The Fair it is

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
observed

Submitted: July 11, 2012

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Submitted: July 11, 2012

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 THE FAIR

AS HARD AS ICE, AND COOL, YET MELTS IF NICE

TURBULANT SKY, IT HOLDS NO SWAY

A RAGING STORM ,A COOL EARLY MORN,

A PURRING SOUND, FROM UP THE THROAT,

IF STROKED

FIERCE WHITE FIRE, IF PROVEKEDED

ITS TONGUE, ITS WIT, IT IS QUICK, AND CAN YET WINK

A  RATTLING, RUMBLING, STEAMING, KETTLE HISSE

YET NO MORE, A SNAKE, NO BEAR, NO DRAGON

NO SPITTING HISSES

A  WEB IS KNOWN BY ITS DESIGNER ALONE,

IT’S PLANS, ITS HOLDINGS, ITS SHAPE, ITS STRENGHT,

IS ALL FOREKNOWN, FOR SO WE KNOW

THE FAIR, THE SWEET, THE HAUGHTY LOOK ,THE EVIL EYE,

THE MIX IS TURNED, IN WHICH WE LIE,

NA, NOTHING, BY CHANCE IS LEFT TO HIM,

NO THOUGHT, IS IDOL, BUT PLANS FULIFFLED,

THE FOUNDATION IS DUG, THE CASINGS SURE

THE INGREDIENTS ARE WEIGHED, IN BALANCES SURE,

THE CLOCK TIS WOUND, ITS TIME IS SET

ALL HER PLANS, ARE TOGETHER MET

NO, NO, NOTHING EVER LEFT TO CHANCE,

THE DICE IS WEIGHED, THE SPINDLE SET,

HER LOCKS, HER STICKS, HER HIPS, HER TITS

THE DEADLY SILENCE, HER QUAKING TONGUE,

WEAPONS OF WAR, HER ART SHE KNOWS

SCORNEFUL, .VENGFUL, CRUELTY UNKNOWN,

 WITHOUT LIMITS, AND LIMITINESS ALONE

HER ROBE, HER DRESS, HER SMILE, HER BREATH

TURN US MERE MEN TO STONE,

THE PUPPETS STRINGS, THE PATHS WE THREAD,

ARE ALL UNKNOWN, UNTIL WERE DEAD

A GLANCING LOOK, A TWIST OF HIPS, OUR LUST IS LIT,

THE FLAME IS HOT, THE PASSION BURNS

TO BRING US, JUGGLING, STRUGGLING, STRUNG ALONG,

TO US OUR FATE, UNTIL LUST IS MET

IT S  OUR FATE UNTIL WE DIE

 


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