THE WEAVE:

Persephone entrances

the nymphs with a Tale,

below deck, in the Blackness

of the Night…

...IT...

"It's ragged, and it's haggard,
warped and withered, feathers
mangled.  It wrangles him
immobile with its screeching,
scratching throat chords.

One eye protrudes,
a heinous bulge, the other 
sunken, drooping.  In both
a hard, voracious stare
the Hollow Hell has put there.

It cranes above, his twitching
form, it hunches close and low.
In pain he hears, its vexing
voice, he cringes, rigid, "Woe!"
Now audience obtained,

upon it's stinking breath,
it breathes a Tale, although
with or without Wigbeorn,
it's prone to take
to such regale...

...SOLILOQUY...

"Another and another,
still a one, and one
by one.  Stumbling, bumbling

bloody sparrows, to their gallows
come.  In hopes of me:
a dainty maiden, waiting

to be saved.  But one glance
at my face, each bird would gladly 
turn away, or choose me 

just to lock me up
and put me on display.
A relic, on a mantle,

cooped up, in a putrid
rib cage.  "Passeridae!
The last her kind! A freak!

A crone! A wonder!"  You'd mock
your Holy Grail.  Ensnared,
my rotting Heart would thunder.

I hate you all, you vainest
souls, look what you've made
of me.  This verse, rehearsed

is not for you, for many
I have seen.  I hate you
as I hate the rest:

The worst, the best,
the brave, the kind
I hate you.  Look

into my eyes.
You'll know
it's not contrived."