Poem: Mirror

“Mirror, Mirror

On the wall

Who is fairest

Of them all?”

“She who sits upon her throne

In silence beckoning, would condone

The murder of a beauty fair

In cottage sleeping, with ash-black hair

Lips of red and skin snow-white

Then you might,

Then you might

Be the fairest

Of them all

If only White is first

to fall.”

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Poem: Grove

I knew a place

Across time

Across space

Where harmony lived and breathed and died

 

A place where thoughts joined with peace in mind

Where the nymphs and the satyrs

Searched for but could never find

A place where I stood on my own

A grove to myself

A grove all alone.

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Poem: The Burning Sky

Progress

Means fire.

The sky is aflame.

The seas all sick

The forests all maimed.

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