111019d

By Hali's Shore




The surface of the lake reflects her still,
The balcony is ruinous and slick,
The King bestirs himself and trails his hand,
Just where his daughter-consort took her life,
She stares up from the aromatic deep,
Betimes she serenades him voicelessly,
She's dead a year and now they come to wed,
Out on the restive lake he throws her ring.
Reflected in the livid light of Moon
They waltz, while on the shattered balcony,
He consummates their love on look-alikes,
Who gratefully receive the royal seed;
Before their terms he strangles them as gifts
To she who lingers in the rattling reeds.



If you like this poem, check out my recent collection, Metastable Systems. This, and many other SF, fantasy, & horror poems are found therein.
 
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760901

070519c

By Hali's Shore

The surface of the lake reflects her still,

The balcony is ruinous and slick,

The King bestirs himself and trails his hand,

Just where his daughter-consort took her life,

She stares up from the aromatic deep,

Betimes she serenades him voicelessly,

She's dead a year and now they come to wed,

Out on the restive lake he throws her ring.

Reflected in the livid light of Moon

They waltz, while on the shattered balcony,

He consummates their love on look-alikes,

Who gratefully receive the royal seed;

Before their terms he strangles them as gifts,

To she who lingers in the rattling reeds.

Found on a Deserted World

We found the book in nitrogen,
Cryostorage pure,
A play, a work of unknown parentage:
The King in Yellow.
To Fulston went the honor, first read,
But he fell ill, some wasting thing,
And died before the end
He blamed the book, tried to space the thing,
Lunatic raving, we stopped him,
And Carsta-Weng opened the cover
With reverent hands;
She took her own life, and the book
Out lock 3L, scant hours on.
Much trouble we had, retrieved her and it,
But so it went, Bowen, Schenk, and Reynard,
None could resist a fatal peek;
Hanta read Act Three over the intercom
While I slept, exhausted and ears stopped;
I woke alone but for the cursed play.
I have the thing sealed away,
And 13 weeks to port,
Dare I bring it there?