Five
The light of my life is the tide of the tight
Which half of witchcraft is blight to unbright?
Paper of papal intent in the tent
Fare of the fate to the wittingly went
Knives are nice, but butter is better
A flick of the wrist and a twist of the fetter
Burn through the binder and break down the bricks
The deluge of delusion that stickles and sticks
Ruptured erruptions of singing to sin
Enraptured in rapture by fiddling the fin
Won't will your wont until the wight's won
Sorrowful song of the son of the sun
Lice come less when Winter won't wrest
Sum of the Summer rests in the West
Oughn't the Autumn to singe from the binge
Swing with the Spring of the tingling tinge
Donning the dawn of the bleeding night's blight
Moon dies at noon at the frightening fight
Dust of the dusk falls to slickening breath
Bright light of deep night dreams quickening death.
Copyright © Marchioness Of Mock Turtles | Year Posted 2011
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