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The Web Poetry Corner - M A Heathcote - So pale and hurtfully prissy

So pale and hurtfully prissy


M A Heathcote

So pale and hurtfully prissy
Why does she come shadow crawling up my spine.
Doesnít she realize Iíve served a necromancerís time?
Melancholy is a thistle a rose garland in black holy
Her love a so called red beating heart a coulee
A furnace a kiln a blue broach of cracked enamel:
Why doesnít she sliver like feline fox, mindful?
Into that toothless fearless smiling dead cemetery
Who is she to be so pale and hurtfully prissy?
God only deny me the light to slay this shadow
The strength to live and breathe, again tomorrow...

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