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Wondering Escape by Andrews - [28 words]
Wisps Of Air by Jt Ewing Love in the real world, when the boy doesn't get the girl. [136 words]
Winter's Kiss by John Yeohann - [116 words]
While God........... by Colin Baker - [15 words]
Where My Thoughts Lay by Carla Thomson this is about my ex-fiancÚ and myself ... a little bit of what i'm feeling right now i co... [139 words]
When The Sun Is Down... by Walid Almiqdadi PHILOSOPHICALLY ,ULTIMATE PLEASURE IS AN ILLUSION, A FICTION,ONLY REALIZED WITH EVERY N... [98 words]
When It Knocks by Carla Thomson - [90 words]
What's Still Worst by Jahri Ann Inspiring people to be more conscious about what's happening in the world, and to play their... [131 words]
Upon Waking by T J Rintoull Upon waking, this short lyric poem came to me. [60 words]
Unborn Lament by Dri this could just be a poem about that person who knows they could be something better but circumst... [90 words]
Trying To Cross by Randall Barfield . [42 words]
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Through A Pipe Made Of Lead by Dawei - [143 words]
This Time Of Year by Andrews - [57 words]
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She Bawled by Jahri Ann The hurt of a woman as her love's life was taken away by a violent act [179 words]
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Keep 'em Guessing by Curious - [48 words]
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Diatribe Of A Wicked Queen
Crying In A Sandbox by C E Wynkoop This is a sad little poem about how kids pick on each other in the school yard [133 words]
Crush by C Parnell I wrote this poem a while back about someone I had a crush on, I later found out he liked me too and we h... [92 words]
Corridors Of Love? by Amarjit Bhambra Knocking on the right door....I remember my creator.... [79 words]
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Bulletproof Lonliness by Little A This is how I feel about my new school... [72 words]
Bryna by R Bennett Okerstrom Saying goodbye to my mom [131 words]
Blood Whore by Doc Byron A vampire learns the true meaning of loneliness [46 words]
Bald by T J Rintoull A complaint against nature and pattern baldness. [132 words]
A Simple Hope by T J Rintoull A short poem I wrote while at work. [57 words]
78 by T Regajed What you make of it. [62 words]
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Diatribe Of A Wicked Queen
A different take on the Wicked Queen concept. Is she really wicked, or just a victim of circumstance? Inspired by my own life.
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1)
Dream Of A Past Life (Poetry) A poem I wrote about a very vivid dream I had one night. [513 words]
Diatribe Of A Wicked Queen
Overcast and dreary, through the mists of paranoia
That you summon with your spite
Your withered, tired hands seek me out
To drain me of my will, and satiate your vampiric mind
Transmute the joyous rain into a desperate drought
Your words...like threads of razor...
Gripping, grating, gashing, grinding...into my thoughts
"I'm a slut? Now, you know that's far from being true."
You merely try to find fault in she who's lovelier than you.
You're a blight in my world
And I, a villain in yours
He tells me, "she'll let us be...eventually
If we just let this run it's course."
But my defenses erode like mountains, my patience thaws like ice
All my thoughts of virtue are steered instead towards vice...then his voice
"We can weather this crisis...this...chrysalis
Then we'll emerge monarch butterflies in a world where noble thoughts suffice."
But they don't. Not here...
Here, she's vengeful and persistent and demented and resistant
Her chains are made of iron, she stalks us night and day, she's a shabby straw that went astray...from her mental bale of hay
That threatens to break this camel's back...with her incessant "I'm scorned!" attack
on you, on me, on honor, on ideals...what's more!
To outsiders she's the seraph, and I the Devil's Whore.
I'm not the one whose brain's distorted
I'm not the one who with his best friend cavorted
I'm not the one that in the end will be thwarted
I'm not the one who sheds a thousand fake tears
I'm not the one who'll sacrifice the years
Holding on, sitting tight...waiting on something
That just wasn't right.
I'm not the one who's version and the truth
Never do quite jibe
I'm just the one who let it out now
In this festering diatribe
Alright I don't like fairy dust or bake sales
Or basket weaving shows
So I don't like dressing like a librarian
Or being told which way to go
I am proud and honest
And bold and bitter
Tart and tingly...not big on mingling
But at least with me...it's never a show.
Pity me, pity me...it is the martyr's cry
Such a pity then, that this "martyr" does not die.
Harsh words in this, my diatribe...but you've hit us low
You can't let go...and in my heart, it's past high tide
I still find it so difficult to accept
That even though we've never met
I hold for you, the deepest contempt.
If you want to play Snow White, I'll be the Wicked Queen
You'll cower in fear as I rise to rage's call
And feed you poison apples 'til to your end you fall.
That's what you want, isn't it?
A villainess...to put to death your cowardice.
But rest assured, in this tale, the princess stays asleep.
And it's the Wicked Queen who in the end will keep
Her prince, her dignity, her life...her pride.
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© 2007 M Southwell
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