Poetry

petulant hypocrite creationist

the harp never calls me names
but you never make me black out &
ache in the core of bones
weep between the marrow walls

remember the princesses who pined
ensconced in those towers of old
oh to be one, with a harp
sleep beside her, dream of her
and while awake hold her
caress her till my fingers break
never hear another cruel word
or bite one back

my beloved how I wish I’d met you in youth
when there was a way to bring you home
your bright voice alight
if I practice I become fair in your eyes
you never turn me away
never another cruel word here

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