HE IS THE STORM / but he looks at her with soft eyes / and a gentle smile / it is a foreign look / it is a foreign feel / but he likes it / because she is his peace / the eye of the storm / and for once the storm / thinks that he has love / that he is capable of love.
SHE IS THE LILY / symbolic in many ways / but the one she holds true to / is death / but it is death without innocence / death without morals / and death and death and death / it is all a game of blood and gore / and she knows how to play it.
IT IS THE WITCHING HOUR / and she has knives in her jacket / and in her delicate, soft hands / it is a foreign look / but not a foreign feel / he rounds the corner / and her mouth transforms into a form of a smile / but it is frightening as much as it is unsettling / she doesn't see that he is / carrying a bundle of lilies behind his back / until she darts out / and embeds the knife / into his gut.
THE LIGHT IN HIS EYES DIM / she erupts in a manic, devilish cackle / and somewhere deep in his head / he registers that although she is a monster / she is a beautiful one / and those are the worst kinds / she watches as the life / seeps away from his body / waiting and waiting and waiting / before the last of it goes / he thinks that / it is all a game of blood and gore / and she knows how to play it.
- STORM AND LILY [ALTERNATIVELY NAMED: FOREIGN GAMES AT THE WITCHING HOUR - 7.2.16]
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OF THE LIKE
PoetryLIKE THEM; the cunning, the strong, the rational, the sensual, the rash. POE19 [151016]
