AOG Poetry | Searching For The Princess Whose Cursed Souls Act As A Throne-And-Ottoman

Mucking through mud-filled mires of misery

Where souls cursed and scorned grapple me.

Years have I become their soul-intact enemy

Long, long before the bond of you-and-me


Upon waking, you slither above me

You expect me to write of you happily

a Confucian bond, acquired

‘Tween a muse and her inspired


My inspiration my muse

My ray of hope for good use

I shall write for you every time

Bringing the minds wonders to the sublime


Your Hollywoodian, ancient-civilization

Type of exoticism

Which any girl would have face-fanning I-love-her worship

While I am held within your purple-eyed grip


Bewitches any man who meets your gaze

And turns our journey to you into a wondrous maze

If I am not worthy of your pick

I shall be branded quixotic


Among the nations born-to-die

Who see desolation with fated eyes

Rules a queen loved and feared

Who can render hearts and minds sheared

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