A heavy darkness, is draped, and framed around her sullied grief,
For she never thought of his heft, until the severed head
Of her dear father, stoutly rested upon her hollow chest
While she intently stared, through the heavy curtain of the night,
Into his pale blue lifeless eyes, that almost seemed, to reciprocate,
Was just her eyes, reflected back in the frigid shallow depths
Of her king, whom she once revered, with a kingdom, that despised his rule,
A lost empire, they walk blindly, towards the brim of the cuff,
As the stains of treachery, seep deeply, into the fibers,
Pain, trapped in the talons of deception, running rampid
In the grand castle, housing death, of those fallen to the shrouded blade,
It was the world in despair, perched, upon the young girl’s shoulders
As she softly asks, “Why?”, waiting for those cold lips to part, and answer,
But the eerie dead silence, weighs heavier, than the rotting disjoin,
How could she knock on the gates of sanity, expecting sincerity
When all it does, is ignore the plea of the lost, and of the broken,
But does that mean, the axis you’re buried in, has to be your grave?
A question, she struggled with, as she gently placed her father to rest
Upon the stained royal threading, like the one, sunken into the ground,
She vacated her bed, and approached, her blurred reflection,
Only, there was something else, peering back through the looking glass,
As she crept in close, she found a tight huddle of decapitation,
Painted, onto the folds, in rigid strokes that blended its unsightly disorder,
Which pierced the veil, straight into the heart of her innocence,
She questioned their appearance, searching her deprivation
For clues to clarity, knowing, their presence was the real query,
But her concern, was their striking anger, pervading desolation,
Nothing, but the whispers in her ear, from voices long snuffed
Out of existence, to be resurrected, in her hour of torment,
A glaring stain, that’s all it was, she repeated back, drowning the voices
Suddenly surrounding her, enveloped by their breath,
A rising fog in her narrowing canal, leading her back to the surface,
“Your hands!” – the voices repeated, like a skipping record
Echoing off each other’s final syllable, heard eternally
In her mind, as her fading grip on the tangible, loses the edge,
While these voices, coming from a mirage of floating deceased familiars,
Continued their repetitive chant, and feeling those words vigorously rattle
Against her chest, drowning her, in the avalanche of their onslaught,
Still hearing it’s chime, as it shakes off the rust, a ghost from her past
And a rising chill, that slices through, as time stands still
Atop the broken pendulum, forgotten about amongst the rubble,
Hooked, into her consciousness, as it slithered through her senses
Leaving behind a grave remembrance, like a figure in ragged cloth
Slowly scraping its scythe, along the conscious dread,
She felt it’s jarring slither, invading her temple, tightening it’s grasp,
As she ripped herself out, from the inside, and examined the parasite,
It’s familiar villainous glare, captured, her bewildered attention
And dragged it, with its thorny tentacles, tattering along her entrails,
Purging this alien being, examining it in a stunned silence
As she becomes consumed by this evil, stretching out, spilling
Onto her crumbling perception of her own sanity,
Who were these gruesome faces, glaring, at the poor girl, losing her religion,
Starting her monologue in order to rationalize her madness,
Trying to convince herself, that it was only a haunting mirage,
But then she noticed her cage, was slowly shrinking, tightening its choke
Around the absolute, leaving her gasping and frozen, in it’s imprint,
Grasping her head, as if it was the only way, to keep it attached,
Closing her eyes, feeling for tranquility, to which has dissipated,
Leaving her stranded, alone, in the complexity of this moment,
As “Your hands!” again, reaches out from the infinite darkness
Of her own chambers, where these faces, have found birth,
Or have they been stationary, from before the dawn of her time,
Only now, breaking silence, as they catch her terror-filled attention,
Dragging her sight back towards the perched dominion,
Pulling her in, staggered over, planted back on her stained damask,
And strayed her sight, to what she hoped, was a horrific illusion,
Tucked up into the bedstead, as watchful eyes follow, meeting her gaze,
Piercing her shaken soul with their watchful daggers,
Then, in unison, they speak… “Your hands, carried our words
Lost eternally, in the tears crashing down, for we are known!”
Feeling, the wakening cracks of her dessert tongue
As she forces speech, wide eyed and dismayed,
“Known… by who? What is the reason for this horrifying presence?”
“Your hands carries our weight, our debt, in the blood you spilled.”
Those last words, chimed around in her sunken skull,
The horror still perceived, within her bewilderment,
“Who’s blood?!”… was she already bathing in it, taken from the guillotine,
As she crashed against stone, constructed in her own clouded mind,
Stopping her from cognizance, dormant, upon her padded frame,
As she was afraid to lose her grip, upon the shadow that she cast,
For she did recognize the gazing, frightening huddle,
She bolted herself onto her likeness, speaking to her past, suffocated
Under the anchor she drew upon herself, forced deeper
Into the shadow of her virtue, until the moment it had shattered,
For her empire, collapsed, under the weight of treachery,
Losing sight of anything further, past the point of her father’s doom,
Suddenly the room spun Her around, as the ragged cloth approached
With a dusty veil, draped from its crown, scrapping a scythe of bone
Beyond the deep of its narrow cave, toward her illumination,
And it’s true reveal, slowly pulling back, shedding the darkness,
Divulging, the unkempt veil of matted, and tangled hair
That seemed to blend, into the stained ragged cloth it wore
As it continued to replace, the space between them, groaning,
And dragging its skeletal foot, beyond, onto the foreground of her disbelief,
There, amongst the spinning silence that entwined their convergence,
Was the distant shadow, now in front of her, a glaring reflection,
As her insanity grew from the heart, it was awakened, by her mind,
A sinuous mound in the collapse, down to her frail knees,
Suddenly, the little girl, was a fallen angel, amongst the bones of time,
Her own moment, calcified, while being buried alive, within insanity,
“I know the gruesome expressions on the faces, peering through the shallow’s deep.”
Awoken, by the beast of her own hollowed out incarceration,
She was never far, from its breath, heavy upon her nape
And reminded constantly, of the head she had torn off, by sharp steel,
In order to save an empire, that fell, along with their queen,
But even though she had retired the beast, it tends to rise, eventually.
51422 D. Poe
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