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Filicide
In Memory of Tiffany M.Thorp.
1987-2001 (or 2002...it was New Years,
so it depends on what time of night)
Blast that peircing bullet
who stalked Eros
when Zeus turned into Hera,
and also stalked his arrows!
O, fatefull night,
a fair girl's gasp
soon Hera's might
was mixed into the glass!
His blood, oh mixture,
a last drink and matrimonial woe
outblasted the 'works cheers,
overshadowed the Ball's plummet
and in brought the New Year.
Young run-away maiden...
so quick to flee...
but not quick enough, I fear,
to rescue thee.
Paternal woe
and maternal tending
brought his canned kryptonite
and her sweet song's ending.
The bottle, uncapped,
was more weaponry
than thine pistol;
twas a deadly wine.
Communion brings life,
and gluttonous is dead,
the fine line, please,
dare not to tread.
But fourteen years
of support, of growth,
yet the magical acid
merely heightened his loath.
For once the face
on the carton was found
only to be lost again
with a deafening sound!
Having sipped too much
that night, so late
come morn, locked in fire,
he carried out his own fate.
So many years later,
an honest tear not yet shed,
and the cold-hearted writer
has no heart for the dead.
So many eves spent
at your house in slumber
how could we have known
it would be your father?
It was your mother we whispered of,
but with a gun, it was not.
I haven't shed a tear,
not an emotion in spite
of the drunken, vengeful murder
that took place that cold night.
~Kara Mae Adamo~
1987-2001 (or 2002...it was New Years,
so it depends on what time of night)
Blast that peircing bullet
who stalked Eros
when Zeus turned into Hera,
and also stalked his arrows!
O, fatefull night,
a fair girl's gasp
soon Hera's might
was mixed into the glass!
His blood, oh mixture,
a last drink and matrimonial woe
outblasted the 'works cheers,
overshadowed the Ball's plummet
and in brought the New Year.
Young run-away maiden...
so quick to flee...
but not quick enough, I fear,
to rescue thee.
Paternal woe
and maternal tending
brought his canned kryptonite
and her sweet song's ending.
The bottle, uncapped,
was more weaponry
than thine pistol;
twas a deadly wine.
Communion brings life,
and gluttonous is dead,
the fine line, please,
dare not to tread.
But fourteen years
of support, of growth,
yet the magical acid
merely heightened his loath.
For once the face
on the carton was found
only to be lost again
with a deafening sound!
Having sipped too much
that night, so late
come morn, locked in fire,
he carried out his own fate.
So many years later,
an honest tear not yet shed,
and the cold-hearted writer
has no heart for the dead.
So many eves spent
at your house in slumber
how could we have known
it would be your father?
It was your mother we whispered of,
- it was her we thought
but with a gun, it was not.
I haven't shed a tear,
not an emotion in spite
of the drunken, vengeful murder
that took place that cold night.
~Kara Mae Adamo~