- Books, Literature, and Writing
. . . Vengeance Paid on Evil Princess
Dreary, seeking eyes see her long, thin flowing gown of silver pain
Shocking the nether spirits, stopping the sun and cursing the rain.
What a princess you would have been
Born to nothing, lived as spirit never seeing their knees bend.
Your crown was stolen rocks from Zeus' chosen stocks
While your dainty hands were sharp as a cobra's mock.
Weaving your flimsy, web-like ruler's life so dark
Shedding our brother's blood spewing out their larks.
Yet you remained so childlike, so gentle and such a vision
Trusty in battle, cattle were bowing, and I loved you without reason.
I was unseen, never, never seen my anger now kindled
Watching you whore at night while my heart of wood so dwindled.
Butterflies spoke to your infant soul so sweet
When words you knew and your heart was true.
Little eyes, little feet grew majesty's princess shine
Glowing with dragonfly, watching midnight winking, slowly sipping his wine.
Thief, beast and female devil the names they slung
No fear, not here, you held your throne from words of dung.
The people soon knew as the worms in dreary eve's dim dew
That your faces were paper, pity tapered, stone hard carved new.
You were not born true and the king and queen faded through
Doors of ivy serpents so still while you danced with hemlock on Reaper's Hill.
But there stood I, watching now as you die having lived pink lies
Mocking poor beggars and mimicking their mournful cries.
As your meager coffin rests on dusty satin and silk
A few, a begrudged few, walk quickly, crawling in poison milk.
Ivy leaves snigger lowly giggle of joy
No more prim princess and no more stealing the toys.
I lived as I swore to you that I would and you laughed of Jezebel pitch
I can't take your life, you are my strife, a bolt from Hades a forgotten witch.
With hair once blond and eyes that lured
You caused sick ailments that no wizard, no physician ever cured.
Stir harshly into the apothecary's dish while praying your wish
One sift later, one dust on tongue now choking on Reaper's swish.
Blood let yours, not mine, not his, but cheaply your blood runs thin
Cheap be the pyre, I be no more your dire, now I go to where I've been.
I sit corpse-like still listening to your shivering footsteps set
Sweat freezes as I breathe--I'm out to live by whatever I get.
I smell your scent of feminine ghost so sweet
Oh, mighty God, see me and her I beg you to not let me meet.
I am dead, Lord Majesty of Creation. No more sickness can she send
I bow to you under this canopy of beggars with only broken words you can mend.
She skims like spirit un-caged in silken, alluring gown
Smiling to her wicked self, singing evil songs and always reaching down.
Are you not her judge as you are mine?
Why don't your hand of vengeance rip out her heart of twine?
Let me see her slowly breathing her last stolen breath
Permit me not to give a rose or words of good at her needy death.
She slowly vanishes from spirit into segments of time
Slipping past awaiting hands hidden through books and rhyme.
Past me she is sifted like sand on a rich man's field.
Feeding the snails, snakes, and quails nature will yield.
But I . . .
But I am . . .
Waving a blurred farewell obscuring coldest of Hell's
I stop of no loving memory of you in their bells.
Looking down in humble gratitude and thanks
I lie resting now on eternal stillness banks.
© 2016 Kenneth Avery