When a short walk
feels like I road trip
I took her to this art event
She took me to her motel bed
Like puppetry two marionette
We tangled up our strings
Her eyes were wide like Eleanor
Rigby she was fiction for
The life I’d led a year before
I hadn’t slept a wink
It’s comical how looks predict
The ludicrous and obvious
By circumstance we came to this
Offering by the sea
Her hair jet black like ravens beak
The padding of her size 6 feet
Lenore her name I said quite meek
This time then nevermore
It’s lyrical how time can tell
Who’s heaven sent and living hell
An angel with a broken bell
Knows liberation’s free
Sometimes I think coincidence
Common sense and saying yes
Are infinite never in jest
Like cherry blossoms we
Sell ourselves a dollar short
Make amends and then spring forth
Pink petals fall on the seashore
There’s no telling what could be
An accident a sign from God
A work of faith handshake or nod
They’re simply an illusion on
The pleasure box we see
The message spoke ten times before
By Poe and his dear loved Lenore
Like love’s the end all message for
Both poetry and speech
So I took her to the airline that
Disagreed with both our backs
I mean this with no disrespect
It’s how some people meet
We never spoke another word
Jumped back into the universe
I came to grips was late for work
And landed on my feet
The failed King sat on his throne.
His Queen had already fled.
Watching his people die, he couldn’t shake the thought
of who would bring him his dinner tonight.
The chef’s were gone, the jester dead.
As for his Queen, well he could find another Queen.
And no matter how much blood was shed,
his people showed no sign of stopping.
It was nearly a 50/50 split – men, women, and children.
He couldn’t help but wear his grin proudly.
It was until he saw his son beheaded that his grin began to fade.
It wasn’t so much the action of it all but rather the one who’d done it.
Down there, past all the bloody corpses, stood his Queen.
What she was shouting he could not quite make out but it went something like this.
I’d rather slay my own kin than have them carry on your name.
Why had his son been down there with the poor and wild rabble-rousers?
He then took note, that he was alone in his castle. How puzzling he thought.
But this did not bother him too long, for he’d only needed what his people could give him.
A King has no need for the physical person, surely he knew this.
Then at the strike of noon, the King began to sing.
Through the screams and fury and onslaught of ravaged flesh, he sang.
It went something like this.
My God what have you done,
my Lord could you believe,
that there is no helpful soul
to serve me steak and peas.