| A Fancy-Dress Ball in Dante's Hell*
In her tender tinder box she needs to be adored,
In her tender tinder box she lays straight as a board.
She may be metaphysical but she lacks the wherewithal,
She never learned her lesson; pride goeth before a fall.
The severance from the soul clearly indicates demise,
Her thoughts to take it with her will soon prove unwise.
Dressing: petticoats, hoopskirts; the order still remains,
She hooks, straps, and laces as life from her body drains.
Gray-milk hands slip into lavendar gloves; skin that never blushes,
Surveying perfect tresses, two strands away she brushes.
Adding rings and baubles, gold necklace dipped in God,
Agaist her sullen sour skin the union strikes as odd.
Stepping into a dreary black-draped carriage,
The tired mares' steps fall into perfect marriage.
As she steps out they know with just one look
The unfortunate road that she took.
She's so gussied up that you can tell
Tonight's a fancy-dress ball in Dante's Hell.
*This phrase, A Fancy-Dress Ball in Dante's Hell, comes from Her Name, Titanic by Dr. Charles Pellegrino, which inspired the poem.
Tarry
The death of the night owl
Left my bedchamber cold and silent
And I, in my abandoned state
Cannot bare to go it alone
The lore added sickness in volume and heartbreak
As the voices grew louder
And moved over the vineyard instead of through
They tell me you've fallen in the field
Blood stained grass your only stone
But I cannot lie in my silent stricken chamber
Disbelieving your life
The truth to me is your boot on the trodden soil
The muddy footprints on the road
I must lie here with every fiber seething, knowing full well
That you are traversing the hills in search of me.
One day, digging in the cropless field
Hands full of dirt, absent of nourishment
Your form trudging towards me, stumbling with fatigue
Never was the sky so heavy on our heads
Never did the grass so hinder my feet
The rain began but knew
And so left us to our own devices
Humid air with the force of water rushing
Trying to slow my pace
Toward the figure of you coming out of the fog
Your wayward frame as you hobbled on
When at last the arms embraced, as yours felt thin
What could I do but rush you into your shelter
That would keep us both dry from the dew
Now how delicate the sky
And the waves of grass parting
Now that I'm done running to you.
__________________
The greatest asset they all have is themselves. And yet does anybody promote that to them? Does anybody tell them that they are the greatest asset they have? Or are they steered to idol worship? Are they moved, are they motivated, are they inspired to look at the president or any politician as their only salvation? If they are, it's just a shame. | 
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