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by Alayia
Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1903643
A poem written in conjunction with William Butler Yeats' "The Second Coming."
  The Falcon
                                       By: Alayia Rizzi 14, November 2012
Churning, turning, creaking,
The cogs never ceasing.
What say you, dear Madame?
Take you, me a madman?

The gyre, ever widening,
Gives me room for nothing,
Pray, give me leave of you,
So that I may see who
Will come to me in time,
That I may see what is mine.

Churning, turning, screeching,
Hear you that, sweetling?
Leave me. No flattery,
Enough. I must to see,
My beauty, my life, perched
Upon my limb in the
Midst of revolution.

Churning, turning, creaking,
The cogs never ceasing.
What say you, dear Madame?
Take you, me a madman?

© Copyright 2012 Alayia (ladyaudley at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1903643-The-Falcon