The Triolet Trail

RyanLKing

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A veil across my lover's face,
On this our wedding day,
Dressed in white silk and lace,
A veil across my lover's face,
Our hearts flutter and race,
Today she’ll be given away,
A veil across my lover's face,
On this our wedding day,
 

kborsden

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On this our wedding day,
no angel can compare.
Celestial choirs gaze
on; this our wedding day,
concealed behind the veil,
behind the eye that stares
on this; our wedding day,
no angel can compare.

If anyone wants to get this back up to 8 syllables per line, try alternating the A and B rhymed lines with 6 syllables for A and 8 for the B line.
 
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B.D. Eyeslie

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No angel can compare
To the sound of death's door calling.
Embraced by true nightmare,
No angel can compare
The brotherhood I bear
For the love of those who've fallin'.
No angel can compare
To the sound of death's door calling.


I appologize for screwing around too much with this. I hope I didn't mess anyone up.
 
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CDSinex

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To the sound of death's door calling,
as I move closer every day.
I must stop myself from humming
to the sound of death's door. Calling
me in the faintest voice, singing
simple songs. And I, like a child play
to the sound of death's door. Calling,
as I move closer every day.
 
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kborsden

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I appologize for screwing around too much with this. I hope I didn't mess anyone up.

You didn't mess anyone up, you fixed us back to 8 syllables nicely.

As I move, closer every day,
you move too - near to the open.
You seem to want to run away
as I move closer; every day
I find myself searching your trail
to me - you are no mere token
as I move. Closer every day,
you move too near to the open.
 
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RyanLKing

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You move too near to the open,
To the open door of my heart,
The last person left it broken,
You move too near to the open,
My hesitation is left unspoken,
I pray you won’t tear it apart,
You move too near to the open,
To the open door of my heart,
 

CDSinex

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To the open door of my heart,
you are the breeze that blows it shut,
to close it tight, and bring the dark,
to the open door. Of my heart,
spring flowers, songs of meadowlarks
and so much you brought to me. But,
to the open door of my heart,
you are the breeze that blows it shut.
 

B.D. Eyeslie

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You are the breeze that blows it shut
and flips my welcome mat over.
I asked for love and you say "what?"
You are the breeze that blows it shut
You're not a bitch, You're not a slut.
We shared a roll in the clover
You are the breeze that blows it shut
and flips my welcome mat over.
 

Perscribo

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--and flips." "My! Welcome, Matt. Over
there is your chair--where the joints creak!"
Television quips and rovers--
pushing bodies in bulldozers
and flips? My. Welcome Matt, over-
wrought, flicks a quick tear from his cheek
and flips my welcome mat over
there. Is your chair where the joints creak?
 
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B.D. Eyeslie

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There is your chair where the joints creak.
The wicker basket is broken.
Dear, to be fair, I will not speak.
There is your chair where the joints creak.
My future here is indeed bleak,
The truth passes by unspoken.
There is your chair; where the joints creak,
the wicker basket is broken.
 
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RyanLKing

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The wicker basket is broken.
But this is no nursery rhyme,
So many sorrows unspoken,
The wicker basket is broken,
Untouched blanket a token,
A tiny flame lost to time,
The wicker basket is broken,
But this is no nursery rhyme,
 

Brandt

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But this is no nursery. Rhyme
is seldom heard in streets of war
as sirens cry to fresh made crime --
but this is. No nursery rhyme
would dare to tell that youth in prime
will fade as fast as shoooting stars.
But this is no nursery. Rhyme
is seldom heard in streets of war.
 

B.D. Eyeslie

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Is seldom heard in streets of war
the rapid round which has your name.
A mother's cries (a flag filled drawer),
is seldom heard in streets of war.
A hidden child will hide no more.
Finger pointing and shouted blame
is seldom heard. In streets of war,
the rapid round which has your name...
 
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Perscribo

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The rapid round which has your name
with vapid sound enters the breast.
Vindictive beasts would stoop to blame
the rapid round. Which has your name?
Soldier? Martyr?--one and the same!
Such sorrow twas not put to rest:
the rapid round which has--. Your name,
with vapid sound, enters the breast.
 
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B.D. Eyeslie

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With vapid sound enters the breast
sashaying through the beaded door.
Not to belie my fears, compressed
with vapid sound. Enters the breast
into my stiff, cupped hand's request.
My pouty, carefree paramour
with vapid sound enters, the breast
sashaying through the beaded door.
 
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CDSinex

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Sashaying through the beaded door
the room takes note, turns back around
we’ve seen your entrances before—
sashaying. Through the beaded door,
you walk, heals clicking on the floor.
We know you're here, through sight and sound,
sashaying. Through the beaded door
the room takes note, turns back around
 
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RyanLKing

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The room takes note, turns back around.
For the walls have always had ears.
It listens as the sorrows are drowned.
The room takes note, turns back around.
It soaks in every secret and sound.
It knows your wishes and your fears.
The room takes note, turns back around.
For the walls have always had ears.
 

B.D. Eyeslie

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For the walls have always had ears
for subtleties of making love.
Turn off all your hang-ups and fears
for the walls have always had ears.
Do you hear our neighbors above
engaged in a dance of such cheer?
For the walls have always had ears
for subtleties of making love.
 

CDSinex

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For subtleties of making love,
politely, I must just demur
even if asked from high above—
for subtleties. Of making love,
a subject treated with kid gloves,
if one was asked, as it were,
for subtleties. Of making love?
Politely, I must just demur.
 
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B.D. Eyeslie

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Politely, I must just demur
for thoughts like these are destructive.
My faculties cannot endure
politely. I must just demur.
I'm certain my God would concur
though I find you quite allective.
Politely, I must just demur
for thoughts like these are destructive.


*Evidently certain lexicographers consider "allective" a word... so do I.
 

RyanLKing

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For thoughts like these are destructive.
I must not obey the siren’s song.
Positive thoughts would be more constructive.
For thoughts like these are destructive.
Though I admit revenge would be seductive.
No! I must- I must be strong.
For thoughts like these are destructive.
I must not obey the siren’s song.
 

kborsden

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*Evidently certain lexicographers consider "allective" a word... so do I.


An allective? As far as I understand it - it means a word that couples might call one another as a term of endearment that means something along the lines of alluring - i.e. if I call my missus sexy as a nickname or endearment, you know, "what's for dinner sexy" - at dinner parties, "I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Sexy"
 

CDSinex

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I must not obey the Siren’s song,
that beckons me to certain death.
The calls to where I don't belong,
I must not obey. The Siren’s song,
enchanting voice so clear and strong,
pray I resist ‘til my last breath
I must not obey the siren’s song,
that beckons me, to certain death.
 
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B.D. Eyeslie

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That beckons me. To certain death
I tread with sadness in disgrace.
It's her soothing touch, her sweet breath,
that beckons me to certain death.
The warden's lady, Marybeth,
her wink and smile brightened my face.
That beckons me to certain death.
I tread with sadness in disgrace.


Kie: I'm hoping not to have to use 'allective' anytime soon.

Bob