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Cheshire Grin The illusion of love, so soft, tempting and alluring Cheshire grins promising that one perfect, special thing And the widow spins. While the heart pretends Not to notice innate, sloven moats Or that the world around has gone gray Lover, beware. What's sought is not there. The looking glass shattered from time. Look not in the flame, though the image remains In the sphere of a lone poet's rhythm. But never a lesson is learned. Heed slick, tempestuous lips and fervent breath Do not be fooled. There is no genuine, It's only honed quill alluding to death. It gives blood to the verse that poets rehearse In their search for abiding Queen's land. So in their delusion young lovers recite, What they hold fondly in colander hands. Not a thought do they give to life's natural sieve, Or consider the end of their time. It will come in a way that takes life away, One morsel, one breath at a time. Don't deceit with belief, don't believe with deceit. Learn quickly the hollow bored hole. Don't hope for a life, don't dare live without hope, Seek not the adroit troll's toll. Seek instead for no want of a soul. |
Additional Notes:
I know..."one perfect thing, ect." is a bit cliche, but it was intentional - and appropriate for the inspiration of this piece....
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