- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Conjured She
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If I like Merlin were to be,
And he were just a bit like me,
I'd take my soft and downy pillow,
Prop it ‘neath the weeping willow
To conjure up a spell-borne maiden
Here in willow shaded glade ‘n
Hold her while the storm clouds billow,
Huddled here on down filled pillow
Where no spying eyes can see
Beneath the willow's canopy.
Conjured up by Merlin's power,
She, a sprightly springtime flower,
Made by me to be my own,
She and I now here alone.
Regaled by beauty not foreseen,
And yet a veil lies twixt and ‘tween,
For heaven never will condone
The seeds that magic's spell has sown.
And e'en a sprightly springtime flower
Rots when plucked and then turns sour.
A heart now heavy flees the light,
Retreating to abysmal night.
Held down by angel's hands, constrained,
A darkened soul forever stained,
Entranced by talismanic signs
That bind like thick satanic vines,
Then squeeze till all life's will is drained,
And future life is held, detained.
The conjured maiden, now a blight,
Retreats into abysmal night.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 1 year agoI liked it. Sometimes we think magic is all powerful, but as we have seen in many poems and stories, wishes and spells often come with strings attached.
