I arrive at the palace in a red, wrinkled palace.
The mysterious moonlight sheds purple light upon me.
I am refreshed.
Your palace doors are bolted shut
With chains poisoned specifically for me.
Yet my hands foretell my life's patterns,
Bruised, battered, broken,
I stand in the moonlight,
The palace remains impregnable through night
And each cry I make, each cry I regurgitate
Adds another boltto the door.
The sun comes out in glistening glory
But its hotness reflects upon my face.
I pound on the door, and slip notes beneath--
I stand, statuesque, waiting.
Finally, the boltsremove themselves
Crossed at the dastardly doors.
I enter, eagerly, expecting love and life.
To you, I hand my only rose
But in return, an archer jumps from the shadows,
And shoots me trhough the heart.
As my blood cries out for justicve
You silence me, and send for my shroud.