By Name

I am a Slytherin by house,

A Black Queen by my poise,

With a guitar among my hands,

I am a poet winding noise.

My detail is in our corners,

Where to all my demons sneak,

I beware self-infidelity,

Lest my irises see the peek

Of the greed that I repress

Along such blades of irony;

I have the temptress by the chain,

Hoping Time will play Her deed.

Lingering where I tread,

My hands no longer bear

Set points arching forward,

Tongue of snakes innocents snare,

Where I pretend that I cannot,

That darkness will only see,

As lost control is powerful,

The markings, I realise, are free;

The fables I choose to spill

Are mine to tell alone,

Part paved from other pages,

Fiction under the throne.

Whilst I deny existence,

Predicate of hero’s surround,

Still I narrate only stories,

Weaving odes to burn the ground.   

The End

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