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Charles Matheson Poem
In your glory, you weave magical webs
Webs of fantasy, deceit, falsehood and half truths
Your countenance saintly, the epitome of purity
Your pleasing form deceives many
Voluptuous curves, jutting peaks, lush valleys
Tresses that flow like fragrant cascading water
Skin so soft, the colour of virgin honey
In the depths of your soul there darkness dwells
As you scheme, your eyes gleam, mental gears turning
You unleash your masterpiece of destruction
Machinations of chaos, unbridled anarchy
Shattered lives and spirits rent asunder, you have left
To you it as all a game, a game whose rules you set
A game at which you are peerless
I see through your veil….I will not play your game
You have met your match….Checkmate!
Game Over
Copyright © Charles Matheson | Year Posted 2006
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