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Warnings from the Waterfly

Samantha McDougal Avatar  Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled Warnings from the Waterfly which was written by poet Samantha McDougal. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Warnings from the Waterfly

Taking use of a waterfly
She merrily drifts on
To a tired petty refuge...
For the last time.
The waterfly is gentle
Beyond it's appearance.
It's wings bellow 
A deep hum 
And it's ventriloquist  eyes
Are forever waiting beneath the sea.
You lay a few cautious kisses
Upon it's head.
It's been so tedious over the years.
So careful to go 
To each specific place.
It's corpulent body
Trembles in it's pace
And carries you into 
A stronger current,
Ignoring the ancient palace.
Your curiosity fumbles 
With his golden reigns.
He turns back
Unwillingly.
Strange.
Strange that this old waterfly
No longer knows his way.
Strange, he seems
Reluctent to obey.
She strokes his weary head
And they arrive at their destination.
What a strange being.
She wonders as she 
Searches his age old face 
Worn at the edges with
Touches of silver splinters
And water rust.
Each crease and fold
Holding more water
Than the hungry path in which they travel.
Don't go.
Begging,
Selfish,
Incandescent,
Loathing.
Don't go.
This is what his front
Would say
But it never makes it past his
Studded, smooth, eroded teeth.
She left.
She walked below the bridge instead.
She opened the door to the palace
Where brave men no longer venture.
She spots a cold dark woman
With a veiled face and frowning brows.
She wears a white familiar dress.
All to familiar to the waterfly flyer.
She stares at the eyes of the dangling woman.
They protrude from her skull
In a somewhat modest fashion,
Like a prostitute,
Avoiding the burns of the limelight.
They devoured her face and 
Left her lips parted with slurred speech.
The wedding march
From a Midsummer Night's  Dream
Slowy churned on beneath the stifled murmurs.
She heard murmurs.
Her distant husband sat in a corner
With three limpid bitter seas
Tumbling from his green skies.
He held a wrinkled, written prose
Within his trembling hands.
She left me her body,
He cried.
She always left me her body.
And the waterfly fell silent.


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