Life's tantalizing secrets.
Hope is a great word for
all of it's mysteries.
Not revealed for best kept
rainy days.
How she loved Mary Scott
and drew for her
livid harps.
Never did she stay
the same, nor did
she wish this.
And easy it became.
So she drew from this,
and so do all woman.
That it is not manipulating
it is essence, or energy.
Edgar Allan Poe
is a doctor or saint.
He crafts words
as he crafts beliefs.
He is a doctor of science,
and a madman of faiths.
She learns of all the galling
games, and of horses
that will win the Bell prim.
He has a tray for white doves.
And blood for the pigeons.
But never shows his hand is lousy.
That is the same to most.
- Author: ReflectionShadow (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: July 15th, 2019 04:58
- Comment from author about the poem: What do you mean lousy?!
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 33
Comments1
Sincerely well scripted sir & thoroughly enjoyed ... write from one end to the very other.. if ya get my drift...
Neville
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