Moods of the Macabre
Fragmented by each malevolent mood
tranquility would boast in abundance
whereas abhorrent ramblings enfeeble
sustaining one's savagery of the mind.
How macabre does it feel to believe,
that once a traversty is committed
another takes it's place in elegy;
towards it being forced by vengeance.
Not to incorporate the calamity it brings,
but how reverberate can move such things.
Un Caneton Heureux
This snowflake illustration, have no doubt-
Appears as like-wise to a dying swan;
Let’s not deter for their sakes yield without
We'd purposefully put this scene upon.
I need to ask if all your dreams have died,
To reappear from feathers duly felt
Half cuddled to the next new ones supplied
If need be fetched for huddled softer svelte?
Assured! It’s no more, less conspicuous,
Than swans who’ve masqueraded idle wakes,
Who’d sell the dying theme as one immerse;
Too often seen, in lifeless path remakes.
To honour such a ballet known for pluck,
Could countless scorn begrudge a haughty duck.
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