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The magical mortal you perceive
Stands here in the mask you painted
The boundless love that you receive
Is a perfection you smudged from the tainted

The fractured spirit
Frozen in place
Would heedlessly abandon
All who dared to wrap her arms around them
She would walk away
At the roll of a dice
No tears in her eyes
Queen of the ice

But you taste her
As you place her
On your pedestal of virtue
Yet floundering in anticipation of how she might hurt you
As though a child could etch love with a crayon!
Do you know that her torment plays on
Through the night?
Now Helena, in blazing fury
To be told a man could love her
Beholds Ophelia, ensnared in madness
To see that love plucked asunder

So, gentle sculptor, carve her frame with your hands
Caress the crumbling fortifications
Casting subtle scars
On pure porcelain features
Lust winding wispy hands
Through the thoughts of desperate creatures

Her shadow in the shallows
An opaque ghost; you behold her splendour
Your statue, your creation, your infatuation
You shudder
To consider she might find another
In this inky black, blunder
Your lips
Graze words,
Or hers
Smudging the sky with suggestion of light
Still you turn away as she looks to your eyes.
Ah sod it, I'm bored of explaining the meaning, motive and method to my poetry now. Go figure it out yourselves. :p ;)
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Submitted on
October 30, 2006
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