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The Saga Continues...

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier
Poetry



Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will WWill Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Willill Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will


Submitted:Apr 9, 2012    Reads: 22    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


Whispering inside my soul, I know that I won't be able to evade this vivid imagery again.

I've elaborated this majestic quality about you, that I just cannot define in the proper brand of person I categorized you for.

You've overlapped my thoughts, erasing my individual landscapes, my original works of art.

I've set fire to all the places I thought I could go for comfort, I do this, because I've invited you to one or two of them.

Your infection just spreads throughout.

Cries for dignity, cries for my shame, I've demoralized my body, my brain.

I run to the masks of ever changing figures, their smiles bring me delight, their compliments allow me to take flight.

To soar across the branches that kept me hollow, that kept me stable, overlooking the creatures that live and dance in those forbidden meadows of imagination.

Limitation is just a bland occurrence that happens and ends day to day for my brain, for my eyes to see, for my acting skills to decay.

I can no longer project immense emotion, you've sucked all the vibrancy from my core.

I take notice to all the pretty little things waiting by your front door.

Brown eyes.

Red hair.

Larger than life of a nose.

Fuller lips.

Smaller eyes.

Why do I allow myself to become so analytic of what your touching, what your subjecting to my sanity.

Let me go insane.

I've endured it before, I've screamed and knocked on the neighboring houses filled with ungrateful whores.

Fantasizing about gore and misery's allure to decapitate any structural thought I may conceive.

So you find stunning imagery astray from me.

I can differ, I can complain.

But I won't, I'll be insane without a cause, without a purpose.

Thus to be insane for you would be like a breaking point for most dogs, most animals.

I refuse to be the purpose or cause of something so typical, so primitive.

Alas, I shall finger paint the walls with golds, azure blues, and lavish pinks.

Be in sync with my creativity, masterpieces I create hold a far more stronger meaning for me.





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