Friday, November 26, 2010

To a certain someone

To a certain someone I feel I must inform you that I no longer care what you think or what ships you sink.
And I feel you must know that you'll have to let it go that I no longer wear my hair the way that used to make you stare, and my clothes have change since you've since become a stranger to me.
I'm sick and tired of trying to read your mind. You cannot believe that I still wish we were together when we were never together mentally. I feel you have simply lost touch with reality.
You and me can never be since you lost touch with what we used to be.
Used to be...


To a certain someone, I feel I need to remind you that you've seemed to lost your mind when you called me blind to what I was leaving behind. Please wipe my smile from your mind. I can no longer be kind.
You made a mistake in thinking this was just a break and now you want to make me take your word.


To a certain someone, you forgot you caused the problems when I wanted to solve them.
You'll have to move on and I'll sing my song- but don't worry, I'll change the names so you won't be blamed for the change in me from how I used to be and why I smile a bit more than before, why I don't cry like I used to when I was with you. Now I'm not with you and that suits me just fine. It's relief for my mind...


To a certain someone....

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Clarence on the wall

The breeze carries a gentle tune as Richard plots, ruffling his concentration and furrowed brow.
Elizabeth pushes back a stray blonde hair as she smiles at her king, though Edward's health is quickly fading.
Lords Rivers and Grey support their sweet sister, perhaps scared for her future.
And Clarence is hidden, hanging on the wall. 
Anne falls for a riddle and a poem, tripping from the tongue of a dog in disguise.
Richard devours another heart and licks his lips clean of the crime.
Edward sighs.
The crown falls to the floor.
And Clarence who was hidden, now floats with the angels.
Queen Margaret, prophetess, shares all though no one listens. 
The children cry, though they know not why.
The mothers cry for themselves, only giving a small glance to the sanity they lost to the boar.
Margaret laughs to herself, their misery her delight. 
Richard continues his plans, green and red. 
Only blessed Richmond can stop his envy and anger, plagues though they are. 
The mother York mourns alone.
The hidden princess is untainted.
Buckingham and Hasting water the flowers on their shallow graves.
Richard fearing shadows, destroyed under the blotted sun. 
And the puppets dance and sing without their strings, leading the players in their mad dance; silence and footfall, their refrain.