To those who from the goblet sip, who from the blood expected wine there is a price for those who pleasure seek and carnage find. As nectar turns to bitter gall, dark promises birth darker lies. Your grand designs bring grander falls, consumed upon the pyre of time, by sparks that did your soul enflame. Reflecting in those darkling eyes, you shudder as you now behold what scanty ash of you remains.
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This poem got to me in a way I did not expect.
Incredible, Jacquie. The power of this one- just wow!