About things you see me to know
As you try to stand outside
Of your own capable mind.
This place won’t let me forget
And allow you to give,
To those who want their spirit in lights;
Their soul at height.
Their fairytale to be the reality
Instead of an anthology!
There is a rank beyond your drive
Your ability to perceive,
It is not to destroy mother earth
To take her as anything you want her is
To be,
Nor scratch and pound to turn things around
And make everyone see the illusion.
There’s no such person, right?
Just a poor abandoned mole
As you live to stick your head in a hole.
The law or lore;
Both are kept
They tell of her love and guise
The way she knows the planets tune
Of what is necessary for humans to do.
Of past and present,
Of love and prints
What expands and what contracts.
In all the refractions that you feed,
That revenge is worthy,
To gag
To jeer
as you do
Innocent lives are harmed.
The pure saturated
The banshee silenced by a sirens score
Yet the angel who suffers is told
It’s old.
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