Epitaph Empress
Author's Note: Part Two is here! And so is another little poem! Oh yeah, again the Latin means 'The Second Book', so I think you can see something of a pattern emerging. . .
Liber Secundus : Stolen Prize
Away, away, to mourn the sun
Escorted fiercely by fierce love
Snatched from sunlight and motherly care
And reborn into darkness
Without escape.
As shadows ensnare her
And darkness consumes her;
Convulsing shimmering obsidian
A burnt emerald
Sparkles and dissolves.
She is prey to a kingdom of corpses
Victim of their solitary master
As she learns how cold love can be
She is lost.
She is scarred, torn brutally away
Aching from the severed bond
Ripped in half
And flung beneath a heavy crown; she weeps
And begins to know bitterness
And the bite of despair.
She will plead, cast into a vast prison
Captive of one whose love could reduce her to ash
Captive of a cold realm
And subjects of icy terror
Persephone trembles.
He declares adoration,
And both will plead
Yet hearts will not open
To reveal their warm but bloody forms
Ignorant to the suffering above
She suffers below.
If wishes were horses. . .
If tears could buy freedom. . .
If begging could gain sympathy. . .
She cries for her mother
As her spirit erodes in death's domain
Shunning her captor
Refusing to become his stolen prize,
His prisoner bride,
Still the child
Child of lost dreams.
She weeps as do the walls
And the faltering life above
But only silent granite and a captor hear
Her pleads falling into obscurity
As she longs for oblivion
In those first terrible days.
A maiden is disillusioned and destroyed
As emptiness consumes her
Cold, pitiless, fiendish.
She cries for her mother,
Ripped from her roots, her stalk split
She sits sullenly, silent with sorrow
In her gilded cage
Wings clipped.
She is alone.
Author's Note: Part Two is here! And so is another little poem! Oh yeah, again the Latin means 'The Second Book', so I think you can see something of a pattern emerging. . .
Liber Secundus : Stolen Prize
Away, away, to mourn the sun
Escorted fiercely by fierce love
Snatched from sunlight and motherly care
And reborn into darkness
Without escape.
As shadows ensnare her
And darkness consumes her;
Convulsing shimmering obsidian
A burnt emerald
Sparkles and dissolves.
She is prey to a kingdom of corpses
Victim of their solitary master
As she learns how cold love can be
She is lost.
She is scarred, torn brutally away
Aching from the severed bond
Ripped in half
And flung beneath a heavy crown; she weeps
And begins to know bitterness
And the bite of despair.
She will plead, cast into a vast prison
Captive of one whose love could reduce her to ash
Captive of a cold realm
And subjects of icy terror
Persephone trembles.
He declares adoration,
And both will plead
Yet hearts will not open
To reveal their warm but bloody forms
Ignorant to the suffering above
She suffers below.
If wishes were horses. . .
If tears could buy freedom. . .
If begging could gain sympathy. . .
She cries for her mother
As her spirit erodes in death's domain
Shunning her captor
Refusing to become his stolen prize,
His prisoner bride,
Still the child
Child of lost dreams.
She weeps as do the walls
And the faltering life above
But only silent granite and a captor hear
Her pleads falling into obscurity
As she longs for oblivion
In those first terrible days.
A maiden is disillusioned and destroyed
As emptiness consumes her
Cold, pitiless, fiendish.
She cries for her mother,
Ripped from her roots, her stalk split
She sits sullenly, silent with sorrow
In her gilded cage
Wings clipped.
She is alone.