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A sweet summers day, with remembrance of spring,

A throne mode of roses only fit for my king,

Made from my own sore fingertips where blood is shed from thorns,

But such an exquisite sight, even Angels and stars mourn,

For when winter arrives, such a throne will decay,

And cities will burn in the entity of a day.

 

All that is left is my tiresome bones

For all I could give thee was a love built throne

What good is my heart, my affections, desires?

When thee wanted empires and man-made fires.

 

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7 Comments

  1. NB NB

    I see a pretty much perfect style being developed in your writing, it’s just a matter of time when you reach the point when you’ll be able to call it exclusively yours.. not much more to say.. you’re doin’ this great.. keep it up 🙂

  2. Beautiful piece, amazing imagery of mourning stars and burning cities, I like this a lot.

  3. ” wanted empires and man-made fires”
    Sublime wording here, Missy. All that once mattered was what we could take and defend, and you captured that animosity so well 🙂 Hope you don’t mind me perusing your work over the next little bit – looking for new inspiration, after all! Thank you for sharing.

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