Poems

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April 26, 2005

MC V

I climb, like ivy, the walls of the tower
In spite of the warnings of predecessors' falls
Reaching in my pocket, I select the Rune of power
And continue to grope towards the siren's sweet calls.

Speak ill, you bastards, until your tongues turn sour
Selective memory is a tradition well-preserved
As you relentlessly attack the fair princess in the tower
And as I wonder if such a reputation is so deserved.

I beg the court if I may speak in her defense
Her accusers stand there motionless, mortified
"What's wrong with you? Have you no common sense?
Have you already forgotten the bitter tears that you have cried?"

The judge and jury make their decision by drawing straws
But before they deliver sentence, the victim withdraws.

Posted by BlueWolf on April 26, 2005 01:39 AM