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Shall I Be?

I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly; Unfilled, purposeless, full of potential. “What to do? What to do???” I mutter, tumbling, Like Alice, down the rabbit hole. My hands push down ballooning petticoats. Careful not to show or touch anything. I twirl beneath the pile down comforters. The hours tick by crimson red; And in the dream, the rose Queen shouts. “Off with HER HEAD!” An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face. It falls matted and to the ground Leaving me, brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified. “What to do? What to do? What to do???” Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born? A painter’s pallet appears before me. A brow is drawn… for me. Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on. “Off with HER HEAD!” “Off with HER HEAD!”

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Date: 6/2/2009 8:58:00 PM
This is a great write. Very nostalgic
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Date: 6/1/2009 3:29:00 PM
Refering to inferno flames, it does reflect all three (Hell, Light & Love). Your poem The Hours Tick reminds me of a master piece being acted out on a stage. Which I think is worth reading over.
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Date: 6/1/2009 7:07:00 AM
Liked the poem. Using imagination and other poetry to create something new. Sara
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Date: 5/31/2009 4:42:00 PM
''half shorn. Half drawn. Half born? A painter's pallet appears before me. A brow is drawn...for me.'' Again humbled by ur pure genius!
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Date: 5/29/2009 5:41:00 PM
Awesome! I loved it....a great write -Jessica
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Date: 5/28/2009 3:30:00 PM
Oh yes, I was thinking someone read way too many nursery rhymes some of which are pretty scary, along with Alice's story mentioned here. This brings back memories of childhood nightmares that I thought were forgotten. Creepy lobsters is all I will say here. : ) Hope the Chiller Theatre lady doesn't visit me tonight. OFF WITH HER HEAD is not a happy thought. Love the write. Love, shar
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Book: Shattered Sighs