The Masquerade

                                                                      By: Amelia B.

She slipped on the ethereal gown trimmed with lace;

Paused before the tall mirror whilst peeking at her face;

After arranging her tresses with a tuck and a pin,

Next she donned the mask that hid the view to within.

 

To be noticed, yet unobserved, both she desired,

Craving love free from exposure, to this she aspired.

For concealed beneath the sequin-flanked frames

Was a heart disfigured by antagonizing shames.

 

Her mother a harlot, her father a rogue,

The life she had led was one only bought-when in vogue.

No person of honor would treat her with grace,

If they grasped the history behind that veiled face.

 

Yet as the young woman faltered by the door,

The royal prince, espying her, did come to the fore.

He gently guided her to the center of the room,

And with a deft motion set her cheeks in full bloom

 

As the evening progressed, her complexion faded to gray,

For she knew the consequences she would face the next day.

The prince, who had remained by her side,

Queried if she would not depart, but 'bide.

 

Tears overcame her clouded visage as up she did start;

Begged she for mercy, for she was black of body and heart.

Her sovereign, turning away, hid his own face-

Then whispered, "As I have received, let me bestow-grace."

 

"My liege, art thou mad?" cried she,

Her pallor beset now by a crimson sea.

"Nay," he replied, "but to look upon the Crucified

Is to utterly know my sin is rectified."

 

And taking hold of her masque, he spoke,

"Your and my shame He has covered with His cloak;

He will be your righteousness sure

If you cling to His Word-which makes you pure".

 

The next instant her masque clattered to the ground,

For what was once lost had now been found!

Dolor succumbed to tears of joyous peace,

As she had been embraced by Love that would not cease!

 

This poem is what I call the Ever After movie redeemed. :)  I was inspired to pen it in about 30 minutes' time in the year 2012. 

                                                                        A Day at Conkers
                                                                        By: Miss Amelia


   It was a crisp, autumn day.  The trees' flaming leavings reflected the memory of the burning heat of summer, while their ebbing color anticipated the cold that was to sap both hue and life from even the mightiest tree.
   Through the archway of horse chestnuts scampered a boy and girl, followed by their father who smiled, his eyes dimmed by tears.
   "Peter, see how many conkers I have gathered!  You shall not beat me at conkers today!" Cried the girl, who appeared to be about the age of eleven.
   "Just you wait, Eva," returned the boy, who was three years her junior.  "You throw like a girl, and your strikes on my nuts take all day to break them."
   At this, she gave him a playful shove, and he threw his chestnut at her.  It struck her left temple, but she only laughed off the sharp pain and stopped to gather more nuts.
   As they began stringing their chestnuts, their father laid down his cane and stretched out upon the moist grass, his back propped up against a mighty tree trunk.  He smiled to see such joy and innocence on display.  He closed his eyes, soaking in the waning rays of the sun, and exhaled a sigh.  It had been seven years--seven years since her laughter had buoyed up his shy soul.  But then there was the day of the accident.  It had all seemed so improbable, until she grew sick and forever left him in his solitude.
   Moments later, memory morphed into dreaming, and he was running by her side, racing to the "forbidden" pool.  The children were with the nanny for the day, and they were newlyweds again, or rather two children in love.  As they dashed, breathless and giggling, she threw out her leg in front of his right one, and he tripped a bit, just giving her the lead.  Guffawing, he charged after her, and, as she broke into the water, he grasped her about the waist, and they fell down into the water, rolling over and over.
   Suddenly, he felt a thud vibrating through her body which was clasped in his arms, and in a panic he pulled her above the water to the pool's edge.  Blood trickled down from her temple, though she beamed at him yet. 
   With tender motions, he washed the blood from her face, while she protested, "I am well, darling.  Stop fretting".

                                                                   ...to be continued...

Yesterday, around 2:45 p.m., inspiration struck me, not dead, but it packed a pretty good punch.

Below are the after-effects from the above assailant's attack:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The vine said, "For wining and dining created have I been".
"Not so," replied the Vinedresser, "but you shall represent blood-covered sin.
For tread in the winepress of My fury My Son shall be,
Until all My chosen shall drink unto Him eternally".

Crushed the Vine was, the sweetness of life flowing out,
And all the sins of His people
His flowing blood did rout.