The Flowers of Despair
On wicked wings, in silent hours
comes this deadly, perfect flower
To steal the breath from sleeping Kings
& tear the hearts of porcelain Queens
With pale skin & sorrowful eyes,
in the dead of night she flies
Through any window, any door
& if no opening she finds,
she'll steal her way though quiet minds
Not a word does she speak
but with her eyes, your soul she'll reap
As far away, on distant shores
a soundless bell keeps count;
Another soul for her collection
as mourners weep in recollection
The Flower of Despair, she's called
& in the end, she'll reach us all.
Copyright © Julie Forbush | Year Posted 2005
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