Reaching forward to touch your marbled hand,
I realize things have not gone as I had planned;
For how can stone set in dullness rise in
The eyes of one whose sheen despises lint,
Such as my kind? Is there no comprise
Between us that we must list the lies of
Hate that separate our kind? Such coveted
Spates that do bridge our family trees, bled
Forth long ago by much disputed fees
That can be named no more! this regal feud
Which I do so abhor as vampires
Do reprove the most powerful sun; rude
Awakening is in store for us both
Who will not work with those loath to our hearts.
Rude Day, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment