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Thivanka Perera
Unregistered guest
| | Posted on Thursday, May 06, 2004 - 4:41 am: | 
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'Royal crime'.
Born within luxurious walls,
Bred to carry thy throne.
A cut from the tree of Royal bastards,
A retard in an amiable suit.
As one depicted his narrow awareness:
As heedless and as aimless as a gleaming gold-fish
In a crystal bowl,
Which he seconded, with his intimacy
Amongst street whores.
And now he grew, meshed in together like the fingers
Of outstretched hands,
Like the little girl with a little curl in her forehead
Was very good, when good,
And when bad, very bad.
The Royal conspiracy is of bastards
With lust to glistening gold,
Seeking a pure blooded race to clarify
None inferior, would be bold.
The queen incensed by such indiscretion
Would then head the Royal conspiracy,
Along with the butt-licking descendants
Whom covered each stain, remnants of
Lust.
On the dawn of late autumn in East London
The whores were killed,
Mutilated,
Beyond recognition,
By hands, which handled Royal Gold.
-Thivanka Rukshan Perera.
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