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Channeling Medusa

Illusions of the mind    
Grandeur ink stains without sips of wine †  
Intoxicating fables † †  
Vengeance of turned tables † †  
Masks slipped of human betrayals † †  
Meaningless life as she escapes from the pits of hell † †  
† †  
Reaching out for twinkling stars † †  
Whispers of relents, falling sabbatical covens heard from afar † †  
Riding the Pale Horse of such painted pride † †  
Galloping the trail of seductive lies † †  
Serendipity † †  
Define the odds of lifeís complicity † †  
Unemotional to understand, or care for idioms of simplicity † †  
† †  
Marble chiseled statue has stood so strong † †  
Glass hearts in her wake shattered, when life plays her seductive songs † †  
Breakable, oh no, the sweet destruction in her path as she now patrols † †  
Walking the earth as she wickedly trolls † †  
Enclosed of flawlessness in her vanity , heart of no soul † †  
Medusa, as she stands so proud † †  
Shh, donít even make a hush sound † †
One kiss, eternal you shall be bound † †  
† †  
Please, donít gaze, or you will be forevermore alone † †  
If captured, your heart instantly turns to a Charka stone † †  
Curvaceous in the needs of the silken thrust within my honey deeds † †  
All mine once I have you planted on your knees † †
Addictive essence coating your tongue, licking the wetness as you so please † †
† †  
Slithering around the globe † †  
Blending as one, as you deeply probe † †
Close your eyes as you whisper my name in glee † †  
Listen to the sultriness of my voice until you flee † †  
Oh yes, this Mystical Greek Creature, is surreal † †  
Various souls have escaped, by words, gently foretold of its nightly thrills
SweetKittyCat5
Written by SweetKittyCat5
Published
Author's Note
Various souls Medusa once had charms; to gain her love a rival crowd of envious lovers strove. They, who have seen her, own, they ne'er did trace. More moving features in a sweeter face. Yet above...
Various souls Medusa once had charms; to gain her love a rival crowd of envious lovers strove. They, who have seen her, own, they ne'er did trace. More moving features in a sweeter face. Yet above all, her length of hair, they own, In golden ringlets wavíd, and graceful shone.

Ė Ovid, Metamorphoses
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