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Thursday, October 27, 2005

Ophelia

A discordant jumble of thoughts twist and turn
wavering on the brink of irredeemable rebellion;
The jut of her jaw foretells her mind's direction.

Where is the generosity of heart she once knew,
encapsulated in this man she called her prince,
Now lost in the spectral haunting of his mind?

It lies buried in the scattered ashes of her world,
No dignified exit here in this bloody conflagration,
The daily practiced discipline of lives disintegrated.

Singing softly she surrenders to the flowing stream.
The fringe of pale fair hair entangles in the weed
As she sinks into the watery grave of love's last dream.
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