The Tale of Constance ~ A Broken Ballard

 

In the depths of the misty moor
Stands a castle from ancient lore
Shrouded by the tangible night
Stars hang emitting crystal light

Barn owls chase shrews and mice to kill
Across the rolling Exmoor hills
The castle built from local stone
Is enchanted with the winds’ moan

This castle has no space for time
It’s the elements greatest crime
Centuries pass all unknown
Yet see how the ivy has grown

Laying on the dungeons cold floor
A girl holds no key for the door
Thrown in there by her misery
Now she’ll cry till she finds the key

History of blood and bandages
Haunt her dreams at the fringes
In the tower a prince is found
Loneliness is what keeps him bound

To the castle, to the tower
Every single hour, tastes sour
His past wisps like the dusty wind
What he did – could it be a sin?

Constance knows the prince will save her
From the fearsome dragon, he’ll lure
The beast away, break the bars
And take her to see the stars

As hills become veiled in darkness,
Alluring music is played
On a grand piano by the prince,
This keeps the princess hoping

Every note played silences the pain from the chains
Which bind her wrists and fists
They are manacles for imprisonment,
The lock, a gaping hole, there lies

A fire, restricted, silenced
Chains of spears burn through her thoughts
Dissolution runs through her veins
Her logic has crumbled and cracked 

With the rising of many suns
She hears him on the cobbled steps
She weeps, must have slain the dragon.
Infatuation at first sight

Their bourbon eyes interlock
Transfixed.
Forgetting time, in time
Biting her lip she smiles

He breaks the bars, but he does not
Take her to see the stars
She sees the verity before her
A chilling beautiful monster

No eyes does his face hold
Or anything she ever knew
Just a frozen heart with ivory fangs
And a lurid face torn apart

She sees the awful reality
And hears the testing truth
Never again will she be chained
And never again she be pained

Her silk screams are in unison
Echoing from the high tower
The monster crying in the night
Finishes her off in a fright

Beating her to her bones
Till she falls with a thud
He wants to shred her more
But only to see more blood

Her skeleton, abandoned
On the floor that now wears her flesh
And death she now wears
As if in blessed matrimony

Constance died of a broken heart
Her melancholia is always
In the castle, every hour.
While that miscreant of Mother Nature

Winds along the dusty tunnel,
His thoughts flicker back to Constance
And his eyes turn misty in a howl,
For she is now an angels’ hymn

 

Jenna Grabey © 2011. All Rights Reserved.

 

the_tower_by_feral_dragon_art-d56xz0v

Advertisements

Lockerbie

Think about the innocent and Lockerbie

Bathing like Elizabeth Bathory
Or washing your hands like Lady MacBeth
Recall the innocents in Lockerbie
You may as well have taken Crystal-meth

Still be damaging to those around you
Apart from the members in the party
Because you are all the same shade of blue
Smoking contemporary politics how arty

You didn’t have a clue
It was an accident
Too late the party flew
And caused another dent

Intention was the same
But more were meant to-do
And not to be left lame
With the party you slew

Until all viscera were in two
Still you’re all the same damn shade of blue
And you still caused damn burning murder
As the party intended to do

© Jenna Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Beautiful Anger

Beautiful Anger


She walked towards the door
And in seconds was a wretched mess on the floor,
She tried to stand but was pulled down by fires
While slamming her on her head were her desires.
Just that one single mistake she was caught doing
To you this misunderstanding would be nothing,
If it exists in the realms of reality
Longer she’ll stay in the void of morality.
Then as her relentless anger rises
Longer she’ll stay in her own pitiful crisis,
Where she turns to find self-hate
And for confidence it is far too late.

Her screams run through her head
As silent, as the dead.
She tries to stand but is pulled down by fires
While slamming her on her head, are her desires.

This is, suicide ammunition.
Growing warts are knots of emotion
Mind and body will be killed
And only she, will be billed.
In detest she views her reflection
As claws rise up cradling revulsion.
All this is seen as one blazing fire
And everyone has one, even liars.

Her screams run through her head
As silent, as the dead.
She tries to stand but is pulled down by fires
While slamming her on her head, are her desires.

The fire of anger is born from her
When self-hate entwined with mistakes, innocent as a fawn.
Why do we see these fires in a dark light?
For aren’t they perfectly natural and right?
This beautiful anger
This powerful desire
Draped all around
With a fatally silent sound.

She walks out of the door
And away from the floor,
The door left unlatched
Waiting for the fires to re-attach,
This beautiful anger, this beautiful anger.

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Back to Cinnamon Answers