Fuchsia MayFuchsia May May,Fuchsia May
Maybe when the fuchsia lingers, The tips of their long purple fingers pointing, At the deep solid ground, In the quietest off all places, That’s May I lay, Reminiscing lazier days, I can lay by your wise heart, Holding and hoping I can see into the earth again.
Servant to her EveTowards every Eve of great sorrow, exsists afar desire, for void stones drip endlessly, with ebony liquid fire,Servant to her Eve
As I whispered a trail, a trail of white locks I knew, wound bout steps, oh, how her tower grew, Each lock needed counting, for what one could do, twas the night that scared her, her misery ran true,
Trying not to stumble, over she, who lay, Enchanted mistress, she would always say, Each tear weaving a branch through her weathered lace dress, she always lay crying, always staring, in her chamber of deep mess.
Catastrophe Part 2In the dungeon of distress, Lay your head to rest, Let your soul arrest, Long beyond repair, Straight down morals do we tear, The head is caught in snare, The mind thinks with ferocity, Its deeds are an atrocity, It bleeds with acidity, It tries to get rid of me.Catastrophe Part 2
The East ChamberSetting beyond my house, the chamber compliments the parlor, we, wait, agonizing and in doubt within the chamber, and tilt towards it's way east side,The East Chamber
hiding under the huckleberries, one often dreams, drumming heart, with silent, echo beats, in the chamber, never wasting a moment's breath, to disguise an evil,
broken branches, scatter the lawn, wind whirl pools, of pomegranates, leading grazingly to, a porch settee, walking foward slowly, and tapping, setting the guns, upon the chamber walls,
knock
--
"The Revolution will not be televised, but it will be recorded."
S. DIZZY
:coffemachine:
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