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Featured art by L.H. Grey



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John Powell “Assassin’s Tango”




Thou art mine king
Thine robes bejeweled mine flowered wing
None so centered
Rapier-like as mists rising thy slice
Sintering the ne’er felled with finite tidings thou doth bring
With the even-toed stride of a bison


Thou art the very mark of a man
Etched into the oubliette of mine spring essence
Clasped tight within the palm of thine hand
Sweet-scented balsam for life-force convalescent


Long sequestered, this chasmic soul of mine doth no more shy away from the white hike of tides height
Both hindsight and foreseeing balance scales betwixt which mine being is weightless
Thine realm insulated in gladsome hues of livened shadow assuaging dying light
No weighted reason why ne’er the two shalt be twain


Tis truly the mark of an equitable laureate to become espoused with both daytime and nightfall
Spearheading impetus through candlelight no restive acolyte doth know well to stifle
Kneading hardship into most benign trifle as thine eyes incline to self-elevated shrines and plummet to their depths on perpetual reprisal


Spiteful paragons of virtue deserting
Disenfranchised to mercy, these angels doth curtsy but court such through hollow recital
With sullen sorrow, they weep
With feet of borrow, they creep
Howbeit, tis truly the mark of a king to keep one eye agape whilst asleep


Thine art keeper of masterly sentience
Towering intelligence of sturdy foundation
Whilst others rule with arrogance cast in iron
The mirrored walls of thine fortress divorce of stagnation


Reflective by nature
Introspective but ne’er inward facing
In a world bereft of star gazers
Thine eyes they doth remind of entire constellations
Tis mine bounteous revere to make great haste there


Thou art dashingly handsome
With brave
Thine face ne’er fails to convey every agonized pleasure and gratified pain
Indeed, only one cursed could hold fast to entertain such blessed refrain from peeling away
Feeling thine way through the left spray of shadows with knowing
Hallowed by thine elected path
Narrowing solely to lance the most tenebrous heart of the darkness


Howbeit, not ever to vanquish
Tis simply a part of the healing phase
And not a sinew thou doth wear with disgrace
Thus, I feel it mine duty to mark the occasion
Through the companionable art of reiteration
Thou art dashingly handsome
With brave


Thou art mine king
Mine heart it doth burst into second versed spring as I state such crystalline claim
Mine dying day
Twill be a day most fine
In acquiescent recline of thine bosom


No kinder a fate than when ne’er more pre-fated to undermined faith
Mine eyes no longer resigned to the blindness of light that doth fade
These ties grow stronger inspired by thine harness of night and of day
There doth remain no weighted reason why ne’er the two shalt be twain


For thou art the very mark of a man
Dashingly handsome
Mine Mercy, Mine Brave
For thee, I eagerly remunerate a king’s ransom
The rust and the stardust and scratch of mine bones doth abrade of mine volition uttermost
In thine omnipotent name

L.H. Grey






Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill



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