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Saints and Sinners (House of Romanov Crest)

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven
Reduced to ash, reborn in heaven
This phoenix forgives the killers in turn
Hopes his destroyers aren't destined to burn

A saint's last words of disbelief
Instill in hangmen extensive grief
Aware of such a vile sin
Fallen conscience, shadows win

As surely as Thy will be done,
An empire melts within the sun
Another waits atop the clouds
Unearthly treasures are endowed

The devil screams, a choir sings
A two-headed eagle spreads its wings
A symbol of the fallen dynasty
Of a king now a saint of memory

Of beauty, of glory, of plummeting power
Of a man fatalistic as the withering flower
Of the heavenly mercy in his last words of breath
Of the tragedy in each untimely cold death

Of the cutthroats devoid of soul and of heart
To try and to fail to tear a family apart
The divine and the vile of eclectic humanity
Immortalized in history's pervasive insanity
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Submitted on June 03, 2017

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Katie Odell Claim this poet

“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it's true I'm here, and I'm just as strange as you.” ― Frida Kahlo more…

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