What screams but the howling banshee…
To be or not…To be…Now that, is the question,
I will drown in this sea of indiscretion.
To spill anger will condemn me in the pits of selfish need,
Yet, to grieve without voice I am warned, take heed.
To break a promise of magnitude on created trust
Would dispell the eagle’s and thier scornful lust,
Yet still I saunter on purpose edge of qualms
Self imposed malice, pointless wars meant only to harm.
I feel echoless screams erupt from my soul,
Pele? She has nothing on this ancient Celtic Doll.
To be or not…Lingers the crossed eyed devil,
As his soldiers fickle and sweet revel.
My growl a soft rumbling hiss,
Still calmed I see by your celestial kiss.
Still calmed I see by the essence of you
Turns out what we thought…Was true.