fading oak
One time, during New Year’s night
Back in 1865, I asked a knight:
“Would you ever love me,
if I was never right?”
He replied with a smile:
“I’ve watched myself go hostile,
and yet I thought I was correct
for the part that made me think I was perfect.”
Mistletoe blinded my vision,
which led my heart to make a decision.
That this man, dressed in blooded armour,
Was someone who was in fact a lustful charmer.
But of course, I never said a word,
that this man’s stories were absurd.
He played me like I was his doll:
“So elegant and small, I wonder if she’d fall.”
After not speaking up for far too long,
I wear his proposed wedding ring wrong.
As flowers greet me down the aisle,
I fear that I’m walking the last mile.
When claps and praises fill the church,
for my former self I deeply search.
My pearls feel like a hangman’s loop,
waiting for the dearest moment to ungroup.
And if this man could lift my veil,
He’d meet a girl who was destined to fail.
But should he ever uncover my soul?
If he dared to, he’d see nothing but an empty hole.
(My poems be like: 📈📉📉)
plucky furnace
crude holly