Dearest Readers, it is my up most duty to tell you gleefully
Of this rather traditional yet strange family.
Where old folks’ hushed whispers and children behind long skirts stay away from
Endless corridors and two-way mirrors, the norm.
To pass the point of no return was the poisonous motto
Of the oldest son. Quietly brilliant, innocently cunning, the emotionless smile,
Oh that sadistic boy assassin was about to find out the little fact that
Not all demons were those in the shadows under his bed, nor his pitiful victims.
Entrancing smoke of her classic Mother’s oriental pipe
Dreamed amorphous castles of yesterday, the eldest daughter always said.
Wise as the night owl, she would not stand for lack of iron discipline.
Watch her walk the fine line between juvenile delinquent or, criminal mistress.
Radiant black widow flees from her silken lair.
No other could scare the tiny
Murderess but the second son of Chinese syndicate, strolling without the
Slightest care for the world.
Why should he when there were other pressing matters
Such as listening to the rare serenity of the sinister breeze.
Rabelaisian court jester, the wicked grin of the maleficent joker
Were his favourite costumes. For the first cousin had a tendency to
Play cruel pranks and hurl taunting mockeries.
A mirror image of his laughless past
Perhaps? The jack in the box was not fond of reminisce, but repress.
Obscure mechanic sounds echoed against his workplace, yet the
Youngest son heard naught. Delight in creating one toy after another.
It is the least he could control. He decides to take a step further and
Builds his pioneer soldier army on a solid foundation of hatred.
Rococo shine of the porcelain window chimes; Ah, the
Pallor of the second cousin.
Her skirts full, her lips rosy pink, her tresses would be Goldilocks’ envy.
Simple-minded and a tad bit too cheerful for their taste,
Nevertheless had only their best interests in her little good heart.
Incidentally the baby of the family shall be mentioned last, as the
Case for the final daughter. Black Mary-Janes, black and white striped stockings,
And a Lewis Carroll’s melancholic child face to match. The nursery was
Her palace of forbidden imaginations, she was it’s dark princess.
Sufficiently horrifying for a bedtime story, do you not think so?
No one claimed it was one, a myth of rise and fall.
I am sorry to say every inch of this tale is true,
Though some may wish it voodoo make believe.
Maybe there is a desperate answer. A way out of this
Rampant madness. But will people be willing to fight when
Put in the limelight? The solution is simply a four-letter word
That knows no boundaries.
Dearest Readers, it is my up most duty to tell you gleefully
Love is about loving, not being lovely.
So ends my poem, Oh bittersweet scepticism!
Do prepare (in case, you scoundrels) for the rise of Terrorism.
Rabelaisian: Derived from style of French writers, Rabelais, making crude jokes, usually pertaining to sex and the boy.
Rococo: Period of French History (early 1700s) in continuation to the European Baroque era. Rococo dolls are made of porcelain and easily breakable.
Valerie Champion
4J
