From one to ten and one my first third holds
to hone and shape the sword already forged
by he who first declared the drink of gold
still not as precious as the gift they scourged.
In me with all their hope did they proclaim
watched acts that turned things clear to deepest red
yet he had known I would accept all blame
though fluid on my face displayed my dread.
One lost and ten and one had nothing left
with log and ore three saw their love’s demise
their trust betrayed to death and love bereft
because sweet juice and arsenic did entice.
But ten and one and you now have my gift;
grasp who I am, and do not stay adrift.
4 comments:
i LOVE this poem. (Although I wish you had heard my internal dialogue in the panic of trying to figure it out the first time i read it... i was almost too busy swooning at he form... hahahahha)
hahahhahah, YES, i know what this is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
it's amazing.
and WHY isn't this mcgoogy?
i know the answer!
i have the poooower!
i have the poooooower!
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