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Quirivia and Metophilia I

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Quirivia and Metophilia I

In a land beyond the sun, where a queen
Was said to live, more beautiful never seen
Quirivia was named, she ruled all over
Lands of armies and was the most proper
For such a role in her world, yet envious
People never stopped being hideous

Never they succeeded in any attempt or try
To isolate her from what seemed as her right
Yet someday, a darkened angel descended down
From the sky and looked at the holder of the crown
With her pale eyes, she looked and envied Quirivia
A fallen angel she was and was called Metophilia

She held her scythe, which reflected her face
It was pale, dry, malicious, and out of space
Cold, alone, cursed, doomed and banned
From her own graced ground and homeland
She roamed around the throne of eternity
Quirivia’s, yet created to serve all humanity

Yet in a night, she came down to her goal
The crown, which shined with no existing sol
She looked at Quirivia’s tired hands, covering
Her sleepy face, and suddenly started quivering
She felt this urge, the urge to torment the weak
The urge to fill her hunger, and fill what she seeks

Waving her scythe as she played a tormented song
Roaming grounds where the armies slept all night long
Her song seemed sad, seemed as tormented inside
She killed all the armies, and was to stay and bide
Waiting for the long waited morning alone there
Quirivia woke up, and was to wonder and stare

Staring at the one who bore the crime of the age
At the fallen angel, and at her impaling cage
She woke up to see everything lost, everything has
Gone forever, no more crowds, flowers, or even grass
Deserted, alone facing the one who caused her fall
Lost her kingdom, her people, and her role

Yet surprisingly, she gained some things no one would
Expect her to gain, Metophilia smiled as much as she could
Metophilia whispered: “You’ve gained your freedom…
No one to be responsible about… at least not the kingdom”
Quirivia felt that the weight is much lighter, 
Yet she couldn’t feel rested with her land blighter

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