“Look” Said The Prince

“Look,” said the prince,
“A poet there sits.
A poet, how quaint.
His words are of love,
Of wooing and romance,
Of warm summer suns and sweet winter moons.
How quaint, a poet.”

But the poet in question
Was deep in depression.
His words were of blood,
Of longing for death,
Of chill summer moons and harsh winter suns.
Yet the prince walked away with a smile that day.

And the poet was glad
To have pleased an
And his life remained
Another day.

November ’04


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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