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The White Witch, Ode to Lizzie

by The Walrus 

Posted: 10 September 2003
Word Count: 116
Summary: I am not worthy

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Enfolded in the rough embrace
Of her Adonis,
The lioness’ mahogany mane
Shrouding the face of pain.
As the last droplet of her spirit
Trickles into the sand
As her lustrous lashes cover her black coals
As she sucks upon her residual strength
She takes the leap of faith
A bound back to the homeland
Now a foreign place
Not one familiar face.
Rebuilding, re-inventing, re-emerging
The daring diva
The purring seductress
The white witch and its
Forbidden pleasures
Of black magic.
Ageless, timeless, selfless.
Walking her path.
The gladiator falling into step
The throaty laughter
Of the bon viveur
Gently treading her soft way
In her buttercup sandles
Upon a blessed carpet of red petals.

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Comments by other Members

Fearless at 22:09 on 10 September 2003  Report this post
This poem has texture.

I see that last droplet of spirit get sucked into the sand, before we see the remaking of woman. I feel - but cannot hear - her gentle footsteps on petals of red, leaving a fleeting imprint, as if she were almost walking on the air of being.

Nice job spunky.


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