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Fay Slimm Sep 2018
Dearest My Lord.
please to read this missive not with haste
but in serious thought.


Come Sire, and view such unholy state
to which thou hast brought me
at being with child and of hearing lately
of thy touring intent mine heart
starteth in great alarm, as I indisposed
must know for sure that thou be
not going away.


Fie upon that scheme mine Liege for
thou hast in me fathered a babe.

Thou shouldest stay, and embrace mine
own confinement to disgrace,
whereby the infant will bear no name
and wouldst thou abandon me to this fate
prithee have pity on offspring shame.


Pray marry me do, thou canst not afford
to blacken my name by
seeing the truth and fleeing abroad
and thus relinquish thy parenthood destiny.

I belong only to thee so do not ill-use me.

Thou sought  thy way, now takest thou mine
for without thy support I must surely decline.

Thus thou ought to realize I live in frightful
dread unless on thee I rely.
This heart beateth only for thine say I.

Thou hast undone me so prithee consider
direst consequence, face thy conscience
and beside me do stay.

I remain heavy with anticipation lest thy reply
dashes all trust and quill thee therefore
to think my Lord on resolving such trouble
as of utmost importance.


Sent in the month of September 1709.
From Mary Elizabeth, distraughtly thine.
gwen Sep 2014
i do not think i failed to see the end come,
i merely feared it.
and yet
i still write about it -
the way a prophet writes voraciously about the inevitable,
never living it out. and now,
the paper feels more bitter than gourd,
the pen sharper than knife,
my thoughts pinching at my brain.
i feel hopelessly ambivalent,
distraughtly confused,
achingly wistful.

there's no words for your
absence; an unfeeling ache
that traps me sorry.

am i too flawed to love,
or are you just unable to love me?

i do not know what to think.
it used to be a lack of breathing that came with a lack of feeling
just as night succeeds day
just as the thunder precedes lightning.
now, i just write -
thinking this act of releasing could relieve all the pain.
but it can't.

for a prophet never feels the pain of his people until they live out his spoken truth;
so my brain never feels the pain of the heart
*until it has been broken.
The big gate falls with a thud |
Marching inside are the villainous **** ||
Screams, pleads and blood all surrounds everything |
"This is now our land" they cruelly sing ||

In the palace, the great king sweats cold |
While the women should be hidden, they told ||
But the dolly princess refused to stay so |
And sternly opposes to just lay low ||

The worried king, being a father - locks her |
Whilst, the soldiers surge out being the protector ||

There goes on & on the battle of right and wrong |
The skirmishes are heard of blood and cries, all along ||

The captured girl of nobility , feels rage |
Her eyes go blood shot and her grip on window doesn't fade ||

She broke the window, with a determined gaze |
Her action full of anger and the tool is an expensive vase ||

Hopping down the window athletically, she reached the ground |
Groaning in pain yet, runs towards the crowd ||

Taking the sword, that once belonged to a soldier |
She runs past with tears, as the corpse get colder ||

Combating with might, her underhanded trainings now show their worth ||
She spears each enemy deep, careless of how her ichor rains Earth ||

Once a princess, now a battler |
Now she rage, once she fear |

The silver moon stares at red |
"An eye for an eye" is all foe said ||

Golden rays strike shining at the dark scene |
Corpses, blood & weapons are now vividly seen ||

The soldiers won, as the enemies survived none ||

An anguished father -oh- the king saw his daughter |
Laying in her own blood, with the sword...she stutter ||

"We won, father" the brave girl smiled |
While the king, now distraughtly proud cried ||

As she closes her eyes...forever, the kingdom mourned |
The soldiers bow remorseful, as a great warrior is thus renowned ||

— The End —