Power forms in the palm of patience,
Waiting so long, been waiting so long
To tame a black beaked beast,
Perched upon golden gossamer sleeves
Shielding ivory skin.
Ebony curls catch like brambles,
Fingers trepidatiously tangled
Embedded briars in dark thumbs,
Golden rose bushes wielding thorns
Catching hold of black bound wings
Beat beat beat
There is power in the smile of a siren,
A victim turned temptress
Enough wrecked ships leave impressions upon the broken,
Song in the glint of an eye
A gale force wind in the laugh that rings out.
Second chance charisma,
like overwhelming cologne
The stuff that clings to finery like desperation,
Leaves golden laughter trilling into vehicles already filled with music
An irony too ironic to take too seriously.
This probably needs some editing as it was a 2am speed write, one of those instant inspiration things! Let me know what you think pleeeease!!! P.s. This might make a little more sense if you skimmed my last poem...