5. Lyre
In my eighteenth year since I was born,
I became accustomed to observing
The dinner parties of higher-society,
From heights that were quite unnerving
I always enjoyed looking at fine things,
The men with their pistols and duels
And their pretty, expensive women,
In their pretty, expensive jewels
But this was by far the finest party
I had seen, without a doubt,
And I watched on silently
In fear of being found out
Lady Ellen became intoxicated,
Much earlier than usual,
And Mr. Radford became irate,
When she spilled her cordial…
While Captain Swarthmore bored the crowd
With his endless stories of war,
The Mr. John Fitzhughs bragged of their work
Of their good charity towards the poor
The host had to stop two of the middle-class
From coming uninvited through the door
While listening to the Captain’s heroic tale
Of a battle that he’d recounted ten times before
I thought things were getting rowdy when
One of the young gentlemen caused a fuss
But the hostess was only mildly peeved
That he’d landed an olive in her bust
I thought I might like to live like this,
In polite society, fine and austere,
“I want this,” I whispered to myself
… And that’s when I fell from the chandelier

























POST A COMMENT
Wanna say something? Make yourself heard!
We reserve the right to delete spam, flames, or other nasty stuff.