Like puppetry two marionette

I took her to this art event

She took me to her motel bed

Like puppetry two marionette

We tangled up our strings

Her eyes were wide like Eleanor

Rigby she was fiction for

The life I’d led a year before

I hadn’t slept a wink

It’s comical how looks predict

The ludicrous and obvious

By circumstance we came to this

Offering by the sea

Her hair jet black like ravens beak

The padding of her size 6 feet

Lenore her name I said quite meek

This time then nevermore

It’s lyrical how time can tell

Who’s heaven sent and living hell

An angel with a broken bell

Knows liberation’s free

Sometimes I think coincidence

Common sense and saying yes

Are infinite never in jest

Like cherry blossoms we

Sell ourselves a dollar short

Make amends and then spring forth

Pink petals fall on the seashore

There’s no telling what could be

An accident a sign from God

A work of faith handshake or nod

They’re simply an illusion on

The pleasure box we see

The message spoke ten times before

By Poe and his dear loved Lenore

Like love’s the end all message for

Both poetry and speech

So I took her to the airline that

Disagreed with both our backs

I mean this with no disrespect

It’s how some people meet

We never spoke another word

Jumped back into the universe

I came to grips was late for work

And landed on my feet

Good riddance.

Can you hear me now?

Yes,

now that we have stopped talking.

Good.

Yes.

Things have never been so good.

 

The King’s Sad Song.

The failed King sat on his throne.

His Queen had already fled.

Watching his people die, he couldn’t shake the thought

of who would bring him his dinner tonight.

The chef’s were gone, the jester dead.

As for his Queen, well he could find another Queen.

And no matter how much blood was shed,

his people showed no sign of stopping.

It was nearly a 50/50 split – men, women, and children.

He couldn’t help but wear his grin proudly.

It was until he saw his son beheaded that his grin began to fade.

It wasn’t so much the action of it all but rather the one who’d done it.

Down there, past all the bloody corpses, stood his Queen.

What she was shouting he could not quite make out but it went something like this.

I’d rather slay my own kin than have them carry on your name.

Why had his son been down there with the poor and wild rabble-rousers?

He then took note, that he was alone in his castle.  How puzzling he thought.

But this did not bother him too long, for he’d only needed what his people could give him.

A King has no need for the physical person, surely he knew this.

Then at the strike of noon, the King began to sing.

Through the screams and fury and onslaught of ravaged flesh, he sang.

It went something like this.

My God what have you done,
my Lord could you believe,
that there is no helpful soul
to serve me steak and peas.