The Harpys Way My heart is thronged with contradictory decorations, and allowed only second-hand emotions. She has left me inter-wreathed with brimstone and unmet desires. Sitting upon a black-velvet cathedra she calls me from the lattice windows. Her compulsions are chief and demand attention. Grasping at my neck cloth she tightens her sinewy grip. My disadvantaged heart is forever padlocked to her and her kinsmen. My work, she claims is incomplete, I must she says, entertain her Hell-born, savage obligations without hope of reward. For within her ungentle suburb, Midas holds fast to his coinage. I am to be her caddy, her ploughman as she tends to her faithful and eager whores each awaiting her pansophy. Although she often speaks as a fresh trumpet from the precipice of a moral high ground, her slight and bifurcate tongue will indeed sour the truth. createspace/4703766
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 04:56:09 +0000
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