The Matriarchs’ Tale
(a lil bit of sunday fun inspired by Wordling words)
from the mouths of
matriarchs comes the tale
on many a mutuant
midnight to warn and regale
the tale of Meth who
danced through the night
calling blazing mariachis
in hip jutting motor-might
Meth who smiled with
teeth so gleaming winter bright
magician, sorceress,
not one soul missed
but for one small boy
and one small girl all were kissed
only these two no
less no maybe more
curled into one
another goes the lore
from the mouths of
matriarchs goes the tale to spin
that it was only
these two innocents left to begin
to begin a dance of
love with clear eyes and soul
untouched from the
blazing burn of Meth’s black hole
until one midnight as
mariachis played
Meth called and a now
grown man and woman stayed
Stood strong and firm
as about them townspeople bayed
From the mouths of
matriarchs comes this tale
of the hold of Meth
and the two that did not fall and fail.
And as, the band
played on wild and whirling fast
Others drew to the
two that seemed to - in love last
That did not fall in
gasping breath and grasping lust
More and more turned
as Meth burned out to dust
Now the mariachis
call only laughter to each soul
All freed from the
black bottomed gawping hole
