UntitledA Poem by Marian ElizabethThere is a mischievous gypsy That cheats my fate with her cards, That makes me believe the moon Drew good omens on my palm, That talks of the sea and love, A love that like seashells hides Within the line in the distance Where the sun and water dance. This gypsy I visit often Sells me incense to take home, Flowers, pendants, and advice; Though her magic faith deceives, I find myself coming back; Into the kitchen I walk To observe her busy arms Working upon the mortar, Grinding Sadness, Adding Hope, Throwing Loneliness like salt, And the pestle hits it all, hits it, Stirs the mixture in its song Much like the vile drums That growl during sacrifice. From herbs that her garden grew, The brew will affect my heart, And she is soon gone, vagabond, Gypsy Luck with trickster hands. © 2016 Marian ElizabethReviews
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1 Review Added on July 19, 2016 Last Updated on July 19, 2016 Tags: Bohemianism, Magic, Gypsy AuthorMarian ElizabethMiami, FLAboutI am a literature teacher and a writer. I write both prose and poetry, and I work with the themes of anorexia, feminism, nature, the vulnerability of beauty, depression, magic, melancholy, and Bohemia.. more..Writing
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