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A fool there was and he made his prayer

(Even as you and I!)

To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair

(We called her the woman who did not care)

But the fool he called her his lady fair--

(Even as you and I!)



Oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste

And the work of our head and hand

Belong to the woman who did not know

(And now we know that she never could know)

And did not understand!



A fool there was and his goods he spent

(Even as you and I!)

Honour and faith and a sure intent

(And it wasn't the least what the lady meant)

But a fool must follow his natural bent

(Even as you and I!)



Oh, the toil we lost and the spoil we lost

And the excellent things we planned

Belong to the woman who didn't know why

(And now we know that she never knew why)

And did not understand!



The fool was stripped to his foolish hide

(Even as you and I!)

Which she might have seen when she threw him aside--

(But it isn't on record the lady tried)

So some of him lived but most of him died--

(Even as you and I!)

They say you're like a child

When you are wrapped in sleep.

But you still cause nightmares,

A monster risen from the deep.



I know it's not your face,

Beauty still lurks there,

It's something in your eyes

Crying out beware.



Your voice is always soft,

Even when it shakes with rage.

I'd think you were long since dead

If I didn't know your age.



I've no clue 'bout your past,

You say it's dead and gone.

Someone must have hurt you so

To make you hate so long.



You say that we are born to choose

The path that we must take:

Should we turn our hearts to stone

Or wait for them to break?



They say you're like a child,

But I know that it's not true.

Nothing could look so innocent

Had it ever seen you.



~Lord Vespertilio



This lovely little poem has won me a great honor: a space in the Shamelessly Bragging section of my coven, and the glory of being the winner of my coven's first poetry contest.

On Friday I fell deathly ill,

On Saturday I died.

On Sunday you all failed to note,

So I buried myself inside.



Though you say I'm still living,

And you watched me as I breathed,

I think I am the one who knows

When my death should be grieved.



It was no mental malady,

No cancer of the blood,

I was not killed by mankind's hate,

Or by the hand of good.



I did not die from poison,

Or overdose on meth.

I am one of the few poor souls

Forced to die from death.



You don't like the way I'm talking?

You think I don't know myself?

I lived among you all as dead,

And none of you took note.

~Lord Vespertilio