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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short poem using Cronus and other Greek history.

Submitted: January 17, 2008

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Submitted: January 17, 2008



She came from the West
With anger and tears and

Whirlwind magics in tumult
Tripping and skipping over one another
Swiftly with little care.

And from her pen flowed whispers
Of Death, makings of pessimism-
Manifesting in the gathering of clouds-
With crimson brushstrokes-
A scorecard for the pyres.
And stars danced through her hair
Colliding like fleshed lips rose-hued and
Trembling, body heat enveloping, burning

Ruby tipped tongues of lust at
Kiln scorched pots-

Love of the wheel.
And in her hands lay the tales-
Measured stories inch by inch,
Falling dead as Aristaeus before
Jumpstarting extraordinary and catapulting
Greatness from archeological cannons-
Universes in each atom of the nail.
And in her eyes, pallid, uncertain
The underbelly of a slug led the
Veil of tears, white washed promises
Offered on crisp sheets cleaned of any
Memories of you.
She came from the West
Slippered feet and bejeweled hands
Maintaining balance within Cronus’s chaos
Ideal disproportion, beautiful destruction.

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